Snow fell like whispers.
A white silence stretched across the northern realm of Veyrn — a land of mountains, frozen lakes, and cities carved into ice. The sun barely rose now, casting only pale light through gray skies.
In the distance, a traveler moved alone, wrapped in furs and shadow.
It was Corren.
His breath fogged as he reached the edge of a cracked glacier. He knelt beside a shattered stone — its surface marked with symbols older than the shards themselves.
A warning was carved in runes:
"Beneath the frost lies the forgotten flame.And beneath the flame, the last gate."
Corren stood slowly.
Behind him, a roar shook the ice.
Far away, in the southern skies…
Kael stood atop a skyship, wind in his hair, flames flickering at his fingertips. The vessel soared above the clouds, headed north. A letter was folded in his coat:
"Corren's gone to Veyrn. The ice is breaking. Something is waking.I'm already on my way. – Serin"
Kael looked to the horizon.
"It's starting again," he muttered.
He wasn't afraid.
Not anymore.
Elsewhere:
Lira had been studying an ancient underground river that once fed the north. Now, it had frozen completely — but stone walls beneath it still glowed with emberlight.
Serin rode the wind to the mountains of Veyrn, guided by storms and whispers in the air. The wind carried stories — of villages vanishing in the night… of shadows with no heat.
In Solkara, Raeh stood in the Temple, watching a new star appear in the northern sky — one that pulsed, not with fire, but with frost.
"A sixth power," she said softly. "Or the memory of one."
Deep beneath the frost…
In caverns no fire had touched for a thousand years…
Something moved.
A being made not of flame — but of ice and memory.
Bound in chains of silver.
Eyes closed.
Until now.
Crack.
One eye opened.
And the cold began to rise.