The council chamber of the Ivory Keep was a place of history and gravitas. The walls were lined with tapestries depicting Eltarion's greatest triumphs—founding the kingdom, taming the wildlands, and forging the Veilstream-bound devices that fueled their prosperity. But today, the air was thick with unease, and the grandeur of the chamber felt hollow.
Lirion stood near the great circular table, flanked by Maerlyn. Around them, the heads of the kingdom's most powerful guilds argued fiercely.
"We need to strengthen the city's defenses!" bellowed Arkin Stoneforge, the burly leader of the Ironshod Guild. His voice boomed like a hammer on steel. "Whatever fell from the sky won't be the last. If we don't act, the next strike could level the entire city!"
"And you propose to do what, Arkin?" snapped Lyssara, the high weaver of the Arcane Guild. Her robes shimmered with faintly glowing runes, her sharp eyes glaring across the table. "Hurl your precious metal at the cracks in the sky? Or perhaps you've found a way to forge swords that cut light?"
Arkin growled, but before he could respond, a third voice interjected.
"This bickering achieves nothing." The speaker was Elyndra, the Keeper of the Veil Archives. A thin, solemn woman with a quiet intensity, she spoke rarely but commanded attention when she did. "The Veilstream's disturbances began weeks ago. I warned this council then, and you chose to dismiss me. Now, the fractures are here, and the Sundering has begun. We must understand the cause if we are to survive it."
Lirion stepped forward. He'd been quiet until now, unsure if his voice would be welcome. But the image of the figure in the crater lingered in his mind, and the weight of it compelled him to speak.
"I saw the figure," he said, his voice steady despite the tension in the room. "It wasn't just light or shadow. It felt... alive. Intelligent. And it was no accident that it came here. It looked at us—at the Keep. It's connected to the Veilstream, I'm certain of it."
The room fell silent for a moment, save for the faint crackling of the fire in the hearth. All eyes turned to Maerlyn.
"You've taught the boy well," Lyssara said, her tone laced with equal parts respect and suspicion. "But if this figure is tied to the Veilstream, what does it mean? Has the Veil turned against us?"
Maerlyn shook his head. "The Veilstream is not a thinking force, but it is not without its guardians. If this figure is one of them, then its presence means only one thing: the balance is breaking."
Elyndra's face darkened. "If the guardians have been roused, the damage to the Veilstream may already be irreversible. We're not dealing with a single figure. The Sundering is a cataclysmic event. The Veil connects not just Eltarion, but all realms. If it collapses entirely..."
"The realms fall," Maerlyn finished grimly.
Arkin slammed his fist on the table. "Enough of this doomsaying! What do we *do*? The people are scared, and soldiers don't fight with philosophy. If there's something to be killed, I'll see it done."
Lirion bristled at the simplicity of the warrior's thinking, but Maerlyn raised a calming hand. "Arkin, your strength will be needed. But this is not a foe we can defeat with force alone. The Veilstream must be mended—or, failing that, stabilized. And for that, we need knowledge." He turned to Elyndra. "The archives hold records of past Veil disturbances, do they not?"
Elyndra nodded. "The last recorded disruption was centuries ago, during the Shadow Age. But even then, it wasn't as severe as what we face now. I'll need time to comb the archives for anything relevant."
"We don't have time," Maerlyn said, his voice sharp. "The cracks are spreading. Each day, the Veil weakens further."
Before anyone could respond, a faint tremor rippled through the chamber. The ground quivered beneath their feet, and a low, resonant hum filled the air. Lirion's heart raced. He recognized the sound—it was the same as the one that had heralded the figure's arrival.
A moment later, a messenger burst into the chamber, his face pale and his breath ragged. "Master Maerlyn," he gasped. "Something... something's happening in the plaza again. The crater—it's... glowing."
Maerlyn and Lirion exchanged a glance. "Stay here and continue your discussions," Maerlyn told the council. "Lirion and I will investigate."
Lyssara opened her mouth to protest, but Maerlyn cut her off with a look. Without another word, he and Lirion swept from the room, following the messenger down the winding corridors of the Keep.
The plaza was unrecognisable from the bustling marketplace it had been that morning. Rubble and ash littered the ground, and the crater in the centre pulsed with an eerie, golden light. A crowd had gathered at a safe distance, their faces filled with equal parts fear and fascination.
As Maerlyn and Lirion approached, the light intensified, casting long shadows across the square. Lirion felt the same oppressive weight as before, the air thick with energy that prickled his skin.
From the depths of the crater, the figure emerged again. This time, its form was clearer—humanoid, yes, but taller than any person, with limbs that seemed to shimmer and shift like liquid light. Its eyes glowed, twin stars that burned with cold fire.
It raised a hand, and the crowd collectively gasped as the rubble around the plaza began to rise, hovering in the air as if weightless. The figure's voice echoed, not with words, but with a sound that resonated in Lirion's mind—a chorus of whispers and distant thunder.
"Do you hear it?" Maerlyn murmured, his eyes wide.
"Hear what?" Lirion asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"The Veil. It's singing."
The figure stepped forward, its gaze locking onto Maerlyn and Lirion. The whispers in Lirion's mind grew louder, forming words now—fragments of a message.
"The thread unravels. The weave breaks. Restore... or perish."
The light flared, blinding in its intensity. Lirion shielded his eyes, but even through the brightness, he saw the figure raise both arms. The hovering rubble began to spin, faster and faster, forming a vortex around the crater.
Then, with a deafening roar, the light exploded outward, a shockwave that sent Lirion tumbling to the ground.
When the light faded, the figure was gone, but the plaza had changed. The crater was now a deep, spiralling chasm, its edges glowing faintly with the same golden light. From its depths came the low, rhythmic hum of the Veilstream itself, pulsing like a heartbeat.
"What does it mean?" Lirion asked, his voice trembling.
Maerlyn stared into the chasm, his face pale. "It means the Veilstream isn't just faltering," he said. "It's fighting back."
And far beneath them, something stirred in the depths of the Veil, its awakening heralding the next stage of the Sundering.