The air within the cavern shimmered with unnatural warmth, lit by pulsing veins of vaelstone embedded deep in the blackened walls. Their light wasn't steady—it throbbed, like a heartbeat, casting flickers of pale violet across the faces of Alexios and Amir.
The two sovereigns stood in silence, the ancient murals and crumbling runes around them still humming from the moment of their deciphering. The echoes of prophecy still rang in their minds, louder than any sword-clash or battle horn. "The Dead Shall Rise When the Crown Meets the Spear," it had said. And below that, a line burned into Amir's mind: "The blood of the living shall be the bridge."
"What does it mean?" Amir broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper.
Alexios stepped forward, running his fingers across the mural's charred edge. "The Spear… could be a symbol, or it could be real. But I don't think we stumbled onto this cave by accident."
"You think we were drawn here."
Alexios nodded slowly. "Or tested. We're part of the prophecy now, whether we like it or not."
Amir looked down at his calloused hands. "I built my kingdom to survive sand and sun, not cursed magic from dead empires."
"And yet here we are," said Alexios. "Two rulers born in peace but bound by war."
Amir turned to face him. "Do you believe this prophecy is true? That the Elyari dead will return if the relics are united?"
Alexios gave him a grim smile. "I believe the world is still bleeding from wounds it never healed. We're just starting to see the rot."
Silence again. Deeper this time. Like the earth itself was listening.
Then Amir extended his arm.
"Then we must stop it. Together."
Alexios looked at the hand. He hesitated—just a moment—but then clasped it with his own.
The pact wasn't loud. No trumpets, no written scrolls. But the cave rumbled softly, as though it recognized the alliance.
"I swear by the Flame and the Sky," said Amir, "that I will not pursue war for conquest. I will build a future where my people live beyond twelve summers."
Alexios nodded, and repeated the vow: "And I, Alexios of House Helion, swear by the Fire of the Spear and the Ash of the Crown, that I will not seek glory through bloodshed. I will lead to unite—not divide."
As their hands parted, the mural behind them shimmered again. A new line appeared, unseen before.
"When the Builders rise and the Flames are tempered, the Curse shall weaken. The Fast Lives may yet be slowed."
Alexios sucked in a breath. "It's not just about war. It's about the curse."
Amir's eyes lit up. "You think we can break it."
"Or at least begin to."
Then a low crack split the air above them.
The ceiling above shuddered. Dust fell. The volcano trembled. The two kings exchanged a look—then bolted, sprinting up the winding path they had descended hours ago.
As they emerged from the cave into the gray light of dusk, the sky above them flared in colors of molten orange and stormy blue. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The volcano hadn't erupted, but something had shifted.
Far to the east, Thalia felt it too.
She stood in her moon-garden, barefoot on the dew-kissed stones, when the wind changed direction. Birds rose in spirals from the towers. The silver chimes rang without breeze.
In her hands was a scroll from Ramses, describing the success of their latest aqueduct—already spreading water to three nearby hamlets. But even her celebration paused. Something in her gut twisted. A weight she hadn't felt since her childhood, when her grandmother spoke of the Elyari's fall.
She set the scroll down, eyes scanning the horizon toward the distant mountains.
Meanwhile, back on the plains of House Myrian, Isis walked along the riverbanks with her elder brother, her cloak rippling in the wind.
"There's unrest in the south," he said grimly. "Bandits skirmishing near Ravina's trade routes. Julia's spies are rumored to be stirring dissent again."
Isis listened, but her mind was elsewhere. She had begun having dreams—of fire, of wolves with eyes of vaelstone, of a shadowy army walking across a scorched island. In each dream, Alexios stood alone on a cliff, a black spear in hand, crying out her name before being swallowed by flame.
Her grip tightened on the hilt of the dagger at her hip.
"We'll need allies, soon," she murmured. "Not just for survival… but for something greater. Something darker is coming."
Back near the volcano, Alexios and Amir stood on a rocky ledge, wind buffeting their cloaks. From here, they could see miles of unclaimed lands—burnt forests, broken ruins, endless plains where no Fast-Lived dared settle.
"Do you trust the others?" Amir asked.
"Some of them," said Alexios. "Astrid. Thalia. Isis. Ramses."
"And Julia?"
"I trust that she will always put herself first."
Amir gave a sharp, humorless laugh. "Fair enough."
Then Alexios turned to him with a new fire in his eyes. "We need to formalize what we've started here. Not just pacts. Not just trade. A charter. An alliance."
"A resistance," Amir said.
"No. A foundation."
They sat by the edge of the cliff until night fell.
Stars glimmered overhead, and in their shared silence, they began to name each star after the lost kingdoms of old. They did not know all the names. No one did. But the act itself was symbolic. Restorative.
As they parted ways, Amir gave Alexios a scrap of cloth—a design sketched hastily with soot and ink. "A banner," he said. "You'll need one."
Alexios smiled. "You really think I'll lead this alliance?"
"I think someone has to."
As Amir disappeared into the sands below, Alexios looked down at the cloth in his hand.
A sun, split in half, with fire and ash curling on either side.
Beneath it, a single word in old Elyari script: Saeloria.
"Endure."
And far, far away in a candlelit room lined with scrolls and mirrors, Julia watched the stars flicker with her spies' lenses. She smiled faintly.
"The game begins," she whispered.
But she had no idea how much was already in motion.
No idea that under the frostbitten towers of Cassandra's kingdom, Orlan had begun recruiting.
No idea that Ragnald had opened the scroll.
And no idea that the Dead were already stirring beneath the stone.