Seventeen years later.
Arielle of Ithrael learned early that the wind spoke when others were quiet enough to listen.
She stood on the cliff above the village, dark curls dancing wildly as the breeze whispered her name. Below her, stone houses slept peacefully, unaware of how fragile their peace truly was.
"Arielle!"
She turned. Her younger brother, Kael, ran toward her, breathless.
"They rang the iron bell," he said. "The elders are gathering. Again."
Arielle's stomach tightened.
The iron bell rang only for three reasons:
An invasion
A death
Or a prophecy
She already knew which one this was.
As she followed Kael down the winding path, the air grew heavy. The sky dimmed unnaturally, as though evening had arrived too early.
Inside the Great Hall, the elders stood in a circle. At the center lay an object wrapped in black cloth.
Elder Morien lifted his eyes when Arielle entered.
"The Veil weakens," he said. "And it calls for you."
Gasps echoed through the hall.
Arielle felt heat stir in her veins—the same heat she had hidden her whole life.
"What is under the cloth?" she asked.
Morien pulled it back.
A mirror.
But not glass.
Its surface swirled like living smoke.
"The Mirror of Realms," Morien whispered. "Lost for generations. Awakened tonight."
The mirror pulsed.
And reflected Arielle's eyes—glowing blue.