Echoes of the Forgotten Dawn

The rain had not stopped by morning. It fell in fine sheets, not heavy enough to soak through clothes quickly, but persistent—cold, needling, and strangely silent. No thunder. No lightning. Just the steady hush, like the world had wrapped itself in a wet shroud.

Aela and Kael moved quickly through the undergrowth, packs slung over their shoulders, mud clinging to their boots. The pendant and shards pulsed softly against Aela's chest, wrapped tightly in layers of cloth inside her jacket. The crystal seemed to thrum louder now, as if reacting to something just beyond the veil of what she could perceive.

Neither of them had spoken much since the rift appeared. Since the Severed One spoke.

> "Three days until the Dawn breaks again."

That voice echoed in her thoughts as they trekked eastward through the forest. According to Kael's map, their destination wasn't far—a place called Virellan's Spine, a jagged stretch of land known for old ruins, dead ground, and no known survivors. It was also, allegedly, where the third shard was buried.

"If we're lucky," Kael had said earlier that morning, "the place is still dormant."

"And if we're not?" Aela had asked.

"Then we'll know before we see it."

Now, hours later, Aela wished she had asked more.

---

The trail narrowed as they climbed a ridge. Below them, in the fading morning mist, a ruined structure revealed itself—half sunken into the earth, with spires like broken teeth piercing the fog.

It looked like a church once, though the architecture was strange—too angular, too precise. Windows were framed in mirrored stone, cracked and blackened. The roof had collapsed in sections, revealing moss-covered rafters and shattered glass glinting beneath the vines.

"Virellan's Spine," Kael murmured.

Aela stared down at it. "It looks... wrong."

"Most places do when time forgets them," he replied.

They descended the slope carefully, stepping over half-buried statues and bones—some human, others unrecognizable. At the base of the ruins, a circular courtyard lay cracked and overgrown. Symbols ran along the edges of the stone floor, glowing faintly as Aela approached.

Kael knelt and brushed his fingers over one. "Still active."

"Wards?" she asked.

"Markers. To repel Wraiths and Time-Thieves. But old. We can't trust them."

Aela moved to the center of the courtyard. As she did, her pendant grew hot.

The shards responded.

The third piece was close.

She closed her eyes and tried to listen—not with her ears, but with that strange part of her soul the echoes had always touched. She heard no voice, no whisper—only the sharp crack of breaking glass in the back of her mind.

When she opened her eyes, the courtyard was no longer empty.

A figure stood at the far end of the ruin.

Not a Wraith. Not a Guardian.

A girl.

Dark hair, a torn traveler's cloak, boots lined with silver buckles. Her hands were wrapped in worn leather, and a glowing crystal blade hung at her hip—just like the one Aela had seen in one of the vault visions.

But it wasn't the sword that made her freeze.

It was the girl's face.

Aela stepped forward slowly, breath catching.

"Sylen?" she whispered.

Kael tensed beside her. "You know her?"

Aela nodded. "She was my best friend. Before she disappeared two years ago."

The girl smiled, but it was not the smile Aela remembered. This one was sharper. Measured.

"Sylen" stepped forward. "Aela. You're late."