The wind shifted.
Aeren paused, one foot on the dusty trail, eyes narrowing. "Smoke."
Elira sniffed the air and nodded. "Burnt magic. The Crown's been through here."
They'd been riding for four days along the Ash Road—a stretch of blasted land where trees had turned to stone and rivers had become veins of glowing crystal. Once a thriving region of songmages and spirit-binders, now only silence remained.
Kaelen kicked at a charred sigil on the ground. "They scorched the leylines. It's not just conquest anymore. They're corrupting the Weave."
Lyra's eyes glowed as she scanned the terrain. "There's something alive out there. Several somethings."
"Ambush?" Bryn said, tightening his gauntlets.
"No," she replied. "They're… curious."
The group rounded a bend—and froze.
Creatures stood before them. Not enemies. Not quite allies.
Giant beasts, vaguely feline, with hides of obsidian and glowing turquoise markings. Upon their backs sat the Nomadic Clans of Thassyr, faces painted, weapons glowing with ancient craftsmanship.
One rider dismounted. A tall woman, her braids threaded with starlight.
"I am Veema, Seer of Claw and Wind," she said. "We saw the sky change. We felt the Weave stir."
Zephren stepped forward cautiously. "We don't mean harm."
"We know," Veema said. "We've come to aid. And warn."
"Warn?" Aeren asked.
Veema nodded. "The Crown rides fast. With them rides the Wyrmspawn—beasts twisted from fallen nodes. The Heart of Hollow is closer than you think."
Suddenly, the ground rumbled.
From behind, the ridge exploded—something massive barreling through the earth.
A creature emerged, twice the size of any beast they'd fought. A wyrmspawn—serpentine, armored, leaking dark fire from its jaws.
"Scatter!" Kaelen shouted.
The clans leapt into action.
Aeren unleashed a shield as the wyrmspawn charged. Elira called down lightning, splitting its path. Bryn jumped from a cliff edge onto its back, roaring as he drove his axe into its scales.
Lyra and Veema linked spells, weaving a net of starlight and memory.
The wyrm thrashed—until Aeren found the song.
He reached into the Weave and pulled.
Flames danced, not to burn, but to sing. He crafted a note of clarity—a harmony of unity magic.
The wyrm shrieked and buckled.
Then, with a final twist of Elira's storm magic, it crumbled into ash.
Silence fell.
Bryn coughed and looked up. "We win?"
Zephren peered at the glowing trail leading deeper into the mountains. "For now."
Veema approached Aeren. "The Heart of Hollow lies beyond the Black Divide. Our scouts will guide you."
Aeren nodded. "We'll need every hand."
Elira placed a hand on his chest. "And every heart."
As the sun set behind them, they rode again—faster, stronger, no longer alone.
But in the dark hollows of the mountains, something stirred.
And it was waiting for them.