The Astriferra groaned as its ethereal sails caught the fractured wind. Elara gripped the rail, the stars above wheeling in dizzying arcs as the ship cut across a storm-lit sea. The night sky had never looked more unstable. Where constellations once shimmered with comfort, now they twisted, half-forgotten names and dislocated shapes, whispering strange patterns.
"Tell me again," Ithiriel said, limping over with her cloak wrapped tightly. "Why are we heading to Solumar? The fortress hasn't been touched since the Skybreak."
"Because," Elara replied, "the last Seer still breathes within those ruins."
Cassian crossed his arms, eyes scanning the constellations. "If the Fulcrum was erased by the Pact itself, then only a Seer might remember the parts time forgot."
Ithiriel snorted. "Or go mad trying."
"That's a risk we'll take," Elara murmured.
Solumar rose the next dawn—an island of black stone, jagged cliffs rising from seafoam like the ribs of a giant long dead. The fortress itself clung to the peak, carved from obsidian and star-iron, half-collapsed into the waves from the blast of the ancient war that had sundered the Houses of Air.
Elara shivered.
The closer they came, the more the air buzzed with pressure—like time itself resisted their arrival.
"Anchor her," Cassian ordered.
The ship's spectral anchor plunged into the surf, catching on nothing physical but holding all the same.
They disembarked onto the slick stone, wind howling like forgotten names.
Inside the fortress, silence reigned.
No birds. No insects. Just the creaking of ancient steel and the sighs of old ghosts.
They lit lanterns enchanted with starlight.
Hallways sprawled like veins through the blackened heart of the keep. Paintings were burned beyond recognition. Murals of constellations had cracked under fire. There were remnants of celestial maps—torn and weather-stained—still nailed to rusting chart tables.
It wasn't until they reached the Skyward Observatory that the presence made itself known.
"You shouldn't be here."
The voice came from behind a broken telescope, shadowed by hanging moss and smoke-rimed glass.
A man emerged.
Old, yet somehow untouched. Robes of twilight hues clung to thin shoulders. His eyes were clouded white—but they fixed on Elara like he saw everything.
"I am Vesryn," he said. "The last Seer. You bring war in your shadow, girl."
"I bring questions," Elara said, stepping forward. "And I think you have the answers."
Vesryn sniffed. "So did the last ones. And I sent them away."
Cassian stepped beside her. "We're not here to take anything from you. We want to remember what the Pact tried to erase."
"Dangerous memories."
"Necessary ones," Elara said.
Vesryn studied her.
Then, with the weariness of centuries, he turned and walked deeper into the observatory.
"If you wish to glimpse the Unseen Threads," he said, "you'll need more than courage. You'll need to pay."
Elara and Cassian followed.
The chamber at the core of the observatory was unlike anything Elara had ever seen.
It wasn't a room. It was a rift—circular, with no ceiling, only open sky overhead. Floating discs of mirror-glass hovered at various heights, orbiting a glowing obelisk inscribed with star-script.
"Welcome to the Vault of Forgotten Threads," Vesryn said.
"What is this?" Cassian asked.
"A memory engine. One built before the Pact. It can show you the truth—but not without cost."
"What cost?" Elara asked.
Vesryn turned to her.
"You must trade a memory of your own—one you treasure. It will be sealed here forever."
Elara's throat tightened. The image of her father—laughing in a summer field with her, pointing out Jupiter's moons—rose like a wave.
She hesitated.
Cassian stepped forward. "Let me."
Elara grabbed his hand. "No. I'll do it."
She stepped into the circle.
The obelisk pulsed. One of the mirror discs broke from its orbit and floated down before her. Her reflection stared back—trembling, uncertain.
"I offer… this," she whispered.
She closed her eyes and let the memory go.
Warmth. Laughter. The scent of lilacs and copper.
Gone.
When she opened her eyes again, she felt hollowed—but the mirror glowed.
And then it showed her.
The Forgotten Fulcrum. His name was once Kaelen Solgrave, a prince of the House of Sky, born with the rarest Thread—Balance.
He was the fulcrum between all Houses.
The one the Pact was built around.
But he disagreed with its foundations. Said it hoarded magic. Caged stars. Controlled souls.
So he rebelled.
He tried to unravel the Pact—not to destroy the world, but to free it.
And for that, they erased him.
Not by blade or fire.
By forgetting.
Even the stars were rewritten.
Elara staggered back as the mirror cracked and shattered.
Vesryn caught her.
"You've seen what lies buried," he said. "Now what will you do?"
"I'll find Kaelen," she whispered. "And I'll finish what he started."
Cassian stepped forward. "Then we do it together."
Vesryn handed Elara a shard of the broken mirror.
"This will lead you to where he's bound. But beware—those who unseal the truth often shatter themselves."
Elara took it.
Her fingers bled where it touched skin.
But she didn't flinch.
Back on the Astriferra, the storm had calmed.
The stars had rearranged again.
But Elara no longer feared them.
Because now, she understood.
They weren't maps.
They were memories.
And she would follow them—across oceans, across worlds, to the place where Kaelen Solgrave waited.
Buried not in stone or tomb…
…but in time.