Three days after the Flameborn crown was absorbed into Aria's soul, the mountain winds carried whispers of unease.
Not from the remnants of Heraldspawn, nor the broken forces that had once stood at the Void Gate—but from something deeper. Quieter. More insidious.
The land itself.
The earth trembled at night. Just enough to make torches flicker and stone moan under pressure. Birds flew in strange patterns overhead. Wolves refused to patrol alone. And even the oldest among the Flameborn began to speak of omens they hadn't heard in generations.
Aria sat in the Flame Council chamber, the triplets at her side, the other leaders gathered in a tight circle around her.
Kael stood first.
"We've received word from the southern clans," he said grimly. "A temple buried for over three hundred years has resurfaced from the sands."
"Resurfaced?" Marcus asked, brow furrowed.
"Torn upward," Kael corrected. "As if the earth itself was forced to bring it back."
