Far from Eryndor—
Beyond shattered lands and dying forests—
A kingdom still stood.
Velmora.
A city carved into silver mountains, protected by ancient sigils and a barrier woven from pure arcane will.
Here, magic was not feared.
It was law.
And within its highest tower—
She stood.
Lyra Voss.
A name spoken in both admiration and quiet fear.
At nineteen, she had already broken three sacred laws of magic—and rewritten two.
Her silver-threaded cloak fluttered as she stood before a circular array of glowing runes, her sharp eyes fixed on the distortion forming at its center.
The air trembled.
Then—
The image appeared.
A broken sky.
A kneeling creature.
And a boy standing before something that should not exist.
Lyra's breath slowed.
"…So it's true," she murmured.
Behind her, an older man stepped forward—Archmage Seredin, keeper of Velmora's forbidden archives.
"You see it too," he said quietly.
Lyra didn't look away.
"That's not a distortion," she said. "That's a presence."
Seredin's expression darkened.
"Then we are already too late."
The image flickered—
And for a brief moment—
Azael Veyr looked directly through the projection.
At her.
The connection shattered instantly. The runes exploded outward, forcing Lyra back as the chamber filled with burning light.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
Lyra stood slowly.
Her heart was racing—but not from fear.
From certainty.
"That thing…" she said, voice steady.
"It's not invading."
She turned toward Seredin.
"It's returning."