The journey north began with silence.
Aeren and Elira rode through the Emberwood Pass, its trees glazed with frost that hadn't been there yesterday. Snow fell even though it was the wrong season, and strange glyphs flickered faintly in the bark of ancient oaks. The Weave was misaligned—twisted.
Elira traced a glowing rune in the air. "This isn't natural. Something's rewriting the ley lines."
Aeren nodded, eyes narrowed. "Or someone."
As they passed a frozen stream, a child stepped into the road. Her eyes shimmered silver.
Elira raised her hand instinctively, but Aeren stopped her. "Wait."
The girl didn't speak. Instead, she handed Aeren a folded piece of parchment—sealed with wax bearing the Hollow Crown's emblem.
The girl vanished as quickly as she appeared, leaving no footprints.
Aeren opened the note.
**"We remember the flame. But ashes make fertile soil.
The Crown ascends.
The girl writes your undoing.
Come north.
Bring the Heart if you dare."**
The message dissolved into black snow in his hands.
Elira exhaled. "She's taunting us."
"No," Aeren said. "She's inviting us."
—
Elsewhere, deep in the glass tower, Aris stood over a map of the old world. She moved silver pieces across it like a game.
One piece bore Aeren's crest.
Another, Elira's flame.
She placed a third—an unfamiliar sigil—on the eastern edge of the map. "Let's see if our other guest is awake."
A nearby mirror shimmered, showing a boy in a cage of ice. His eyes opened—blue like thunderclouds.
"Your turn soon," Aris whispered.
The void shard pulsed behind her, casting long shadows.
The Hollow Crown was not dead.
It was reborn.