Even after the fires had died, the mountain still breathed smoke.
By the time Maren returned to the inner sanctum, the girl—Eloryn—was gone. Not vanished like a ghost, but moved with purpose, walking barefoot through the ancient tunnels beneath the ruined temple. The guards refused to follow. Even the bravest of them stood back, eyes wide with old fear.
"She went down into the Veins," whispered one of the acolytes. "Where the old blood of the mountain flows."
Maren lit a crystal-lantern and followed.
The Veins of Tirael were forbidden. Older than the temple above, they were once used in the earliest rites—when the Oracles spoke not to kings but to the stars themselves. The deeper he descended, the more he felt time unwind around him. The walls of the stone corridor pulsed faintly, etched with forgotten runes, each one humming like a heartbeat.
After what felt like hours, he found her.
She stood at the edge of a vast chamber, black as obsidian, where a pool of molten starlight churned like living fire. The Starwell.
"You shouldn't be here," she said without turning. "Even in your time, the priests were barred from this place."
"You brought fire to the temple," Maren said. "You destroyed the Mirror, called yourself the last Oracle—and now you walk the oldest path. If I am to understand, I must see it through."
She looked over her shoulder. "Then see."
She raised her hand, and the Starwell surged with light. Images danced across the flames—crowns forged and broken, cities crumbling into dust, children taken from their mothers and branded with the Oracle's mark.
"The prophecy," she said, "was never meant to serve kings."
Maren stepped forward, eyes locked on the vision. "Then what was its purpose?"
"To warn," she replied. "To break the cycle. The stars show all that might be—but the Order twisted it into fate. They turned our visions into law."
She turned to face him fully, and he saw a strange mark glowing faintly at the base of her neck—an ancient constellation in the shape of an open eye.
"I gave the prophecy that crowned the False King," she said. "And I was reborn to take it back. But I cannot do it alone."
Maren's voice was barely a whisper. "You want me to help you undo a prophecy written in the High Tongue?"
"I want you," she said, "to help me burn the Book of Stars."
The room shuddered.
"Burn it, and the futures it bound will collapse. The war will never begin. The bloodlines will break. But the cost will be great."
Maren stared at the flames. "You would unmake what has already been set in motion."
"I would free it," she said. "And this time, I will not burn alone."
Above them, the mountain groaned. Far away, a bell tolled in the ruined temple—three times. A warning.
Someone was coming.
****************