Eryndor awoke to silence.
No hum of the city.
No flicker of the neon signs outside his apartment window.
Only the faint, rhythmic pulse of something deeper — like a heartbeat beneath stone.
He tried to move.
Couldn't.
The air was thick, almost fluid. His breath came in silver trails, vanishing into the black void surrounding him. Then came the voice — not loud, not soft, but inside his thoughts.
"You're awake… child of the Vessel."
A cold shiver crawled up his spine.
He remembered — Kael, Rykas, the laughter in the old academy halls… and then — the light. A flash, gold and violent. Then this.
"Who are you?" Eryndor managed, his voice cracked and small.
The void rippled.
From the dark, a figure emerged — tall, elegant, almost ethereal. His eyes glowed faint amber, his robes flowing like liquid shadow.
"Names are burdens, Eryndor Vale. For now, call me Liorath."
The name pulsed in his head — like a thread woven into his memories.
He tried to recall where he had heard it, but his mind felt edited, as if someone had written over parts of him.
"I— I don't understand. Where am I?"
"You stand between realms. The crossing. A place where time forgets to move."
"Your world calls it a dream. We call it… opportunity."
Eryndor's eyes adjusted. Shapes began to form — floating shards of glowing crystal, each showing flickers of images. Kael's face. His grandparents' house. The academy courtyard. Rykas training under the storm lights.
He reached out, trembling.
"Why are you showing me this?"
Liorath's lips curved faintly.
"Because you have been lied to all your life, Eryndor. The Vessel — your brother — holds what should have been yours."
"My… brother?" The words stung, half remembered, half foreign.
"You were separated. Hidden. The old king's blood was split — one chosen, one discarded. You, the shadow born to serve the light."
A spark of anger flared behind Eryndor's eyes. He didn't know why, but it felt true. Somewhere deep in his bones, it made sense.
Liorath stepped closer, resting a cold hand on his shoulder.
"Do you remember the night your parents vanished?"
Eryndor froze.
A faint flash — a memory like broken glass —
flames, screaming, Kael's silhouette, and golden fire swallowing the walls.
Liorath whispered,
"He killed them, Eryndor. The Vessel's power awakened that night — uncontrolled, yes, but death is death. And now the world honors him, not you."
The black around them began to swirl, becoming molten gold streaked with orange veins.
Eryndor's breath quickened. The anger began to eclipse reason.
"That can't be— Kael would never—"
"Would he not?" Liorath's tone softened, almost fatherly. "Ask yourself why your name is forgotten while his is whispered in the winds of Voltixol. Why he grew in light while you rotted in shadow."
Eryndor clenched his fists.
The crystals around him cracked.
"I don't… I don't want to believe you."
"You don't have to. You will see."
Liorath raised a hand, and the shards swirled violently around Eryndor. One by one, they merged into his skin — burning, freezing, rewriting his essence.
Power flooded him — Fire and Lightning. But twisted. Warped by something ancient.
He screamed, but no sound escaped.
Only energy.
Only pain.
When the light faded, Eryndor fell to his knees — gasping. The black void was gone. He was standing in the ruins of an old city — ancient towers cracked and floating midair, suspended in dark amber mist.
The sky above was shattered, pieces of Eryndor's homeworld bleeding through — the broken sigil of the Mother Oil carved faintly into the clouds.
Liorath's voice echoed once more, distant but clear.
"Welcome home, Eryndor Vale. You've returned to where it began — to Eryndor, the dying realm."
Eryndor stood, his body trembling, eyes flickering with gold and crimson light.
He whispered, voice low and uncertain,
"…Kael… what did you do?"
The wind carried his words across the ruins, where shadows began to gather — tall silhouettes, eyes glowing from beneath hoods.
Warriors of the Noctyrae, ancient descendants of the dark kings.
One of them stepped forward, kneeling before him.
"Prince Vale. The council awaits your command."
Eryndor stared — disbelief, confusion, and pride wrestling inside him.
He didn't remember being anyone's prince.
But somehow… it felt right.
And above the shattered sky, Liorath's whisper curled like smoke:
"Now, let's begin to take back what was stolen."