The forest lay quiet under a pale morning light, its silence no longer foreboding, but reverent.
Smoke still curled upward from scorched earth where the battle had reached its peak, dancing in the golden sunbeams that filtered through the canopy. The charred outlines of the sigils that Seris had summoned still glowed faintly in the moss, seared into the land like sacred scars.
Kael stirred beneath the outstretched boughs of an ancient tree, his breathing shallow but steady. His shirt was tattered, stained with blood and sweat, but his hands were clasped loosely around Seris's fingers, who knelt beside him, her back resting against the same trunk.
She hadn't slept.
Her eyes—once so sharp and unyielding—were rimmed with exhaustion, but her expression was peaceful. There was a strange tranquility in their survival, in the quiet space carved between one war and the next. For a few stolen hours, they had been more than warriors. They had been together.
But peace was a fragile thing.
A ripple in the air broke her meditation, and Seris stood slowly, her senses sharpening like a blade being drawn. She felt the presence before she saw them—mounted scouts approaching through the trees, their auras cautious, trained. A sigil appeared in the air, flaring a bright violet just before three riders emerged.
They were from the Eastern Vanguard.
Leading them was Commander Lysira Valen—tall, dark-skinned, with silver-threaded braids and a gaze like polished steel. She reined in her horse with a flick of the wrist, eyes landing immediately on the burned ground, the crater where the void-being had been destroyed, and then on Seris.
"Report," Lysira said, voice clipped but urgent.
Seris straightened, her voice quiet but clear. "The source of the curse is gone. The creature that fed it… destroyed."
Lysira dismounted with practiced grace, walking across the charred battlefield with narrowed eyes. Her gloved fingers brushed over the burned sigils. "This is advanced arcane warfare," she muttered. "Old magic… no, older than that. This wasn't taught at the Academy."
"It wasn't," Seris replied, meeting her gaze. "It was remembered."
Before Lysira could respond, Kael groaned and sat up with a wince, clutching his ribs. The commander's eyes widened slightly. "Captain Kael? I thought you were stationed at the Western Front—how are you both here?"
Seris answered before Kael could. "Fate."
The word hung in the air, weighty with meaning no one could yet explain.
Lysira's tone darkened. "The High Council must be informed immediately. This was no ordinary skirmish. The entire magical field of this region has shifted—our wards are fluctuating, and our seers are panicking. They think something apocalyptic is rising." She narrowed her eyes. "Is it over?"
Seris exchanged a look with Kael. "For now," she said. "But it wasn't the end. It was the beginning."
---
Meanwhile, at the War Council Citadel…
The Council Chamber pulsed with tension.
Crimson banners hung like dried blood from the obsidian walls, and the central table—a massive ring of runestone—was already abuzz with magic. Illusory maps floated in the center, flickering with recent reports: collapsing ley lines, corrupted mana storms, sightings of strange beasts near sacred ruins.
High Chancellor Rhemar, an aged elf whose eyes burned with suspicion, slammed a hand against the table. "A singular magical event just shattered every defensive ward within a hundred-mile radius. Explain how that happens without triggering a cataclysm."
"We've traced the epicenter to the Whispering Glade," said Archmage Teylan, her voice measured. "It aligns with a convergence point. A relic site tied to the Echoes Era."
"Then someone's unearthed ancient weapons," Rhemar snapped.
"Or someone has remembered them," murmured the youngest councilor, Lady Veira, her silver eyes scanning the report. "The signatures here... stormfire and soulflame. Those magics are lost. Forbidden."
"No," said General Ulric, pounding a fist on the table. "Not lost. Not forbidden. Erased. We buried that knowledge for a reason—because of what they did to the world in the Rebirth War."
"They didn't do it," Veira said softly. "They were betrayed."
The table fell into tense silence.
Teylan sighed. "Commander Lysira is bringing the two responsible for the blast here. She believes they hold answers we no longer have."
Rhemar's mouth curled into a sneer. "Then they'd better start talking before I accuse them of treason against the balance."
---
Back at the forest edge…
Kael leaned heavily on Seris as they walked toward the makeshift transport portal the scouts had prepared. Lysira had insisted they return with her under direct escort. She wouldn't say it aloud, but her silence told them everything: their presence had shaken the realm's foundation.
"You okay?" Seris asked softly.
Kael gave her a lopsided smile. "I just fought a nightmare from the depths of time. I've had worse days."
Her lips twitched. "Liar."
They stepped through the portal—and the world blinked.
In an instant, they stood in the stone courtyard of the Citadel. Magic buzzed in the air, taut and suspicious. Soldiers stared. Mages whispered. The moment they arrived, they became legends—and threats.
Kael touched her arm. "We face this together."
"Always," she said.
The great doors opened, and the council chamber awaited.
They walked inside not as fugitives nor as relics of a forgotten war, but as the storm reborn—flame and lightning, past and present.
And as their footsteps echoed against ancient stone, so too did a prophecy stir in the back of Seris's mind—one she hadn't dared believe until now:
"When soul meets soul at the heart of flame, the world shall either be saved… or consumed."
---