The night settled over Eldoria like a velvet cloak, thick with the scent of fallen leaves and distant smoke. Aris stood on the balcony of the palace-turned-gathering-hall, eyes scanning the horizon where the silver vines of the monument glimmered faintly under the moon.
The fragments had pulsed again that evening—more insistently than ever—each flicker of light a silent summons. She could feel it in her bones: whatever had awakened, it was calling to something ancient. Something patient. Something hungry.
A soft sound drew her attention—a whisper carried on the wind, delicate yet deliberate.
> "The crown… remembers…"
Her hand instinctively brushed the hilt of the dagger she no longer needed for survival but kept as a reminder that peace was never guaranteed. The wind twisted, curling leaves around her like a slow spiral, and then silence.
In the village below, fires burned bright. Liora had not returned, but rumors had already begun to stir among the people. Strange lights had been seen near the old ruins at the forest's edge, shadows moving against the moonlight in ways that no ordinary creature could manage. Eldoria was still, but it was a stillness pregnant with something waiting.
Aris's mind drifted to the Echo King. He had promised balance, yet the balance felt delicate now, as if one misstep could tip the scales. Her pulse quickened.
> "If the fragments call, then we must answer," she murmured.
Before she could move, a figure appeared at the edge of the balcony—a boy, no older than twelve, with silver hair that gleamed under the moon. His eyes were wide, almost pleading.
> "Princess Aris…" he said, voice trembling. "The shadows… they talk. They say the crown is coming back."
Aris knelt to his level. "Who told you this?"
> "No one… but I hear them. Whispering in the river, in the trees. They want the crown whole again."
The girl remembered that the fragments were scattered, each piece of the crown hidden beneath trees, rivers, and fields. But the boy's words chilled her. Some force—ancient and unseen—was stirring.
> "We will not let the past repeat itself," Aris said firmly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Gather the Dawn Circle. It is time to learn that vigilance is the new crown."
Above the river, the silver vines pulsed brighter, as though in agreement—or perhaps in warning. A whisper drifted on the wind, faint but unmistakable:
> "The veil thins…"
Aris stared at the horizon, chest tightening. The age of kings was gone, yes. But the age of shadows—patient, cunning, and ever watchful—had just begun.
And she would not face it alone.