The dawn came painted in rose and gold, casting warm light over Eldergrove's ancient towers and sleepy cottages. But there was no time to enjoy the view. The group—Arya, Cael, Liora, and now Zephyra—were packed and ready, each carrying more than just weapons and supplies. They carried burdens. Secrets. Fears.
Zephyra led the way, barefoot and silent, her silver hair dancing in the breeze. She didn't speak unless asked, and even then, her answers were cryptic.
Arya watched her closely. "Are all Moonborn like you?"
Zephyra didn't turn around. "No. Most of them are dead."
It wasn't meant to sound cold, just matter-of-fact. But it sent a chill through Arya nonetheless.
They traveled through the Whispering Pines, a stretch of forest known for illusions and voices that weren't real. Liora kept her bow ready. Cael walked with one hand on the hilt of his blade, but his mind seemed elsewhere.
"What are you thinking?" Arya asked him during one break.
"That I never thought I'd be walking toward the Vault," he said. "I thought I'd spend my life running from it."
She offered a soft smile. "Well… running gets boring eventually."
They shared a look. Not romantic—not yet. But there was understanding. A growing thread between them.
That evening, they set camp beside a river. Zephyra said little, meditating beneath the stars, drawing glowing symbols into the earth with her fingers. Liora grilled Cael about his magical abilities, fascinated by the mixture of elements he could control.
"You're basically a walking storm," she said.
"Yeah," he replied dryly. "And like any storm, I'm still figuring out where to go."
Later, Arya wandered off for firewood and stumbled upon something strange: an ancient stone marker half-buried in moss. Etched into it was the same spiral symbol on her arm—and beneath it, a sentence in Old Tongue.
"When the heirs unite, the gate shall open."
She touched the stone.
A pulse shot through her, not painful but powerful—like the world itself had taken a breath. The spiral on her arm glowed.
She gasped, stumbling back, and saw Zephyra standing behind her, her eyes glowing faintly.
"You've awakened it," Zephyra said. "The first of many."
"What is it?"
"A seal," she answered. "One of thirteen. Break them all, and the path to the Vault will appear."
Back at camp, Arya told the others. Zephyra explained that the seals were hidden across the continent—some buried in ruins, others in enemy territory. Each one required not just magic, but choices. Sacrifices.
Before they could rest, a sharp whistle cut through the air.
Liora grabbed her bow.
A blade flew from the shadows, barely missing Cael's neck.
They were under attack.
Three cloaked figures emerged from the trees, fast and silent. Assassins.
Zephyra launched forward like a shadow, her fingers glowing, and knocked one backward with a gust of wind.
Arya raised her hands, the spiral flaring as fire burst from her palms. "Stay back!"
Cael stepped into the storm, eyes lit with lightning. "No more running."
He unleashed a wave of energy that sent the attackers flying. But one wasn't aimed at him.
One went straight for Arya.
And at the last moment, someone stepped between them—
Liora.
The blade cut her side, and she dropped with a cry.
Arya screamed, rushing to her friend's side as the last attacker vanished.
Blood seeped through Liora's tunic, and her breathing grew shallow.
Zephyra knelt beside her. "She'll live. But not without a cost."
Arya's eyes burned. "What cost?"
Zephyra's expression was unreadable. "A piece of the map. And your trust."