The city of Veredros still bore the scars of recent conflict—crumbling stone, melted spires, and streets cracked open by displaced aether. But beneath the ruined skyline, something even more dangerous was brewing.
In the restored lower chamber of the Crucible Guildhall, Alaric stood in silence, a flickering flame hovering above his outstretched hand. It wasn't just heat—it was sentient, pulsing with a rhythm that mirrored his heart.
The Fire Core within him had grown volatile, whispering fragments of forgotten incantations. Ever since the last battle, something had shifted. The flames obeyed—but with reluctance. As if testing him.
"Still hearing voices from your inner inferno?" Kael asked, arms crossed, a grin half-hidden beneath his storm-patterned cloak.
Alaric smirked. "Only when I sleep. Which, thanks to the last few days, isn't often."
Kael stepped closer, his own aura humming with lightning-infused wind. "Good. Because you're not going to like what the scouts brought back."
He unrolled a map, placing it on the obsidian table between them. Three red markers pulsed—each one placed atop once-stable cities. Now, nothing remained but void-scarred craters.
Lysera entered just then, armor dusty, her glaive still dripping with aetheric ichor. "Another Titan shrine is destabilizing. We felt tremors from three leagues away. I think Maeryn is trying to trigger another convergence… early."
Alaric's jaw clenched. "He's not strong enough yet."
"He doesn't need to be," Lysera replied. "He's just the match. The shrine itself is the pyre."
A thick silence settled between them.
Alaric finally turned away from the table and paced. "The Voidbinders want the world off balance. These artificial convergences—Maeryn's fusion—they're pushing the fabric of aether itself too far."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "How far is too far?"
Alaric snapped his fingers—and for a heartbeat, nothing happened. The fire didn't respond.
Everyone noticed.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But something's resisting. Like a lock that used to open easily but now keeps snapping back."
Lysera gave him a sharp look. "Or like a force deeper than the Titans… starting to stir."
They all turned to the center of the chamber, where the Crucible Codex lay. Its stone surface had begun to crack. A glyph none of them recognized pulsed along its spine—a warning.
Kael frowned. "I thought the Titans were the apex."
"They were," Lysera said softly. "But what if they were... protectors too? Not just monsters, but wardens. If Maeryn breaks the balance, what's behind the lock might not stay locked."
A low rumble ran through the floor.
Alaric grabbed his blade—Solbrand, the flame-tempered longsword forged in the core of a fallen star. Its edge shimmered with reactive runes—now sparking erratically.
"We don't have time," he said. "The next shrine Maeryn's targeting is near Skarth Hollow. That city's sitting on a leyline nexus. If it falls—"
Kael finished for him. "The entire continent fractures."
Alaric nodded. "Then we move now."
As they gathered their gear, a scout burst into the chamber, panting, eyes wide.
"A message... from Lord Varen."
The name alone darkened the room.
"He requests an audience," the scout said. "And he's not alone. The Royal Court has begun emergency mobilization. They think war is inevitable. Not with Maeryn—"
Alaric narrowed his eyes. "—but with us."