The morning of Elara's twenty-first birthday dawned with a sky that was wrong.
She stood on the cliffs above the harbor, watching the sun rise over Cinderhall. The city was magnificent. Spires of white stone and crystal reached toward the heavens. Gardens bloomed on every terrace. The streets were filled with people from every corner of the realm, their faces bright with hope.
But the sky was wrong.
It wasn't the color. It was the texture. The fabric of the sky itself seemed... frayed. As if something was unraveling at the edges of the world.
The sword hung at her hip. The blade had been silent for years. Peaceful. Complete. But now it screamed. A piercing wail that only she could hear.
Her mother Kaela appeared beside her. Her hair was white now, but her eyes were still warm. Still f
