Shrine of the Forgotten — Cursed Mountain, North of Kemetwa
Thunder cracked over the dark cliffs of the cursed mountain. The wind howled like a creature in pain. At its summit, where nothing had grown for centuries, stood the crumbling ruins of the Shrine of the Forgotten.
Within, Kaeshar the warlock traced a circle of ash on the ground, muttering words in an ancient tongue lost to time.
He was no ordinary sorcerer.
Kaeshar had once been a high priest of Kemetwa, banished for attempting to control the ancestral flame. He now lived between worlds — half spirit, half man. His skin was grey, marked with ancient symbols. His hair hung like dried roots, and his voice was like the whisper of a storm ready to burst.
He stared into the flame that floated above the circle.
"They dare unite?" he growled. "The Queen and the Stranger? I see now… the spirits smile upon their blasphemy."
A spirit hissed in the shadows, its form thin like smoke.
"What will you do, Kaeshar?"
"Remind the world that the past cannot be rewritten."
He took a vial of dark liquid and poured it into the flame. The fire turned black, crackling unnaturally.
A curse was cast.
⸻
Zandara — Royal Gardens
Nalya was walking alone, wrapped in a cloak of indigo silk. The moon above was full and heavy. She breathed in the still air, feeling a weight she could not name.
Suddenly, the wind shifted. The birds fell silent.
The sky above darkened — not with clouds, but with something unseen. The flame of the garden torches flickered, then turned green.
She froze.
The sound of a voice — or was it a growl? — echoed in her mind:
"Your peace is poison. Your bond is a betrayal."
She clutched her head, falling to her knees as visions flashed before her eyes:
•Tae-jun falling in battle.
•Her empire burning.
•The flame of the ancestors extinguished.
"NO!"
She gasped, drenched in cold sweat. Servants rushed to her side.
But Nalya knew… this was not a dream.
⸻
Goryeo — Eastern Palace
Tae-jun stood before a shrine of his own, preparing offerings of incense and scrolls to honor his ancestors. A breeze swept through the room, though all doors were closed.
The incense turned black.
Suddenly, a mirror near him shattered without warning.
"What trickery—?"
Then came a whisper, low and mocking.
"The price of love is always paid in blood."
His hand trembled. Not with fear — but with rage.
⸻
Back at the Shrine of the Forgotten
Kaeshar laughed.
He stood surrounded by shadows — spirits of the bitter, the betrayed, the ancient.
"Their fear has begun," he said. "Now let the past devour the present."
He raised a bone-carved staff and struck the ground.
Far across the lands, earthquakes trembled. Storms gathered. The balance had been shaken.
And Kaeshar had only just begun.