Part I – The Rubble of Silence
The sky above Elzareth was gray, thick with dust and ash.
Among the ruins of what had once been one of the continent's most imposing fortresses, a man walked in silence. His steps were slow, deliberate. His black cloak, frayed at the edges, barely moved in the cold wind blowing through the collapsed towers.
Alexander watched.
The walls were shattered, split in multiple places by fractures in the ground. The side towers leaned at dangerous angles, as if some titanic force had toppled them with a single blow. The main entrance was buried in debris, and the stone bore scars—carved by blades and teeth.
Everywhere, silence.
But not peace. Only the echo of disaster.
Amid the ruins, a few survivors moved slowly. Some limped, others wore blood-stained white bandages. Only a few dozen remained: women, children, elders… and a handful of men in tattered armor.
Sheets covered bodies.
Scattered in the courtyards and collapsed chambers, soldiers and civilians lay in repose, hands clasped—or still clutching what they had tried to protect. A mother and child under the same filthy shroud. A mage, with a broken staff pressed to his chest.
Alexander showed no emotion, but his amber eyes captured every detail with meticulous attention.
A wounded young noble sat near a broken fountain, speaking softly:
"They held out… four days. Until he came."
"Thorgan?" asked one of those present.
The noble nodded without raising his gaze.
"The Stone Abyss. He walked through the walls as if they were sand.
Lord Caelum faced him… he died buying us the time to escape."
Another chimed in:
"He collapsed the North Hall to slow him down.
He died there. But… he saved us."
Alexander crouched beside a fallen column, examining a broken rune.
He touched it with two fingers, as if trying to sense the memory within the stone.
"Four days… not bad."
"Lord Caelum… was not without worth."
But he said nothing.
He passed by a group of children huddled beneath a tarp. One of them looked up. Their eyes met for a moment. The child looked away.
Alexander moved on.
The wind rose, carrying with it dust—and the muffled whisper of what had once been life.
At the top of a collapsed staircase, he stopped.
Before him stretched the surrounding landscape: fissures, hills warped by battle, trees uprooted like straw.
His gaze turned distant.
As if searching for something… or someone.
"Another piece has been moved. But not by me."