The dawn after the battle in Greenveil was unlike any other. Dew clung to newly restored leaves, and sunlight filtered through the trees in pale gold, catching on the edges of damp branches like shards of hope. Birds that hadn't sung in years chirped cautiously, as if testing the limits of their reborn sanctuary.
Raine awoke early. His dreams had been fragmented—visions of flame, roots, and a voice he couldn't place whispering his name through stone. He sat up beside the ashes of their fire and looked around. Sylara still slept lightly, her cloak wrapped around her, her silver hair loose and glinting like moonlight.
He took a deep breath, feeling the warm thrum of the First Flame within his chest. The sensation had changed. It no longer felt like a wild firestorm threatening to consume him. It was now more focused, like a steady forge-fire—controlled, but powerful.
Elira and Vorn joined him shortly after sunrise. The two mystics had been poring over what remained of the ancient warding stones Vaelith had defiled.
"There's more to this than the Verdant One," Elira said quietly. "We found markings beneath the roots. Old ones. Symbols that haven't been used since the Era of Silence."
Raine arched an eyebrow. "The what?"
Vorn knelt, brushing off a flat slab of stone with a soft cloth. "The Era of Silence predates even recorded elven history. We thought it was myth—a time when the gods themselves hid, and magic was sealed beneath the world."
Raine stared at the stone. A symbol glowed faintly, etched in silver: a star split by a jagged line. "That looks... familiar."
Elira exchanged a glance with Vorn. "It should. That symbol matches the one on the temple where we found you, Raine."
A chill raced through him.
He turned to Sylara as she approached, now fully awake and alert. "There's more happening beneath us than we realized."
She looked at the stone, eyes narrowing. "We need to go deeper."
The center of Greenveil had always been sacred. Beneath the forest was an ancient network of roots, caves, and hollowed-out stone—believed to be the dwelling place of the Worldroot, the source of all plant life in Astralis. With the corruption purged, they could finally descend.
The entrance was hidden beneath the now-fallen tree that had once burned with cursed green fire. With the help of Vorn's geomancy and Sylara's precision, they cleared away the stone and revealed a spiral stairway made of living root and polished obsidian.
The deeper they went, the cooler the air became. Golden moss coated the walls, emitting a soft glow. The silence was almost reverent.
Hours passed.
Eventually, they reached a wide cavern, its ceiling lost in shadows. At its center was a lake, and rising from the lake was an altar—a pedestal of black stone, ringed by pale, thorned vines. Above it floated an orb of pure crystal, spinning slowly.
Raine stepped forward, drawn by the hum of magic.
Sylara placed a hand on his shoulder. "Be careful."
He nodded and approached. As his hand neared the orb, a pulse of light surged from it, bathing the room in radiance.
Images flashed before them all—projected in midair like memories made manifest:
A war of gods. A rift torn across the sky. Cities swallowed by vines and flame. A figure cloaked in gold wielding both sword and flame. And at the center of it all, a single star breaking apart.
The light dimmed.
Vorn let out a low breath. "That was... the First Sundering. The moment magic fractured. This orb—it's a relic. A memory vessel."
Raine turned toward the others. "Why show us this now?"
Elira stepped closer. "Because history is repeating itself. The Verdant One, the Chaos Lords, the False Prophets—they're all fragments. Remnants of forces broken during that ancient cataclysm. And they're converging again."
Sylara's voice was steady. "Which means we need to find the rest of these vessels. Before they do."
They emerged from the cave later that evening, minds weighed by what they had seen. Raine took the orb with him, storing it carefully in his satchel. The First Flame pulsed softly as if in recognition.
They didn't speak much as they prepared to leave Greenveil. The villagers would return soon, and the forest would begin to heal. But the answers they needed lay elsewhere.
As they rode west toward the forgotten borderlands, Raine turned to Sylara.
"I keep thinking about the vision—the figure with the golden cloak. I felt something familiar."
She nodded. "So did I. Like it wasn't just a memory, but a warning."
He looked at her seriously. "I think whoever that was... they weren't just part of the past. I think they're still out there."
Sylara's gaze met his. "Then we'd better find them first."
And far away, in a crumbling citadel lost to time, cloaked figures gathered around a fading mural of a star splitting in half. One stepped forward, robes trimmed in gold.
"They've awakened the first echo," the figure said. "Then the race begins."
Behind them, a second figure spoke—its voice ancient and cold.
"Let the next trial begin."