A sudden, violent tremor erupted from the dark void, tearing through the Shadowfell with the force of a hurricane. Everything was collapsing, being torn apart, and obliterated at an alarming speed, as if the world were coming to an end.
An invisible shield of shadows instantly sprang up, tightly enveloping the entire city of spirits. But it wasn't enough to withstand the fierce, formless shockwaves. The city swayed like a fragile boat in a stormy sea, tossing and turning uncontrollably. Its sleeping inhabitants were jolted awake, confused and terrified, unsure of what was happening.
After what felt like an eternity, the tremors gradually subsided. The city of spirits stabilized once more, still hovering in mid-air, as the shadowy barrier faded away completely. On the surface, everything seemed to have returned to normal.
But it was all an illusion.
In the solemn silence of the spirit lord's palace, where no light dared to penetrate, an old man sat on a grand throne, his left hand supporting his chin as he gazed into the darkness, lost in thought.
Soft footsteps echoed as someone entered the room.
The elderly figure turned slightly to look at the newcomer.
"As you predicted, sir, Lady Night has left the Lost Temple," the visitor said, bowing low, his voice respectful yet hushed.
"Where is she?" the elder asked bluntly.
"She is currently unaccounted for, but I believe she is on the Material Plane," the visitor replied, a hint of cunning in his tone. "Her priests can no longer reach her."
The elder raised his eyes slightly to meet those of his loyal assistant, who stared ahead blankly as if he hadn't spoken.
"Continue, Hohjanana," the elder commanded.
"Perhaps Lady Night has abandoned her devoted followers, including Aiglarre, or she is unable to respond to their prayers," Hohjanana's voice was cold and rigid, lacking any inflection, though his pace quickened subtly.
"But who could accomplish such a feat?" the elder countered, dismissing the first possibility Hohjanana had mentioned. "Who could banish the Goddess of Night from her own domain and cast her down to the Material Plane? Tyr? Lathander? Or... could Amnenna have been resurrected?"
"I do not know," Hohjanana admitted honestly.
"Even if Amnenna were resurrected, she wouldn't be capable of this," another voice interjected, youthful yet clear, elegant and gentle, with a subtle edge. A young man emerged slowly from the shadows, draped in a gray cloak, bowing deeply before the elder and Hohjanana. His handsome face bore eyes like twinkling stars in the night sky, and his lips curved into a faint, confident smile.Embroidered on his gray wizard's robe, over his chest, was a peculiar symbol: a red background with three mountain peaks outlined in black, atop which shone a silver orb.
"Lady Night is one of the most powerful deities in the realm," the youth continued. "No being could exile her—except for That One."
He didn't name "That One," for he didn't know it either. Yet, the three present understood whom the youth referred to—an existence known only by its absence, yet undeniably present.
"Something we don't know, but must exist."
"Exile?" the elder shook his head slightly. "Perhaps this is just a minor setback for Lady Night. After all, we don't yet know the truth, Breanas. We shouldn't jump to conclusions."
"That's not the point," the youth maintained his smile. "Whether Lady Night has encountered a minor accident or a major crisis; whether she has been exiled to the Material Plane or suddenly slain by Lathander—though the latter is highly unlikely—it doesn't matter. What truly matters is that she can no longer control the City of Spirits."
The elder nodded slightly. Yes, regardless of what had happened to Shar, she could no longer maintain the iron grip she had held over the City of Spirits for over a millennium.
"Regardless," Hohjanana shifted the conversation, "this is an opportunity."
"Opportunity," the elder murmured, his gaze shifting back to the youth.
The young man nodded slightly. "This is an opportunity, Father."
"With Lady Night gone from the Shadowfell, her priests have lost all divine powers," the youth explained slowly. "No one will stand in our way now, not even Revlan. This is a chance that comes once in a thousand years, Father."
The elder nodded slowly, giving Hohjanana a slight gesture. The assistant bowed and withdrew quietly.
"In spring, seeds are sown, but in autumn, grain may not always be harvested," the elder mused aloud, almost to himself.
"Yet hope can still be reaped," the youth smiled faintly, bowing deeply once more. When he straightened, his figure had already dissolved into the shadows.