Dawn's gentle glow had barely suffused the sky when Elara, Corvin, and Lysander emerged from the shattered remains of the spire. The crucible that once harbored the malignant Harbinger now lay quiet—its darkness dispersed into nothingness by the unified blaze of their courage. Yet, even as hope stirred anew, a lingering sense of foreboding whispered on the wind. The legacy of the Starborn had been rekindled, but in its light there were shadows that had yet to yield.
The trio paused on a ridge overlooking a vast, undulating landscape where the scars of ancient battles marred the earth. Fields of frost clung to the ground like fragile memories, and in the distance, twisted outlines of ruined battlements reached skyward. Here, beneath a tapestry of ever-changing colors, nature itself seemed caught between decay and renewal. Elara's gaze swept over the land as if it were an open book, every furrow and crevice a verse in a song of loss and redemption.
