The chamber of the Elven Synod stood at the heart of Selanor, its crystal spires buried deep within the roots of an ancient leyline.
Light shimmered from suspended lanterns, drawn not from fire but from threads of raw essence braided and shaped by ritual.
The assembled magi sat in a crescent of tiered seats, robed in colors denoting lineage and priesthood, their faces sharp, their voices sharper still.
Normally the chamber carried the reverent hush of liturgy. Tonight it was an echoing cage of whispers.
The spies had returned from afar.
What they carried was not treasure, not artifacts, but knowledge more dire than any weapon.
Caedrion Ferrondel, conqueror of Emberhold, scourge of Ignarion, had vanished from Dawnhaven not long after his triumph.
Vanished, and reappeared not in any realm of men but in the coils of her.
Thalassaria Virelleth, Queen of Submareth. Sovereign of the Shivering Sea.
