The air was heavy with the scent of ash and stone as Eryndor, Kaelen, and Seris trudged away from the ruins of Kyranth. Each step felt weighted, not just by exhaustion but by the unspoken tension between them. They had barely escaped Lyria’s wrath, but it wasn’t a victory. It was survival—fragile and fleeting.
Eryndor’s palm still burned faintly where the blue rune had flared during the clash. Her thoughts churned with questions. Why had the runes chosen her? What did Lyria mean about destiny? Every answer seemed buried under layers of riddles and danger.
“We need to keep moving,” Seris said, his voice cutting through the silence. He scanned their surroundings with a soldier’s vigilance. “If Lyria’s cultists are half as fanatical as she is, they’ll be on our trail by now.”
“Wouldn’t hur
