The storm raged for three days.
Lightning tore through the skies like claws of fire, and thunder rolled across the mountains, shaking the foundations of the Vale. The rivers had turned restless, their waters swirling with streaks of pale light, and the trees groaned under the weight of unseen forces. Even the stars had dimmed, their patterns fading into the churning clouds.
By the third dawn, the air had grown heavy with silence — the kind that comes before revelation or ruin.
Eryndor stood beneath the fractured sky, his cloak whipping violently in the wind. The faint golden aura around him pulsed with erratic rhythm, like a heartbeat out of sync. Each surge of the Voice within him now resonated with something beyond — a second pulse, faint but growing.
Aria knelt nearby, her fingers p
