The wind sang a mournful tune as it swept through the high towers of Eltarion's Ivory Keep. Below, the city was alive with the hum of morning trade—merchants haggling in the bustling market square, the clang of forge hammers echoing from the smithy rows, and the spirited cries of children weaving between vendors. From the parapet, Lirion watched it all, the early light catching in his bronze eyes.
Eltarion was a kingdom at its height, a land where magic and industry intertwined like threads in a grand tapestry. But even as the kingdom thrived, unease clung to the edges of the horizon. The Veilstream—the invisible flow of energy that powered both spell and machine—had been faltering, its once-constant pulse now erratic.
Lirion turned his gaze to the sky, troubled. Thin cracks of light spiderwebbed across the firmament, faint but unmistakable. They were growing longer and brighter by the day. "The sky bleeds," the farmers had begun to say, and though Lirion dismissed their superstitions, he couldn't deny the truth of their words.
A soft cough interrupted his thoughts. He turned to see his mentor, Maerlyn, ascending the parapet stairs. The old mage was wrapped in his signature indigo robes, embroidered with glyphs that shimmered faintly in the morning light. His silver hair, tied in a loose braid, fell over one shoulder, and his gnarled staff tapped rhythmically against the stone.
"You've been brooding again," Maerlyn said, his voice dry but not unkind.
Lirion shrugged, offering a faint smile. "Just... observing. The cracks seem worse today."
Maerlyn joined him at the edge, peering at the sky with a frown. "The Veilstream falters," he said after a moment. "It's not just the cracks. Spells are misfiring. Devices powered by the Veil are failing. Even the earth feels restless."
Lirion glanced at him sharply. "Restless how?"
"There have been tremors in the southern provinces," Maerlyn replied. "Subtle, but unnatural. And last night..." He hesitated, his fingers tightening on the staff. "I had a vision."
Lirion straightened. Maerlyn's visions were rare but never trivial. "What did you see?"
"Fire," Maerlyn said softly. "The kind that consumes worlds. It came from the cracks, devouring the sky and raining ash upon the land. And in the center of it all, a shadowed figure holding a blade that sang with the Veil's dying breath."
The words chilled Lirion, but he forced a steady tone. "A warning, perhaps. Nothing more."
Maerlyn shook his head. "The Veilstream does not warn; it reveals. Something is coming, Lirion. Something that could unmake everything we know."
Before Lirion could respond, a low rumble coursed through the air, deep and resonant like the growl of a slumbering beast. He looked up just as a crack in the sky widened, spilling a radiant, golden light. For a heartbeat, it was beautiful, like the dawn breaking free of night's grasp.
Then the light turned searing white.
Screams erupted from the market below as the ground quaked violently. Stalls toppled, and goods spilled into the streets. The air itself seemed to ripple, thick with an unseen force. Lirion staggered, clutching the parapet for support.
"Down!" Maerlyn barked, pulling Lirion to the ground just as a shard of light broke free from the sky and hurtled toward the city. It struck the central plaza with a deafening roar, sending shockwaves that flattened buildings and shattered windows.
When the tremors subsided, a heavy silence fell over the city. Lirion slowly rose, his ears ringing, and looked toward the plaza. A smoking crater marred the once-busy square, its edges glowing faintly with an otherworldly hue.
From within the crater, something stirred.
A figure emerged, wreathed in light and shadow. Its form was humanoid but indistinct, as if its edges were blurred by the very Veil itself. It carried no weapon, yet its presence radiated menace.
Lirion's breath caught as the figure turned its gaze toward the Ivory Keep. Even at a distance, he felt its eyes pierce him, cold and unrelenting.
"What... is that?" he whispered.
Maerlyn's face was pale, his usual composure shattered. "The beginning of the end," he murmured. "The Veilstream's guardians have failed. The Sundering has begun."
For a moment, neither spoke, the enormity of what lay before them sinking in. Then Maerlyn gripped Lirion's shoulder, his voice firm despite the fear in his eyes.
"We must act swiftly. Gather the council. Summon the guilds. If we don't, Eltarion will fall and the realms with it."
As the sky above them continued to fracture, Lirion nodded, his resolve hardening. Whatever this Sundering was, it would not go unchallenged.
And so, as chaos descended upon Eltarion, a young mage and his aging mentor set forth on a path that would shape the fate of all the Shattered Realms.