The village council convened at midday, their faces lined with concern. The stranger stood at the head of the long wooden table in the temple's gathering hall, his hands resting on the hilt of a dagger sheathed at his waist.
"My name is Kael," he began, his voice steady. "I come from the northern reaches, where the signs have already begun. The shadows lengthen, the earth trembles, and the ancient ones stir. The Watcher is no longer asleep."
A murmur spread through the gathered elders. Saelin's brow furrowed. "And what proof do you bring?"
Kael reached into his cloak and produced a small, obsidian shard. It pulsed faintly, as if it held the last breath of a dying flame. "This was taken from the ruins of the First City. It is a fragment of something vast, something waking."
Elira could feel it even from across the room—a presence, cold and deep, like an unseen tide pulling at the edges of her thoughts. She clenched her fists, steadying herself.
"The prophecy names the Watcher," Kael continued. "But it also names the one who must stand against it."
Silence fell over the hall.
Elira knew, before he even turned to her, what he would say next.
"It speaks of the Starborn."
And in that moment, she knew her fate was sealed.