The Vale had fallen silent.
Only the distant hum of the fractured spire remained, resonating like a dying song beneath the ground.
Eryndor stood at the edge of the cliff, the storm’s remnants swirling faintly around him. The light that had erupted moments ago had vanished into the sky, but its echo lingered — a whisper in his chest, a weight behind his eyes. He could still feel it tugging at him northward.
Lyra approached quietly, her boots crunching over the charred earth. “You haven’t moved for an hour,” she said. “If you stare any longer, you’ll burn a hole through the horizon.”
He didn’t answer. His gaze was distant, as though seeing through the world itself. “It’s calling,” he murmured.
“‘It’ being what?” Zephyr asked from behind, tossing a small stone into the ravine. “Because i
