Darkness moved across the world—not as a threat, but as its guardian.
They walked in silence.
No hymns named them. No scriptures praised them. Yet in the deepest places—where balance held its breath—they acted.
Eleven Elemental Gods, born not for worship but to guard the fragile current of existence. They called themselves nothing. The world called them myths. But among themselves, they knew what they were:
The Silent Order.
Vaelyra Infernocrown stood at the edge of a dying rift, her crimson blade still glowing. She watched the last spark of a forbidden reality flicker and vanish into the void. Her eyes, golden like a searing dawn, narrowed.
"Another breach," she muttered.
Thamior Cradleroot arrived beside her, towering and steady. The earth beneath him pulsed in rhythm with his breath. "It tried to rewrite gravity. Had we not arrived—"
"It would have torn the realm apart," Vaelyra finished.
They stood in the quiet aftermath of destruction—one they had caused, but for the world's survival.
Behind them, Elanora Shatteredtide emerged from a fading portal, water pooling at her steps, her sky-blue hair flowing unnaturally still.
"We've erased another threat," she said. Her voice was calm, yet weary. "And still, no one will ever know."
Thamior tilted his head. "That is the oath."
Elanora turned her gaze toward the Cradle—an arcane construct of swirling light suspended in the sky's deepest tier. "But lately, the silence feels... heavier."
"Something ripples beneath it," Vaelyra agreed. She sheathed her blade with a hiss. "I can't name it. But I can feel it. Like we're being watched."
Elanora shivered. "Not by mortals. By something older."
And high above them, far beyond the clouds, the Cradle pulsed once—then dimmed.
A sign none of them understood yet.
But it would change everything.