The morning of Elara's twentieth birthday dawned golden and warm.
She stood on the cliffs above the harbor, watching the sun rise over Cinderhall. The city was beautiful. Prosperous. The streets were filled with people going about their lives. The markets were crowded. The children were laughing. The world was at peace.
She should have been happy.
She wasn't.
Something was wrong. She could feel it in her bones. A weight. A pressure. A presence that didn't belong. The sword at her hip pulsed with uneasy light. The blade had been passed down through three generations now. From Vaelor to Hope to her. The legacy of the Guardians. The hope of the realm.
Kaelen appeared beside her. Her grandfather's hand found hers.
"You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep. Too many thoughts."
"About what?"
S
