In the heart of a crumbling cosmos, where light was a fragile memory and shadows stretched across the remnants of existence, the dying star hung low in the sky. It pulsed faintly, a heartbeat echoing the death throes of a once-vibrant universe. Beneath its waning glow, the world of Kaelthrim lay broken, a shattered expanse of jagged obsidian plains and rivers of molten silver that whispered tales of a forgotten age.
Pan stood at the edge of a cliff, his silhouette sharp against the dim horizon. His eyes, pale as the moonlight that no longer existed, were fixed on the dying star. He clenched the hilt of his sword—a blade forged from the remains of a fallen comet—as the voices whispered in his mind. They spoke of duty, betrayal, and an ancient curse that tied his fate to the collapsing heavens.
"It is not your burden alone to bear," Raia's voice broke through the oppressive silence. She emerged from the shadows, her silver hair glinting faintly in the star's light. Raia, the Seer of Shattered Dreams, had always been the anchor to Pan's storm. Her presence was both a comfort and a reminder of what they had lost.
Pan didn't turn to face her. "This star—it's the last one, isn't it?"
Raia's expression was unreadable, but her silence spoke volumes. The stars had been vanishing one by one, each extinguished by an unseen force. Now, only the Dying Star remained, its light fading with each passing moment.
"We have to move," Raia said finally, her voice tinged with urgency. "Ayn and the others are waiting. The Key of Vield is our only chance."
"The Key won't matter if we're too late." Pan's voice was sharp, but the tremor betrayed his fear. He turned to Raia, his face a mask of determination. "Do you think this star will last another cycle?"
Raia hesitated, then shook her head. "No. We're out of time."