In the Bloody Stag tavern of Vyrn, Elarion was not idle. After sorting out his memories, he found out that his predecessor was originally waiting for a contact: a smuggler named Kirael, who claimed knowledge of the Key of Sypherion, a relic that could could create a portable dimension for it's user to hide in. It was well-sought by many who seemed to use it's power for their own purpose, yet never getting a lead on it's location yet he was been information on where to find it.to Still it would do wonders for him with his current situation. Looking into the dark from the windows, the port city seemed abuzz with rumors of rising tensions—empires like the Iron Dominion eyed Skyend's ruins for weapons, while Netherkin cults stirred in the shadows, seeking to exploit the chaos.
As the evening wore on, the tavern's din lights faintly glowed on masked figures approaching. A group of hooded figures entered, their cloaks bearing the Arcanum's insignia. Elarion's eyes narrowed beneath his hood; they were here for him, drawn by whispers of a rogue Seeker in town. His gloved hand tightened around the barely touched tankard, the runes on his robe flickering subtly. When the barmaid returned, he leaned forward,coin in hand,his voice a low rumble: "Here's payment for the ale,please tell the one-eyed sailor in the corner that the storm approaches. He'll know what to do."
The confrontation erupted swiftly. One Arcanum agent lunged, a dagger glinting with anti-magic runes. Elarion rose, his robe unfurling like wings of shadow. A pulse of Aetheric energy rippled outward, knocking patrons aside and shattering mugs. The agent froze mid-strike, only to be flying by the runes engraved in Elarion's robe. "You seek what you cannot control," Elarion murmured, his face briefly illuminated—his scarred forehead etched with a cross like glowing lines, eyes burning like distant stars. Another agent brought out a blade which instantly seemed to light up in flames. "Flame Blade," Elarion whispered to himself, well aware from his memories of the might of this seemingly mass-produced yet powerful relic. Avoiding the slash from the agent, he catapulted himself through the tavern window, escaping into Vyrn's fog-shrouded streets.
Elarion melted into the night, the unsealed Kainos mirror relic now in the shape of a crystal pendant, worn around his neck, warm against his chest. His journey was far from over; rather it was the very start, promising safety and yet peril. With his knowledge, he was ready to find a path for himself in this world that was brutal towards the weak. Elarion's path was now twofold: to secure the Key of Sypherion and to unravel the origin of this mysterious system. Was it a tool of salvation or a leash from an unseen master? The night held its secrets, and with infinite mana at his command, he was ready to face them.