Sand. Endless, blinding, soul-grinding sand.
Aeren had never hated a substance more in his life. It clung to everything—his boots, his teeth, his thoughts. Even Elira's hair looked mildly offended by the climate.
"I told you I hate sand," she grumbled, shielding her eyes with a tattered scarf.
"And yet, here we are," Kaelen said, already halfway up a dune.
They were three days into the Dune Reaches, a sea of golden hills that shifted with the winds and sometimes reared up like waves. The sun baked the earth until it cracked, and mirages danced on the horizon like ghosts.
Kiran muttered curses under his breath, occasionally freezing patches of ground beneath their feet so they didn't sink.
Lyra, ever the optimist, was fascinated by the sand. "There's magic in the grains. Micro-runes. This place used to be a civilization center."
"Now it's a graveyard of dry eyeballs," Bryn groaned.
Zephren lifted a hand. "Something ahead."
They reached the top of the next dune—and gasped.
Below lay a sprawling ruin, half-buried in the sand. Obelisks poked out like jagged teeth, each one inscribed with glowing symbols. At the center was a spiral tower, still intact.
Aeren's crystal pulsed.
"The next node," he said.
They descended with care, the sands whispering warnings. As they crossed the shattered courtyard, the air shimmered—and figures rose from the sand.
Ghosts.
Not of people. Of memories.
Spectral mages reenacted battles, duels, and councils. A whole civilization frozen in echoes of light.
"They were Weavers," Lyra breathed. "The people who first shaped unity magic."
Kiran walked through one and shivered. "They're trying to tell us something."
Elira and Aeren led the way into the tower. Inside, it was cooler. Dusty but untouched. Symbols lined the walls in perfect symmetry.
As they reached the top chamber, a circular mirror waited—its surface rippling like water.
"No portal markers," Zephren said. "But it's active."
Aeren stepped forward—and the mirror flashed.
FLASHBACK
He saw his mother again—this time leading others through the Dune Reaches, younger, braver. She was not a Watcher yet.
And beside her was someone else. A man. Tall, dark-skinned, with eyes like molten gold. His father.
They argued.
"We can't protect it and hide it," his father said.
"We have to," she replied. "If the Hollow Crown finds the source…"
The image distorted. A massive explosion rocked the scene. The mirror cracked.
BACK TO PRESENT
Aeren stumbled back.
"She and my father… they knew. They hid the source of unity magic."
"That's what the Watchers are after," Elira said. "They want it silenced—or reclaimed."
Suddenly, the mirror cracked again—and a sandstorm burst through the windows.
But it wasn't just wind.
It had form.
A colossal elemental, born of ancient protection magic gone rogue, rose from the ruin's heart.
"Looks like the welcome party's here," Bryn growled, drawing his axe.
They braced for battle.
But this time, Aeren didn't summon fire.
He summoned memory.
Channeling what the node had shown him, he weaved flames, wind, light, and thought—blending them into a pattern. A resonance.
The storm faltered.
The elemental paused.
And then… bowed.
The storm dispersed. The ruin stilled.
Kaelen let out a low whistle. "Okay. That was insane."
"I think he's finally doing it," Kiran said. "He's weaving."
Aeren stared at his hands, then at the horizon. "No. We're weaving. All of us."
Lyra's eyes glowed faintly. "There's one more node. The final one."
Zephren looked grim. "And after that… the Crown will come."
Elira slipped her hand into Aeren's. "Then we better be ready."
The sun set, bathing the desert in crimson light.
And beneath the sands, the final gate began to stir.