Chapter 8: Ashes of the First Cycle
Silence fell over the world. Not peace, but silence—the kind born only from devastation.
Where once the radiant towers of Eryndral reached toward the heavens, now a vast crater lay, veiled in mist and sorrow. At its heart pulsed a crystalline prison, the First Seal, where the Shard of the First Breath slumbered in radiance. No spirit, no abyssal force, no god could touch it. Only the echoes of Kaelith's sacrifice lingered in its glow.
The Mourning of the Spirits
In the Hall of Boundless Flame, the Great Spirits gathered again, though none bore triumph.
Lumiaris burned dim, his radiance tarnished by guilt.
Umbryth coiled silently, withholding mockery for once.
Chronalis wept tears of fractured time, seeing countless futures ripple and collapse in the wake of Kaelith's fall.
Spatiora whispered what none dared admit aloud:
"The mortals have done what we could not. They bore the weight of creation."
Oblivara, whose song had sealed Vaelor, spoke with cold finality:
"And for it, they paid. The First Cycle is written in blood."
But beneath their mourning, division festered. Some spirits saw mortals as worthy allies. Others, as dangerous children who must be watched—or controlled.
Serenya's Grief
Among the ruins, Serenya knelt by the shattered spear of Kaelith. She traced her fingers along the cold metal, her voice breaking in whispers.
"You should have let me share the burden. You should not have gone alone."
Her tears fell onto the runes she had carved, and in that moment, the spear shimmered faintly, resonating with her sorrow. A fragment of Kaelith's will remained, bound within the weapon.
Lyrielle laid a hand upon her shoulder, her eyes clouded by visions.
"He is not gone, Serenya. His light lingers beyond time. The First Cycle is not his end—it is his beginning."
But Serenya, though she listened, could not believe. Not yet.
The Oath of the Giant
At the crater's edge, Gorath the Giant stood alone. His Stardust hammer rested heavy at his side, its glow dimmed.
He spoke a vow aloud, his voice rumbling like mountains:
"So long as I draw breath, none shall break the First Seal. The shard will slumber, untouched, until the world itself is ready."
Thus was born the Lineage of Guardians, a vow that would echo across countless ages, binding giants and their descendants to the protection of the Seal.
The Abyss Regathers
In the depths below all worlds, Vaelor the Broken stirred within his abyssal prison. His body had been shattered, his form sealed, yet his laughter had not dimmed.
"They sealed the shard, yes… but not me. I am corruption. I am hunger. So long as mortals crave power, so long as spirits quarrel, the Abyss shall have its throne."
From his broken essence, shadows spilled into forgotten corners of existence. Seeds of corruption, hidden in the cracks between worlds, waiting to bloom again.
Primovast's Will
High above, unseen by mortals and spirits alike, Primovast unfurled its wings across the void. Its scales shimmered with galaxies, its breath the tides of existence itself.
It gazed upon the sealed shard, upon Serenya's grief, upon Gorath's vow, upon Vaelor's laughter.
And though it said nothing, its silence was not emptiness.
It was expectation.
For the First Dragon knew: creation was now moving of its own will.
Flawed. Imperfect. Beautiful.
The First Cycle had ended.
The Age of Legends had begun.
The Prophecy of Lyrielle
That night, as mortals rebuilt in the shadow of ruin, Lyrielle's trance deepened. Her voice carried across dreamscapes, heard by all who slept.
"Beware the abyss that wears a crown.
The shard sleeps, but its dream awakens.
When giants fall and mortals rise,
The First Dragon shall return,
Not as guardian,
But as judge."
Her words ignited fear, hope, and questions that would echo for countless generations.
And so the ashes of Eryndral became not just ruins, but the birthplace of prophecy.