Prologue: The Last Prayer
The temple of Elandris stood at the edge of the world, where the cliffs fell into an endless void of churning starlight. It was said that those who stood on the temple steps could hear the whispers of the gods, though, for centuries, they had spoken nothing but silence.
Tonight, the silence broke.
High Priestess Veyna knelt before the altar, the golden sigils on her robes flickering with dying embers of divine power. Her fingers trembled over the sacred runes etched into the stone. The air crackled. The sky, once a peaceful tapestry of dusk, now swirled with shadows that moved of their own accord.
“This is wrong,” Veyna whispered. “The gods were sealed. They cannot return.”
A gust of wind howled through the temple, snuffing out the braziers. In the darkness, a figure stepped forward, clad in obsidian armor, his face hidden beneath a hood of blackened silk. The last time his name was spoken, it had been in warning, in whispered fears, in the fading memories of an age before this one.
“Priestess,” the figure said, his voice like steel on wet stone. “You call for them. But do you know what you ask?”
Veyna’s breath hitched. “I ask for salvation.”
The figure laughed, a hollow, mirthless sound. He raised his hand, and from his palm, a silver flame ignited, unnatural and cold.
“You ask for a war that should never have been forgotten.”
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