The dwindling fire barely illuminated the camp, casting subtle, flickering shadows. The night remained tranquil, disturbed only by the occasional leaf rustling in the breeze and the soft crackling of the embers. Lyra and Viana rested on their bedrolls, swathed in their cloaks, the fire's warmth easing them into a profound slumber.Zarekth, ever vigilant, had drifted into a restless slumber, though his mind never fully left the surrounding woods. Even in sleep, his senses remained sharp, attuned to any threat that may arise.And something was coming.The unfolding events began with a mere whisper, a faint and fragmented murmur that hovered on the fringes of consciousness. Subsequently, the ambient temperature plunged, shrouding the camp in a chilling embrace, while shadows seemed to lengthen ominously. An array of peculiar sounds permeated the atmosphere: soft skittering, faint rustling, and indistinct murmurs, suggestive of a veiled observer, a silent presence lingering nearby. As

The towering gates of Valestra, the City of Scholars, loomed before them, their intricate carvings glinting faintly under the soft glow of enchanted lanterns. The gates were vast, an imposing wall of engraved knowledge and symbols of wisdom, as though every inch carried the weight of history. Beyond them, faint murmurs of life could be heard—footsteps, low voices, and the hum of magic weaving through the air.Zarekth, Lyra, and Viana approached cautiously, their journey weary yet purposeful. Two magicians, clad in flowing robes lined with silver runes, emerged from their posts near the gate, their staff glowing faintly with defensive magic. Their expressions were stern, their gazes sharp as they surveyed the strangers before them.“Halt!” One of them commanded, his voice as crisp as the cold night air. “Who seeks entry into Valestra? Strangers are not welcome without cause.”Lyra tensed, clutching her bow instinctively. Viana stepped closer to her, though her own knives were sh

Tharion carefully placed a weathered tome on the table, its aged leather cover showing cracks, accompanied by scrolls that exuded an equally ancient air. A solitary lantern illuminated the room, casting elongated shadows on the stone walls. Lyra and Viana, consumed by curiosity, leaned in closer, their eyes gleaming with interest. “Alright,” Tharion commenced in a scholarly yet eager manner, “let's delve into the fundamentals—how Nerathia came into existence.”Lyra, feigning composure despite the myriad of questions bubbling within her, rested her chin on her hand. The sense of anticipation surged through her, though she strived not to disrupt the narrative unfolding before her.Turning the fragile, yellowed pages of the book, Tharion's lips curled into a faint smile as his fingers delicately traced the text. It seemed as though he had traversed the tale countless times, yet still found marvel in its words.“An era preceding mortals, cities, or even the notion of time, Nerathia lay

The sun dipped low over Valestra, its light painting the towering spires of the city in soft shades of gold. In the heart of the City of Scholars, Lyra found herself trailing behind Tharion and Viana as they navigated the winding pathways of the lower archives. This particular area of Valestra lacked the formality of grand halls or ancient tomes. Instead, it was alive with chatter and the hum of day-to-day life.Tharion, ever the enthusiastic guide, gestured toward every sight that caught his eye. “And here, we have the Oracles’ Alcove! Some say the first scribes of Nerathia etched their prophecies right into the walls.” He paused, then grinned at Lyra. “It’s been said those who stand here long enough might glimpse their own futures.”Lyra raised an eyebrow. “Right. Because that’s exactly what I need—another headache to go with the whole ‘trapped in the past’ situation.”Viana chuckled softly, her arms folded as she watched Tharion practically buzz with excitement. “Maybe it’ll

“Come on! Hurry! You don’t want to miss this,” Tharion dragged Viana and Lyra along. “There’s a festival going on and you wouldn’t want to miss a Valestra Festival.”The city of Valestra pulsed with life, a rare festival sweeping through its streets like a warm breeze after a bitter winter. The vast courtyards were transformed into dazzling stages where mages performed illusions that painted the air with ribbons of light. Magicians captivated onlookers with feats of dexterity and mischief, while scholars gathered in circles, locked in animated debates and games of riddles. The air was alive with laughter, music, and the hum of magic, a stark contrast to the usual solemnity of the ancient city.Lyra moved through the crowd, her steps light and unhurried. At that moment, she found herself unable to recall the previous instance when she experienced such unburdened joy. Stopping by a performance area, she observed a magician orchestrating illusions of legendary beings swaying and gle