The sky above was a deep purple, streaked with the remnants of an ancient moon that had shattered long ago. Where once there had been a perfect sphere, now there were only jagged fragments, floating like forgotten stars in a void that seemed both endless and claustrophobic. The Shattered Moon had become a symbol of the world's demise, a broken omen that hung above the lands, casting a pale, eerie light upon the earth below.
Alara stood at the edge of the ruin, her cloak billowing in the gusts that swept through the desolate landscape. In her hand, she gripped the Starblade, an ancient weapon forged from the heart of the moon itself. Its edge shimmered with silver-blue light, reflecting the fragments of the shattered moon as it slowly spun overhead.
It was said that the Starblade could mend the broken moon, that it could restore the balance of the world. But the stories had become distorted over time, twisted by those who sought its power. Few remembered the truth anymore. Alara had come to know it in her quiet studies, in the whispered voices of the old texts, the lost secrets of the world.
There was no fixing what had been broken. The moon was a mirror, and the land had reflected its ruin. The imbalance was too great.
And yet, Alara still held the blade.
She had been chosen, though she was unsure why. Perhaps it was because she was one of the last to remember what had once been. Or perhaps it was simply fate—an ancient design she could neither understand nor escape.
The ruins before her were once the Citadel of the Sky Kings, where the greatest minds of the ancient world had gathered. Now, it was little more than a crumbled skeleton of stone and metal, overgrown with ivy and forgotten by time. At its heart stood the Tower of Light, where the greatest secret of all was said to be hidden.
Alara stepped forward, the Starblade glowing brighter as she neared the tower. It was said that within, the Keeper of the Moon awaited, a being neither alive nor dead, bound to the ancient power that had once governed the skies. She had been called to this place, but what awaited her here was something even she feared.
The entrance to the tower was dark, the air inside heavy with dust and forgotten magic. Alara could feel the weight of the past pressing down on her, the echoes of lives once lived and lost. She made her way up the winding staircase, her boots echoing in the silence.
At the top, she found a chamber unlike any other. It was circular, with walls made of pale, opalescent stone that shimmered with a strange, shifting light. At the center, suspended in midair, was a large crystal, pulsing with a soft, steady glow. The shattered moon fragments hung in the air above the crystal, casting fractured reflections on the stone floor.
And there, standing before the crystal, was the Keeper.
She was an ethereal figure, her skin a pale silver, her eyes the color of the shattered moon above. She was both beautiful and terrifying, her form shifting with the light. The air around her seemed to hum with power, and Alara could feel the weight of her gaze.
"Alara," the Keeper spoke, her voice like the sound of wind through hollow bones, distant and mournful. "You have come far to seek the truth. But you do not yet understand."
Alara lifted the Starblade, its light growing stronger with each step she took toward the Keeper. "I understand enough. The moon is broken. The world is broken. The power of the Starblade can restore it."
The Keeper's lips parted in a faint smile, but it was a smile filled with sorrow. "The moon is shattered because it was never meant to be whole. It was a prison, Alara, a cage that held back the true nature of the world. Its destruction was inevitable."
"But—" Alara began, but the Keeper raised her hand, silencing her.
"You seek to restore something that was never meant to be restored. The moon's fall was the start of a great transformation, a necessary change. The moon was a symbol, but it was also a curse. The world you see before you is not a reflection of destruction—it is a reflection of rebirth."
Alara felt a tremor in her chest. She had always believed the world's ruin was something to be fixed. She had always believed that the Shattered Moon was the source of the world's suffering.
"But if the moon is the key to this rebirth, then why is the world so… empty?" Alara asked, her voice faltering.
The Keeper's eyes softened. "Because the world must first be unmade before it can be remade. The moon's pieces scatter, and with it, so too must the old world fall. Only then can a new world rise, one that will no longer be bound by the illusions of the past."
The Starblade flickered in Alara's grasp. She lowered it slightly, the weight of the truth settling in her bones.
"You have the power to stop the process," the Keeper continued, her voice heavy with the burden of knowledge. "You can restore the moon, but that will only delay the inevitable. The world will never change if you keep it tethered to the past. It will continue to break, again and again, until there is nothing left."
Alara felt a tear slip down her cheek, but it was not for the world she had known. It was for the world that could have been.
"Then what am I to do?" she asked, her voice breaking.
The Keeper stepped forward, placing a hand gently on Alara's shoulder. "Let go, Alara. Let the world fall as it must, and prepare yourself to see it reborn. Your role is not to fix what is broken. It is to witness what will come next."
The Starblade dimmed in her grasp, and for the first time in her life, Alara felt no need to fight, no desire to hold on to the past. She lowered the blade, and in the silence, she felt the moon fragments shift, the pieces moving in the air like a slow dance, scattered and free.
The Keeper's voice whispered one last time, "In the end, all things must be remade. The moon, the world, and you, Alara. You will be reborn, as the world will be. This is not the end—it is only the beginning."
Alara turned and walked out of the chamber, her heart lighter than it had been in years. The Shattered Moon above no longer seemed like a symbol of destruction. It was something else—something new, something that had not yet taken shape.
The world was not broken. It was only waiting to be remade.
And Alara, the Keeper of the Shattered Moon, would witness it unfold.