The stars above Thalenreach burned unusually bright that night—so bright, in fact, that they hummed.
Alaric stood in the upper sanctum of the Crucible Tower, the runes beneath his feet glowing faintly with every breath he took. His three affinities pulsed in concert around his core—Fire, Stone, and Chronoaether—perfectly harmonized, and yet something was still... missing.
It was in that moment, as his gaze turned upward toward the sky, that the Crucible spoke.
Not in words.
Not in sound.
But in dream.
His vision turned white.
He stood alone on a glass sea, stars above him spiraling in impossible constellations. In the distance, a tree of silver flame reached into the sky, its roots spreading into nothingness. Each branch held orbs of glowing light—some bursting, some flickering, some dimmed beyond salvation.
And then a voice—not the Crucible's, but older.
"There is a spark buried in the bones of the world. When flesh and flame and time unite, what remains... must be soul."
Alaric staggered back, the vision fading as the real world rushed back into him.
He gasped. His chest heaved. And then he understood.
The fourth core—his path to the Celestial Stage—was Soul.
And its awakening required more than battle.
It required memory. Loss. And the truth buried in the oldest ruin of them all: Solvane, the Cradle of Fallen Stars.
Far from Thalenreach, across the shadowed seas, Maeryn stood at the head of a blackened cliff, wind whipping her newly transformed cloak of living ash. Below her, the city of Vel Corvan burned. She didn't flinch as stone towers crumbled or as corrupted beasts howled through the streets.
The Voidbinder cult had asked for chaos. She had given them fire and silence.
But inside, something churned. The Titan's essence within her pulsed like a second heart. Hungry. Malicious. Unrelenting.
She had torn down a city with ease.
And still, in the echoes of the burning streets, she heard a voice that did not belong to the Titan.
"This isn't you."
She growled, shoving it down.
The masked figure appeared beside her, cloaked in reality's fractures.
"You've done well," he said. "Next, we move to Erenthall. Let them see what your mythborn rival cannot protect."
But Maeryn said nothing. She stared at the fire and hated that a part of her longed for someone to stop her.
Back in Thalenreach, Lysera moved quickly through the halls of the Citadel Archive, her robe still marked from the healing tents. She had pushed herself to exhaustion, not just from magic—but from diplomacy.
The city-states were nervous. The Council split.
But now, she had a lead: an ancient text referring to the Pilgrimage of the Fourth Flame—a rite of passage once undertaken by aether wielders who sought the soul's resonance. It had not been spoken of in centuries.
And the final entry?
"To seek the Fourth Flame is to pass through the bones of Solvane, where the sky once fell and dreams bled into stone."
She clutched the scroll tighter.
Alaric had to know.
They met that night beneath the Astral Gate, the moon hanging low behind them.
"You've seen it," Lysera said before he could speak.
He nodded.
"Solvane."
"Yes."
"And you're going."
"I have to." His voice was calm, resolute. "If I don't, I stay trapped. Strong, yes—but unfinished. Maeryn won't stop, and the Voidbinders won't wait. They know I'm close."
Lysera hesitated, then stepped forward and touched his chest. "Then let me come with you. You don't have to carry this alone."
Alaric's expression cracked, just slightly. He hadn't realized how deeply he'd longed for someone to say that.
"Thank you."
By morning, the city stirred with rumors.
The Voidbinders were on the move. Vel Corvan had fallen.
The Council scrambled to respond.
And the skies over Thalenreach shifted—because a Celestial Thread had reawakened.
Alaric and Lysera departed through the old gate, bound for Solvane—a mythic ruin left shattered during the First Titanfall, where the echoes of the gods still lived and the flames of soul could still be found.
Behind them, the realm braced for war.
Ahead of them, a truth waited in silver fire.
And above them, the stars sang.