Kael slept through the tremors.
Elira did not.
She sat awake long after the pulses faded, her eyes fixed on the moss-covered walls of the ruin. The ground had spoken, and though it said nothing in words, its warning was clear:
Something beneath the Lower Realm had begun to stir.
At dawn, she left the others sleeping and walked.
The mist had thinned to strands of silver. The trees whispered more softly now, the air charged not with threat, but with expectation.
The pool she had found once before still waited. Black. Still. Reflective.
She approached carefully.
The moment she stepped close, the surface shimmered.
A vision bloomed.
Not a city this time.
A gate. Ancient. Tall as a mountain and carved from obsidian veined with stars. It pulsed like a heart, sealed by runes Elira did not know.
Before it stood two figures.
Not Kael. Not herself.
But children.
The twins.
Older.
One with light in hand. One with darkness.
As the gate opened, the vision broke.
Elira fell back, breath shallow.
The pool was still.
But the future had spoken.
And the Lower Realm was listening.