Fractured Worlds : Antiquity of Zephyra

The frozen lake cracked beneath his feet. Eryndor stilled, the sharp sound echoing across the vast, silent expanse of the Northern Glaciers. His breath formed misty clouds, but his gaze stayed fixed on the jagged line snaking its way across the ice beneath him. He had crossed this lake countless times before but never had the ice betrayed him.

He was a child of the Sapphire Region, his pale skin almost blending with the icy expanse that surrounded him. His cheeks, rouged by the bitter cold, gave him a perpetually youthful look, though he carried the quiet determination of someone older than his years. Wisps of white hair peeked out from beneath his thick fur hood, frost catching on his eyelashes. His hands, calloused from years of labour, gripped his walking staff tightly as though they could anchor him against the unease settling in his chest.

Eryndor had always been happy in his work, simple as it was. He had been entrusted with walking the perimeter around the base of the toughest of all Zephyrians: the Leaders of the Warden. To him, they were legends—symbols of strength, wisdom, and resilience. That he, an ordinary villager, could serve them filled him with pride every day. His task of watching the frozen expanse, of ensuring the integrity of the glacier paths, felt like an honour few could claim.

But now, that pride was eclipsed by fear. The ice had cracked.

This ice, steady and unyielding for centuries, had never cracked—not in all the years of Zephyra. The stories of the Northern Glaciers spoke of their unbreakable strength, forged by the winds of eternity and reinforced by the cold itself. What could this mean?

Eryndor’s heart raced as he crouched low, his gloved hand brushing over the crack. The fracture seemed unnatural, the edges smooth and faintly glowing, as if something beneath the surface had caused it. His breath quickened, forming a cloud in the air, as he peered deeper through the ice.

At first, he saw only shadows—the blurred outlines of the lakebed. Then something caught his eye.

He rubbed at his eyes, blinking hard. The frost clinging to his lashes made it difficult to focus, but the shape became clearer. His stomach twisted in disbelief. There, beneath the ice, lay a staircase, descending into the depths of the frozen lake.

“A staircase?” he whispered aloud, his voice trembling. It didn’t make sense. There were no ruins here, no structures beneath the glaciers. At least, none that anyone had ever spoken of. And yet, there it was—wide steps carved from shimmering blue stone, vanishing into the dark waters below.

His legs felt frozen in place as a thousand questions raced through his mind. Where does it go? Who built it? And why here, in this place of eternal frost?

The glacier groaned again, the sound reverberating like the growl of a waking beast. Eryndor stumbled back instinctively, his staff slipping from his grasp. He caught himself before falling, his gaze never leaving the eerie glow beneath the ice. The frigid air pressed against his skin, but the chill that gripped him now was not from the cold.

He took a shaky step back, but his curiosity burned brighter than his fear. Whatever lay beneath the surface, had been hidden for countless lifetimes. And now, for reasons he could not yet understand, it was calling to him.

He took a cautious step back, his boots crunching softly against the fragile surface. The air felt different here, charged and heavy, as though the glaciers themselves were holding their breath. Eryndor glanced at the horizon, where the twin suns cast long, pale shadows across the icy expanse, their light flickering faintly on the jagged edges of the crack. Something was wrong.

Gripping the horn strapped to his side, Eryndor brought it to his lips. The cold metal stung his skin, but he blew hard, sending a deep, resonant call echoing across the frozen expanse. The sound reverberated through the icy stillness, a low and mournful note that seemed to awaken the land itself. He pulled the horn away and waited, his breath forming soft plumes in the chilled air.

They’ll come, he told himself, his heart pounding with both urgency and excitement. The villagers would hear the call, and most importantly, the Leaders of the Warden would come. He knew not to venture further—his duty was clear—but curiosity gnawed at him. His eyes kept drifting back to the faint outline of the staircase below. The glowing steps, carved so deliberately, seemed to beckon him.

As he waited, his mind began to wander, weaving possibilities for what might lie on the other side of the mysterious stairs.

He imagined the stairs leading to a grand hall submerged beneath the ice, its walls gleaming with crystalline light. Towering pillars of frozen sapphire supported a ceiling etched with swirling constellations. Perhaps this was the fabled realm of the elemental spirits themselves, a hidden sanctuary where they had withdrawn to escape the chaos of the Age of Dusk.

In his vision, he saw Zephyrians gathering here, their faces illuminated with awe as they beheld the spirits. The spirits, ancient and immense, would speak in voices like rushing winds and roaring waves, revealing secrets of creation and power beyond mortal comprehension. This place could be the key to restoring Zephyra’s connection to its elemental roots, a bridge to the forces that had once sustained their world.

Another thought crept in, darker and colder. What if the staircase led to a prison, a place where something unspeakable had been locked away long ago? He pictured shadowy forms writhing beneath the icy depths, chained and bound by magic older than the Prime Circle itself.

In his daydream, he imagined the steps descending into a cavernous abyss, where the air itself trembled with malice. Perhaps these were beings of destruction, sealed away by the Prime Circle to protect the Cycle. Their release could mean the unravelling of Zephyra, a descent into chaos from which there would be no return.

Eryndor shivered, clutching his staff tighter. What if my discovery brings ruin instead of answers?

The final vision bloomed in his mind, filling him with equal parts wonder and dread. The staircase could lead to a portal, a threshold into an entirely new realm. He imagined stepping into a world untouched by Zephyra’s Cycle, a place where the twin suns did not shine and the rules of nature were unknown.

In his vision, he saw strange creatures roaming under an alien sky, and rivers of light flowing through forests of crystal. This world could hold the answers to questions Zephyrians had pondered for millennia—or it could be a realm of danger, where stepping too far might sever the bonds of the Cycle itself.

The sharp crack of ice pulled Eryndor from his thoughts. He glanced down at the staircase again, its glow faint yet unrelenting, as if daring him to take the first step. He tightened his grip on the horn and blew another note, longer this time, the sound carrying across the frozen wasteland.

“Hurry,” he muttered under his breath, his eyes darting between the distant horizon and the glowing fissure beneath his feet. The villagers, and more importantly the Leaders of the Warden, had to come quickly. Eryndor knew he couldn’t explore this alone, but the questions clawing at his mind were impossible to ignore.

For now, all he could do was wait, his imagination stirring as he stood guard over the discovery that could change everything.

Behind him, the faint hum of voices broke through the eerie stillness. The Leaders of the Warden were returning, their figures dark against the blinding whiteness of the snow. They had travelled far, weary from their journey back from Eldergrove, where they had stood alongside the Anumi in the final great battle against the Salveth.

It had been a battle to define the future of Zephyra, where the Anumi had transformed the very fabric of existence. The Anumi’s victory had not only vanquished the Salveth for the last time but had reshaped the world itself, granting every Zephyrian the choice to determine their own destiny. From that moment on, each soul could choose its path: to reincarnate and continue the Cycle, to enter the void and move beyond existence, or to embrace life anew as a First Soul.

Though victorious, the Leaders of the Warden appeared battered and worn, the weight of their journey etched into their faces. Yet there was a quiet joy among them—a shared pride in having defended their world and secured the freedom of choice for all. Their steps, though heavy, carried the faint echo of triumph as they neared the outskirts of their village, eager for rest and the comfort of home.

But as the familiar sound of the horn reached their ears, echoing across the frozen expanse, their weary expressions shifted. The horn was not a call of celebration or welcome; it was an urgent summons. Though their bodies longed for respite, they knew the horn’s cry would not grant them rest.

The Leaders exchanged glances, their exhaustion momentarily pushed aside. Whatever awaited them, demanded their attention. Their pace quickened, boots crunching against the snow, as they moved toward the sound, the faint glow of the Sapphire Temples in the distance a reminder of their enduring duty to Zephyra.

A chorus of voices carried across the icy expanse as the villagers approached the crack in the lake, their excitement and relief palpable. The returning Leaders of the Warden, flanked by villagers, exchanged welcoming grunts and clasped arms in recognition of their shared victory. The atmosphere, despite the bitter cold, was warm with camaraderie. Their return meant the war had been won, and for a brief moment, the weight of exhaustion was forgotten.

Riven, standing at the edge of the crack, turned as the others gathered. “We’ve won, Eryndor,” she said, a rare smile tugging at her lips despite her weariness. “Zephyra’s free.”

Eryndor nodded but quickly raised his hand for attention, his expression serious. “I’m glad you’ve returned victorious,” he began, his voice steady despite the tension in his chest. “But I didn’t sound the horn to celebrate.”

The gathered crowd quieted, sensing the urgency in his tone. The Leaders of the Warden exchanged wary glances, their fatigue momentarily forgotten.

“I was doing my usual rounds,” Eryndor continued, his words deliberate. “Checking the perimeter like always. Everything seemed normal at first. Then, the ice cracked beneath me.” He gestured toward the jagged fissure in the lake. “I’ve crossed this lake hundreds of times—it’s never cracked before.”

Murmurs rippled through the group. The villagers and wardens alike knew the ice here was legendary for its strength, unyielding even in the face of the harshest summers.

Eryndor swallowed, his breath misting in the cold air. “It wasn’t just a crack,” he said, pointing toward the open space in the ice. “Look closer.”

The group stepped cautiously forward, peering into the abyss below. The spiralled staircase, glowing faintly, descended into the water, its smooth, otherworldly steps curving into darkness. Gasps echoed among the onlookers.

“What in Zephyra…” Riven murmured, her voice trailing off as she knelt at the edge for a better look.

The crowd stood frozen in awe. This was unlike anything they had ever seen. Even in a land rich with the magic of the elements, the staircase seemed otherworldly, as though it didn’t belong to their world at all.

The leader of the Warden, a grizzled yet commanding figure named Vaelric, stepped forward, his gaze narrowing as he examined the fissure. His armour, though battered from war, glinted faintly in the pale light of the twin suns. “Eryndor,” he said, his deep voice steady, “you did well to sound the horn. This… this is beyond us.”

Vaelric turned to one of the younger wardens, a trainee named Maren, whose wide eyes betrayed both fear and excitement. “Maren,” Vaelric commanded, “run to the Sapphire Temple. Inform the Elder Kaili of what we’ve found. Tell them to search the passages, the scriptures—anything that might explain this.”

Maren hesitated only for a moment before nodding and sprinting toward the village, her boots kicking up snow as she vanished into the distance.

The group remained gathered around the fissure, the glow of the staircase casting faint reflections on their faces. Eryndor stood at the edge, his heart still pounding from the memory of nearly falling into the abyss.

“What do you think it is?” one of the villagers asked, breaking the uneasy silence.

Vaelric’s expression was grim as he answered. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice low. “But whatever it is, it’s not of this world. Nothing like this has been recorded in the history of Zephyra—not even in the oldest texts we studied in the temples.”

The murmurs grew louder as theories swirled through the group. Some wondered if it was a gift from the Prime Circle, a remnant of their ancient power left behind. Others feared it could be a gateway, a path to something far more dangerous than anything Zephyra had ever faced.

Eryndor took a step back, his pulse steadying now that the leaders and villagers shared in the weight of his discovery. “I felt it,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “The ice wasn’t just cracking. It felt alive.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. The leaders and villagers exchanged uneasy glances, the implications of Eryndor’s statement settling over them like a thick fog.

Vaelric finally spoke, his voice firm. “No one ventures down there until we understand what we’re dealing with. When the Elder Kaili arrives, we’ll decide our next steps. For now, we stand watch.”

The group nodded in agreement, but the tension among them was undeniable. As they began organizing a perimeter around the fissure, the faint hum of the glowing staircase seemed to grow louder, as if it, too, were waiting for something—or someone—to descend.

The air around the fissure grew colder, a biting chill that even the thickest cloaks couldn’t ward off. Despite their layers, the villagers and wardens huddled closer together, their gazes fixed on the staircase spiralling into the unknown depths. A faint hum emanated from the crack, barely perceptible at first, but now growing stronger—like a vibration that seemed to pulse through the ice beneath their feet.

Vaelric frowned, stepping closer to the edge with deliberate caution. He leaned over, peering into the depths, his expression grim yet focused. “It’s not just glowing,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “It’s pulsing—alive, just as Eryndor said.”

The gathered villagers exchanged uneasy glances. The leaders, though visibly tired from the journey, stood steadfast. Their presence was a grounding force, even in the face of something so inexplicable.

“We should move back,” Riven suggested, gripping her staff tightly. Her sharp eyes darted between Vaelric and the crack, her unease evident. “If the ice is unstable, we’re putting everyone here at risk.”

Before Vaelric could respond, the hum intensified, the sound resonating with a low, melodic frequency that seemed to vibrate through their very bones. The staircase’s glow brightened momentarily, casting eerie shadows across the faces of those gathered.

Then it happened.

From the depths of the crack, a single light emerged—small and faint, yet undeniably there. It hovered just above the surface of the water, shimmering like a star caught in motion. The crowd collectively stepped back, gasps breaking the silence. The light pulsed softly, its glow reflecting in the wide, astonished eyes of the onlookers.

“What… what is that?” someone whispered, their voice trembling.

Eryndor, standing closest to the edge, felt his heart race as he stared at the light. It seemed to shift and move, almost as if it were alive, responding to their presence. It hovered for a moment, then slowly began to ascend the staircase, step by step, toward the surface.

“Get back!” Vaelric barked, his tone commanding. He raised a hand to signal the others, his stance protective. “No one approaches until we know what this is.”

The crowd obeyed, retreating several steps as the light rose higher. By now, it had taken on a clearer form, resembling a small orb, its surface swirling with faint hues of blue and silver. It was beautiful, mesmerizing, and yet deeply unsettling.

Eryndor couldn’t help but take a single step forward, his curiosity overwhelming his caution. The orb seemed to react to him, glowing slightly brighter as he moved closer. “It’s… it’s not hostile,” he murmured, though his voice wavered with uncertainty.

Riven grabbed his arm, pulling him back sharply. “You don’t know that,” she snapped, her voice low and urgent. “We don’t know anything about it.”

Vaelric turned to one of the senior wardens, a woman named Serel, whose calm demeanor often masked a deep reservoir of wisdom. “Serel, you’ve studied the elemental magic closest to the Sapphire Temples,” he said. “Does this seem familiar to you?”

Serel shook her head, her brow furrowed in concentration. “No,” she admitted. “It feels… ancient, but not in the way of the Prime Circle. This is something different. It doesn’t align with anything we’ve encountered.”

As the orb reached the surface, it hovered still for a moment, its glow steady and rhythmic, like a heartbeat. Then, as if in answer to a silent question, it pulsed once more, and a soft, resonant voice filled the air.

“You have found the passage,” it said, the words clear yet otherworldly, as though they were being spoken directly into each person’s mind. “The veil is thinning. Will you cross?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with implication. The crowd was silent, stunned. Vaelric stepped forward, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his blade. “Cross to where?” he asked, his voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air.

The orb pulsed again, its glow intensifying. “To the place where worlds converge. Beyond the Cycle. Beyond the void. Will you see what lies on the other side?”

Eryndor felt his pulse quicken, the weight of the question pressing down on him. This was far beyond anything he had ever imagined when he first saw the staircase. The villagers murmured nervously, some stepping further back, while others leaned in, as though drawn by the orb’s enigmatic promise.

Vaelric turned to the group, his expression grim but resolute. “No one takes a step until the Elder Kaili arrives,” he commanded. His voice carried the weight of authority, and the crowd stilled. “If this passage is what it claims to be, it’s not a decision we make lightly.”

The orb remained suspended above the staircase, its glow steady as if patiently waiting for an answer. Eryndor couldn’t tear his eyes away, the allure of the unknown tugging at him with an almost magnetic force. For now, all he could do was wait, his heart pounding in anticipation of what the Elder Kaili might reveal.

Eryndor’s gaze locked onto the orb, the world around him fading into a distant haze. The rhythmic pulsing of its light seemed to align with his heartbeat, and the longer he stared, the stronger its pull became. A voice—soft, lilting, and undeniably feminine—slipped into his mind, like a whisper carried on the wind.

“Eryndor,” it called, warm and inviting, each syllable weaving through his thoughts like a melody. “Come closer. Come and see.”

He took an unconscious step forward, his boots crunching softly against the ice.

“Eryndor, stop!” Vaelric’s voice boomed across the frozen expanse, sharp with command.

Eryndor hesitated but only for a moment. The voice in his mind grew stronger, drowning out everything else. “They don’t understand,” the voice purred. “But you… you’ve felt it, haven’t you? The curiosity, the longing. Come closer. Let me show you.”

Vaelric took a step forward, his hand tightening on the hilt of his blade. “Eryndor! Do not move another inch!” he barked.

The others looked on, frozen in uncertainty. No one dared approach Eryndor, their fear rooted in the unknown power of the orb. His movements seemed unnatural, almost mechanical, as though he were walking in a trance.

“Why isn’t he listening?” Riven hissed, gripping her staff. Her sharp eyes darted between Eryndor and Vaelric. “He’s not himself.”

“I don’t think he can hear us,” Serel murmured, her voice tinged with unease. “Whatever is happening… it’s not normal.”

Eryndor took another step, then another, his movements slow but deliberate. The crack in the ice loomed closer, the faint hum of the orb growing louder with each step he took.

“Eryndor!” Vaelric shouted again, his voice desperate now. “Stand down!”

But Eryndor heard nothing except the woman’s voice, soothing and insistent. “Don’t be afraid,” she whispered. “You were meant for this. Step into the light and all will be revealed.”

The orb pulsed brighter, casting an ethereal glow that painted the ice in shimmering shades of blue and silver. Eryndor stepped to the very edge of the crack, his foot hovering over the abyss.

“Someone stop him!” a villager cried, panic lacing their voice.

“No,” Vaelric said, raising a hand to halt anyone from approaching. His jaw clenched. “We don’t know what will happen if we interfere.”

Before anyone could act, Eryndor took one final step. His body moved as if guided by an unseen force, and he walked directly into the orb.

The moment his body touched the light, it flared impossibly bright, a blinding flash that forced everyone to shield their eyes. The orb pulsed violently, sending a shockwave of energy rippling through the air. When the light dimmed and the group dared to look again, Eryndor was gone.

“Eryndor!” Riven shouted, rushing to the edge of the crack. She scanned the glowing staircase below, but there was no sign of him. The orb hovered where it had been, its light now faintly pulsating again, as though nothing had happened.

The voice of the orb returned, calm and unyielding, repeating its earlier refrain. “You have found the passage. The veil is thinning. Who will cross to the place where worlds converge?”

Riven’s knuckles whitened as she gripped her staff. “What did it do to him?” she demanded, glaring at Vaelric.

Vaelric’s expression was grim, his shoulders heavy with the weight of responsibility. “We don’t know,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “But whatever this place is, it took him. We can’t act blindly.”

The orb pulsed again, the voice unwavering. “The veil is thinning. Who will cross?”

The crowd murmured in fear and awe, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of questions and uncertainty.

“Why does it keep asking the same thing?” one villager whispered.

“Because it doesn’t care about us,” Serel said softly, her gaze fixed on the orb. “It only cares about what lies on the other side.”

Vaelric stepped forward, raising a hand to silence the crowd. “No one approaches the crack,” he commanded, his voice resolute. “Not until the Elder Kaili arrives. We will not lose anyone else.”

Despite his words, the group couldn’t tear their eyes away from the orb, its pulsing light both mesmerizing and foreboding. Somewhere, beyond the veil, Eryndor was gone—pulled into a place none of them could comprehend.

The orb pulsed softly, its light casting an otherworldly glow over the gathering. Among the crowd, another villager stepped closer, their expression a mix of curiosity and trepidation. A young woman named Amara, known for her inquisitive nature, tilted her head as if straining to hear something just beyond the edge of perception.

Her gaze locked onto the orb, and the faintest flicker of a smile crossed her lips. “It’s calling to me,” she murmured, almost dreamlike. Her body leaned forward, her feet inching toward the crack.

Vaelric’s sharp eyes caught the movement instantly. “Amara!” he barked, his voice cutting through the hum of the orb. “Stay back!”

But Amara didn’t respond. Her steps were slow, and deliberate, her arms falling loosely at her sides as if she were a puppet on invisible strings. The orb’s light brightened slightly, pulsing in rhythm with her movements.

“Amara!” Vaelric shouted again, his tone more desperate. “It’s happening again! Everyone, retreat now!”

The villagers froze for a moment, their fear paralyzing them, but Vaelric’s commanding voice snapped them into action. “Back to the village! No one stays here! Go!”

The crowd scrambled, retreating from the fissure in a flurry of boots crunching against snow and hurried, panicked breaths. Wardens and villagers alike fled, their faces pale with terror as they looked back at the crack and the glowing orb that had already claimed one of their own.

Vaelric turned his attention back to Amara. She was now dangerously close to the edge, her movements eerily similar to Eryndor’s just moments before. Her lips parted, and her voice emerged in a whisper, distant and filled with awe. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “It wants me to follow. I can see it…”

“Amara, stop!” Vaelric bellowed, stepping toward her. His hand shot out, gripping her shoulder with the force of a seasoned warrior.

Her head snapped up as if waking from a trance. She blinked, her expression momentarily confused. “Vaelric?” she said softly, her voice trembling.

“Yes, it’s me,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You’re not thinking clearly. Step back—now.”

But the orb pulsed again, and Amara’s eyes glazed over. She began to pull against Vaelric’s grip, her movements frantic as if she were fighting him to reach the light. “It’s calling me!” she cried. “Let me go! I have to see it!”

Vaelric’s jaw tightened, his grip unyielding. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said, his voice harsh with resolve. “No one else falls into that abyss.”

Behind him, the last of the villagers and wardens disappeared into the distance, fleeing toward the safety of the village. Vaelric turned his head just enough to shout after them, “Do not return without a Kaili! Do you hear me? No one comes back here without them!”

The remaining crowd vanished into the snowy horizon, leaving only Vaelric and Amara at the edge of the glowing crack. The orb’s pulsing light intensified as if angered by its interrupted pull.

Amara’s struggles subsided as she sagged against Vaelric, her breaths coming in shallow gasps. He pulled her back from the edge, his body shielding her from the crack.

“I won’t let it take you,” he muttered under his breath, his voice a mix of anger and determination. “No one else is going to vanish today.”

The orb pulsed again, its rhythmic hum filling the icy air. “The veil is thinning,” it intoned, its voice unwavering. “Who will cross to the place where worlds converge?”

Vaelric glared at the orb, his hand still firmly on Amara’s shoulder. “Not today,” he growled, his words a promise to both the orb and the abyss below.

As Amara’s trembling subsided, Vaelric straightened, his eyes scanning the empty horizon for any sign of the Kaili. He would stand his ground, alone if necessary, to ensure no one else fell victim to the enigmatic force waiting in the depths.

Vaelric’s grip on Amara’s shoulder loosened as she regained her composure. Her breaths came fast and shallow, her cheeks pale beneath the frost-kissed flush of the cold. “You’re safe now,” he said firmly, his voice low but reassuring. “I need you to run back to the village. Let them know you’re unharmed and that I’m staying here to keep watch.”

Amara hesitated, her wide eyes flickering toward the glowing fissure. “But what about—”

“Go,” Vaelric cut in, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We’ve already lost one. I won’t risk losing another.”

With a final nod, Amara turned and began her run toward the distant outline of the village. Her form soon disappeared into the snowy horizon, leaving Vaelric alone with the strange crack in the ice and the faint hum of the abyss below.

The orb, as if sensing its prey slipping from its grasp, pulsed violently one last time before retreating. It descended into the staircase, its light fading as it disappeared into the depths. The air grew still, the faint vibrations that had filled the space now silent.

Vaelric exhaled heavily, his shoulders sagging with the weight of exhaustion. He positioned himself far from the crack, settling onto the frozen ground with his back against a jagged outcrop of ice. His sword lay unsheathed at his side, a silent warning to anything—or anyone—that might emerge from the fissure.

As the hours passed, the icy wind carried whispers of the glacier’s stillness, but nothing stirred near the staircase. Night fell, and the twin suns dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky cloaked in darkness speckled with starlight. Vaelric’s head nodded as weariness overtook him, the cold biting at his resolve even as sleep claimed him.

The first light of dawn broke over the horizon, casting long shadows across the frozen expanse. Vaelric awoke with a start, his hand instinctively reaching for his blade. He looked around quickly, but the crack remained undisturbed, its eerie presence as unnerving as the day before.

He glanced back toward the village, his brow furrowing. No one had come. No Kaili, no wardens, no message from the Elder. The silence stretched uncomfortably, pressing against him like the weight of the glacier itself.

As he rose and dusted the frost from his cloak, a figure appeared on the distant horizon. Vaelric squinted against the morning light, recognizing the hurried movements of someone running toward him. His heart quickened, and he began to move toward them, his boots crunching against the snow.

The figure grew closer, and he recognized Maren, the young warden-in-training he had sent to the temple the day before. Her face was flushed, her breath visible in the frigid air as she stumbled to a halt before him.

“Maren,” Vaelric said sharply. “What news do you bring?”

The young woman shook her head, her expression grim. “No good news, Commander,” she panted, catching her breath. “The Elder of Sapphire has searched every archive, every scripture we possess. There is nothing—no record of the ice in the North ever cracking, let alone revealing a staircase.”

Vaelric’s jaw tightened, his gaze turning toward the fissure in the ice. “Nothing at all?”

Maren hesitated, then shook her head again. “Not in our temple’s archives. The Elder believes the answers may lie elsewhere—in the other temples’ records. They’ve sent messages to the Elderfrove, Galehaven and Elvron archives, but it will take time to gather anything concrete. Until then…”

“We hold the line,” Vaelric finished grimly. He glanced back at the fissure, its faint glow visible even in the daylight. The thought of leaving it unguarded, even for a moment, was unthinkable.

“Yes, Commander,” Maren confirmed. “The Elder has instructed us to keep guard here until more information can be found. They’re assembling teams to search the other temples. But it could take weeks, even months, to uncover anything.”

Vaelric’s grip on his sword tightened. “Then we’ll stand watch,” he said firmly. “If this staircase is tied to something ancient, something forgotten, we cannot afford to let it out of our sight.”

Maren nodded, her expression resolute despite the unease flickering in her eyes. “I’ll report back to the Elder with your decision.”

Vaelric turned back to the fissure, his shoulders squared against the cold wind. The hum of the orb still lingered faintly in his mind, a constant reminder of the mystery that lay beneath the ice. “Go quickly, Maren,” he said. “And tell the Elder to hurry. I don’t trust this place to remain silent for long.”

As Maren took off toward the village, Vaelric settled back into his post, his gaze fixed on the glowing staircase. The winds whispered across the glacier, carrying with them the weight of an ancient secret waiting to be unearthed.