The silence stretched endlessly.
No wind. No echo. Not even the hum of magic that once wove through Elyria’s air.
It was as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Eryndor opened his eyes to a sky he didn’t recognize.
It was fractured — like glass, each shard reflecting a different hue.
Golden light bled into deep indigo, while streaks of silver lightning crawled lazily through the cracks.
Above him, the constellations shimmered, rearranging themselves into unfamiliar patterns.
He sat up slowly, pain blooming through his chest where the pendant had been.
The shards of it lay scattered beside him — some glowing faintly white, others pulsing black, all fading with every heartbeat.
“Eryndor,” a voice said softly.
Eira knelt next to him, her hair tangled, her eyes rimmed with exh
