The wind carried the scent of scorched earth and morning frost as Mo and Aylen descended from the cliffs of the Spiritforge.
Below them stretched the wide basin known on old maps as Moon Vale—a vast, highland plain scarred by ancient magical impacts, now home to nomads, exiles, and creatures twisted by the Fall of the Second Seal.
Mo stared across the cracked terrain, noting the shattered remains of silver stones jutting from the ground like teeth. The land felt wrong—like a chord half-plucked. The Azure shamshir buzzed against his spine, responding to the residual power in the air.
Aylen spoke quietly. "Moon Vale was once part of the Lunalim Empire. The second seal was buried here. The Flame Sect broke it five years ago."
Mo clenched his fists. "That's why the sky feels heavy?"
"No. That's because something is still here. Watching."
She didn't elaborate. She didn't need to.
---
They passed into a ravine choked with thornbark trees, their leaves silver and violet. Strange blue fireflies buzzed between the gnarled trunks. Mo's senses stayed sharp—he could feel the subtle pressure of watching eyes.
Suddenly, from the trees, voices.
"Drop your packs and stand down, skywalkers."
Six figures stepped out, wrapped in moonhide cloaks and bearing weapons of bone and spiritglass. Their leader, a woman with ghost-pale eyes and ash-colored skin, pointed a crescent spear at Aylen's chest.
Aylen raised a palm, calm. "We're not Flame. We're Skybound."
The woman narrowed her eyes. "And the boy?"
Mo stepped forward, placing his hand on the shamshir. "I carry the Azure."
That made them pause. The woman glanced at her second—an older man whose jaw was marked with ritual glyphs.
"Azure blood," he muttered. "In Moon Vale, after all this time…"
---
They were brought to a hidden cavern beneath the ravine, where spectral crystals hummed in pillars of light. The pale-eyed woman finally spoke her name: Senna Vey, Warden of the Cracked Moon Clan, survivors of the Lunalim Empire.
"We remember when your kind fought the Titans," she told Mo. "And we remember the betrayal that followed."
Mo didn't understand. "Betrayal?"
Senna's eyes narrowed. "You think the Flame Sect rose from nothing? No, boy. The war wasn't won. It was bartered. The elemental bloodlines gave up the Titans' power to secure peace. And in doing so… they abandoned those of us who bled for them."
Aylen stiffened, but said nothing.
Mo felt the weight of that accusation. For the first time, the myths he'd been fed as truth felt… incomplete.
Senna walked closer and touched the Azure shamshir. Her hand trembled, and for a moment, the cavern filled with distant echoes—battle cries, dragon roars, the clash of wind and fire.
"You're not him," she said, meaning Mo's father. "But maybe that's not a curse."
---
That night, Senna agreed to show them the ruins of the Second Seal. They traveled by moonstone sled, pulled by horned drakelopes, across cracked marble plains and silent valleys haunted by pale flame.
They reached it by dawn: a crater rimmed in obsidian, within which stood an ancient mechanism—a ten-story column of skyglass shards wrapped in iron roots.
Mo approached, and the Azure shamshir responded. The column lit with runes, flickering like a heartbeat.
"This was the Seal of Flesh," Senna said. "It kept the Titan Vornak from returning."
Aylen whispered, "He was the Lord of Shape. The one who twisted minds and bodies alike."
Mo stepped to the edge. "But he's gone?"
"No," Senna said. "He sleeps. But his dreams… twist the world around him."
Mo felt a tug—deeper than magic, older than speech. The Titan's remnants were calling to him, testing him.
And somewhere beyond the veil of sight, he knew: Vael was drawing closer.