The mist crept low like cold fingers, curling around the gnarled roots of dead trees and veiling the steep slope of the hillside. In the silence, only the whisper of the wind sliced through the air — a distant sound that made every step echo as if within ancient chambers.
The elder Syrial and her apprentice Merial moved cautiously, cloaked in gray robes whose hems brushed the moss-covered stones. The power words tattooed across the elder's skin pulsed rhythmically, like a heartbeat. Merial glanced at them, wondering when she would have so many etched into her own flesh. They both knew they weren't there out of curiosity: the Dead Zone of Velh'Ciriand had emerged just days ago, and the growing fissures in the Dome had alarmed the seven races.
"This is a terrible idea,"Merial whispered, frowning as she recalled the warnings: not even the Verithil dared venture here without an army.
Syrial lightly touched the Shyrr bracelet dangling from her wrist. The black crystal shimmered beneath the diffuse glow of the fog. Fragments of the Dome — or Stones of Shyrr — were the only known protection against the Dead Zones.
"Do you believe everything they say?" she asked, her voice hoarse. "As long as we carry Shyrr, we are safe. Our magistrates ordered us to study these new Dead Zones. The seven races agreeing on this only proves how serious the threat is."
"Do you remember how the Seven Races are divided beneath the Dome?"Syrial asked without looking back.
Merial, her silver hair fluttering, answered promptly:
"Verithil, in the Misty Mountains, masters of hidden sight; Sangor, in the Crimson Desert, wielders of Blood Magic; Zhyren, in the Volcanic Jungles, lords of the four elements; Naruun, in the Plains and Forests, with their Anirû; Arenya, in the Frozen Mountains and the underground, champions of strength and regeneration; and, at the heart, the Olkhar, diluted heirs of all gifts."
Syrial smiled slowly, warmly.
"Exactly. If this were a formal test, you'd only need to add our own: the Word Magic of the Sylarei."
The pupil relaxed, a flicker of kinship lighting in her eyes.
They then reached the top of a rocky ridge: before them, the ground split open in a jagged ten-meter fissure, surrounded by shards of Shyrr pulsing with a faint glow. The air seemed to flee through the crack, and no trace of magic dared manifest.
"Here,"Syrial ordered, extending her hand. "Feel the emptiness."
Merial stepped closer and touched the ground. The cold surged through her arm and her heart pounded. She felt disconnected. Empty. Since her initiation, when her mind had awakened to the words of power, she had always felt tethered to the world around her. Even as an apprentice, she could sense the energy pulses of the world — and interact with them. The words that formed in her mind were her way of speaking to the world. But here… nothing. No sensation. The void was terrifying.
Syrial frowned, narrowing her eyes. The runes on her skin slowly began to glow. She called upon the power words to sharpen her senses — and instinctively readied her body. The runes, responding to her call, awoke one by one, functioning like a harmonious orchestra.
"We need soil samples, records of any corroded runes, and any sign of ritual. This circle is not natural."
Before they could collect the first sample, the ground shook. Something heavy approached. Its steps echoed through the void.
"Merial, behind you!"Syrial shouted.
The young woman spun around. She instinctively activated her master rune. Upon invocation, her mental space vibrated with life. And then she sensed it. Something was coming. From the shadows. The footsteps — massive and firm — pounded like hammers on raw stone.
A creature emerged: a Child of Silence, as they were called. Its body was stitched with dry roots and black plates, its eyes glowing like embers. It resembled a colossal wolf. Or perhaps it once had been. The Children of Silence were born from the void of Dead Zones. Little was known about them, except for their extreme ferocity and aggression. Its roar made the ground tremble, jolting Merial back to reality.
Syrial stepped forward.
"Get back, Merial! Don't let it come closer!"
The girl backed away, chest tight, feeling powerless. The Child of Silence charged with fury. Syrial stepped between them and shouted:
"Ithar!"
The runes shimmered in the air. In moments, they dispersed, forming an energy barrier in front of the elder. The shield absorbed the impact of the beast's charge, which nearly crushed her with its weight. The old mage met the red eyes and wrath of the stone wolf. The creature slammed into the barrier, forcing its body forward. But the shield held, blocking its advance. Syrial staggered. Using power words inside a Dead Zone had a steep cost. The absence of external magic demanded internal energy — and that was limited, bound to one's own essence.
Without hesitation, the elder activated her bracelet.
Seeing her master breathless and the bracelet glowing, Merial understood the risk. Maintaining a magic shield while also attacking would exact a high price. Magic within Dead Zones required sacrifice. And she wouldn't let Syrial bear it all alone. She might not have physical strength, but they said she possessed the most powerful mind ever seen among the Sylarei. That's why she had chosen amplification as her second rune, further enhancing her already formidable mental capacity.
Merial focused, scanning her theoretical studies for the ideal word. In her mental space, time distorted. The outside world seemed to slow. She activated her bracelet and poured all her reserves into it. A word appeared: golden, imposing. The rune of the Air element.
Upon speaking "Aeranth," her mind expanded — no longer just touching the air, but breathing it, becoming it. The very winds seemed to gasp in response. Around her, the atmosphere twisted unnaturally. Dry leaves spiraled in frenzied dance, pulled into rising whirlwinds. A halo of energy coalesced above her, its edges shimmering like glass etched in motion, forming translucent blades that spun with lethal grace.
Each blade pulsed with her focus, her fear, her desperation.