Morning never truly came to the Skyfall Ruins.
Light crept in reluctantly, thin and pale, as if the sun itself feared what lingered among the broken stones. Aerin sat alone near the terrace edge, knees drawn up, staring at his hands. Faint lines of starlight still traced his skin, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.
Choice.
The word echoed louder than the sky's hum ever had.
Footsteps approached behind him—soft, deliberate. Lyra lowered herself beside him without speaking, following his gaze into the endless clouds below.
"You didn't sleep," she said at last.
"Neither did you."
A corner of her mouth twitched. "Fair."
Silence settled again, but it wasn't empty. The ruins remembered things. Aerin could feel it now—residual impressions clinging to stone and air alike, as if the Starborn of the First Age had never truly left.
"What did it mean?" Lyra asked quietly. "The choice."
Aerin hesitated. Words felt fragile compared to what he'd seen.
"That power doesn't belong to us," he said. "Not really. We borrow it from something older. And every time it's used… the sky changes."
Lyra frowned. "Changes how?"
"Breaks," he answered.
Below them, Kael argued with Master Veyrin in sharp whispers. The warrior paced like a caged beast, frustration written into every movement.
"You knew this would happen," Kael said. "You brought us here."
Veyrin's staff tapped once against the stone. "I brought him here so the Echo wouldn't awaken blindly."
"And if it turns him into whatever destroyed the First Age?"
Veyrin's eyes hardened. "Then the fault will be mine."
Aerin rose before the argument could continue. "Enough."
Both men turned, surprise flickering across Kael's face.
"I won't be dragged by secrets anymore," Aerin said. The mark on his chest warmed, responding to his resolve. "If I'm going to make this choice, I need to know what we're really fighting."
Veyrin studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded.
"Very well," the old man said. "Then we begin the long truth."
He struck his staff against the ground.
The air rippled.
A circular glyph ignited beneath their feet—ancient, complex, and unmistakably Starborn. The ruins groaned as light rose from the stone, forming shifting images in the air.
A map.
Not of kingdoms—but of the sky itself.
"These," Veyrin said, pointing as fractures of light appeared across the map, "are the Celestial Seals. Anchors placed by the First Age to keep the heavens stable."
Lyra's breath caught. "They're breaking."
"Yes," Veyrin replied. "One by one."
Kael clenched his jaw. "And when the last one falls?"
Veyrin's voice dropped. "The boundary between what sleeps above and what walks below will cease to exist."
Aerin felt the Echo stir, responding to the map like a heartbeat answering its twin.
"How many seals remain?" he asked.
Veyrin met his gaze.
"Seven," he said. "And one of them has already begun calling to you."
The brightest fracture on the map pulsed.
Far away—beyond mountains, empires, and forgotten seas—something ancient awakened.
And for the first time, Aerin understood the true scale of his path.
This was not a journey to save a kingdom.
It was a war measured in ages.