The ruins of Eldrinor were always quiet. Too quiet. Only the sigh of the wind slipped through its broken towers, carrying with it the whispers of a kingdom long gone.
Irene walked slowly through the crumbling halls, her hands wrapped around a clay vase filled with clear water. She was a Warden of Remembrance, one of the chosen keepers of her village tasked to honor the heroes who had once saved their land.
Her duty was simple: to fetch water from the River Lirael, the river that flowed beneath the roots of the Tree of Life, and pour it over the petrified statues of the Five. The elders believed that the river carried a trace of Emre's blessing, and though fifty years had passed with no miracle, the ritual continued.
Fifty years since the five heroes bloomed the Tree of Life. Fifty years since Eldoria was saved from the curse.
The land had changed much since then. The forests regrew, rivers flowed clear, and the skies once again bore the colors of life. The curse that had twisted the Eldranis was broken, though not entirely forgotten—many still bore dark markings upon their skin, and their tempers often frayed like brittle glass. But the tribes of Eldoria had grown distant from one another, scattered across the land without the unity the heroes once inspired. Some Eldranis, still steeped in madness, hid in the wilds, preying upon the weak.
That was why her village chief still clung to this hope that one day, the heroes would awaken, return, and unite the kingdom again.
But Irene herself… she did not believe. Not anymore.
For years, she had carried water, step after step, pouring it over cold, unchanging stone. She had whispered prayers to unhearing statues, and each day they remained still. For her, the ritual was not hope, but duty. A duty she could not abandon, because if she did, she would also abandon her people's last dream.
With careful steps, she entered the central courtyard of the ruined kingdom. At its heart stood the Tree of Life, its red leaves glowing faintly under the moonlight. Around it, the statues of the heroes formed a solemn circle, their stony faces forever frozen in their final sacrifice.
But this time… something was wrong.
Irene stopped mid-step. Her breath caught in her throat.
There were only four statues.
The fifth was gone.
In its place stood a man, surrounded by shards of stone scattered like broken chains. His chest rose and fell with breath, his skin glistened under the moon, his eyes wide as though waking from a dream.
Her fingers went numb. The vase slipped from her grasp and shattered on the ground, water spilling into the dust.
The man turned sharply at the sound, his gaze locking onto hers. Confusion clouded his face as he lifted his hand. His voice was hoarse, low, and uncertain.
"…Who are you?"
Irene's heart hammered in her chest as the man's voice reached her. For a moment, she could only stare.
The moonlight fell across his face, illuminating features she had only ever seen carved in stone and told in bedtime tales. The sharpness of his eyes, the weight of his bearing even in confusion, there was no mistaking it.
Her gaze darted wildly to the circle of statues. Four still stood. And the one missing… was the king.
Her breath hitched. A gasp tore from her lips.
"No… it can't be…"
The vase lay shattered at her feet, water soaking into the soil, but Irene paid it no mind. Her legs moved before her thoughts caught up. She spun on her heel and bolted back through the ruins, her voice carrying through the night like a bell.
"THE KING IS BACK!!"
Behind her, Stell reached out instinctively, his voice cracking with urgency.
"Hey, wai—!"
But his words vanished into the silence as she disappeared down the moonlit corridor, leaving him standing alone beneath the Tree of Life, surrounded by shards of the stone that had once entombed him.
Confusion tightened his chest. He lifted a trembling hand again to his face, to the cool air, to the trembling earth beneath his feet.
"…What the hell is happening?" he muttered.