The kingdom of Elenor, once the heart of the continent, now teetered on the edge of collapse. Refugees from the southern provinces crowded its gates, fleeing the unnatural storms and withering land left in the Harrow's wake. The sun no longer shone as it once had—its light dimmed behind a veil of ever-churning gray.
At the heart of the capital, the High Council of Seers convened for the first time in decades. Cloaked in silver and shadow, their faces drawn and pale, they murmured prophecies and omens in tongues too old for the common ear. At their center stood Caelara, flanked by Ashen, now changed—not just in power, but in bearing. His once-uncertain posture had straightened, and the ember from the First Flame now pulsed faintly at the base of his throat, embedded like a living jewel.
The eldest of the Council, High Seer Varnai, rose with the weight of centuries behind his voice.
"You claim the Harrow's vessel has chosen the flame of balance," he said, staring at Ashen. "But fire cannot be tamed—it only consumes. What proof have you that he will not turn upon us?"
Caelara spoke first. "Because I have seen a path—a thread of possibility where the Harrow ends without consuming the world. But it can only be followed if the Seers stand united. If we do not, the Harrow will fall into chaos—and then all prophecy dies."
Varnai scoffed. "Prophecies are already dying. Even you, Oracle, no longer see with clarity."
"I see enough," Caelara replied, her voice unwavering. "You speak of endings, Varnai, but this is a beginning. One we must choose together."
Ashen stepped forward, his voice steady. "I was made to contain the Harrow, not unleash it. But I can't hold it back alone. I need your help. Not your fear."
Silence reigned, thick and heavy.
Then, slowly, another Seer rose. "Let the Accord be reforged," she said. "Let prophecy bind us, not break us."
And so, the Sundering Accord—a pact once shattered in ancient times—was renewed. A covenant between the Starborn, the Oracles, and the remnants of the world's guardians. It was their last, desperate hope.
Preparations began immediately. Old sigils were reawakened. Wards that hadn't glowed in a thousand years sparked to life. Caelara, for the first time in weeks, allowed herself a moment of peace. Until nightfall.
That was when the Harrow struck.
It began with silence—no wind, no birds, not even breath. Then a low hum, like the world itself had begun to shudder. Caelara felt it before it came—a ripple through her spirit, as though time itself had caught its breath.
A wall of darkness swept in from the eastern horizon. Not just clouds, but something more: a void, swallowing light and life alike. From within it, shapes moved—vague and terrible, made of flame and shadow, wearing the skins of memories.
The Harrow was no longer a coming storm. It had arrived.
Ashen stood atop the city's highest tower, the ember at his chest glowing brighter with each breath. "It's calling to me," he said, voice strained. "It wants me to join it."
Caelara gripped his arm. "Then don't answer it."
"It's not that simple. It's not a voice… it's a hunger." He closed his eyes. "I can feel it inside me. What if I can't resist this time?"
"You can," she said. "Because I believe in the part of you that chose the flame. Not the Harrow. Not destruction. You."
Ashen opened his eyes—and they burned like suns.
The Council cast the final wards, raising a shimmering barrier over the city, but it would not last long. Caelara turned to Ashen.
"We need to go to the Source," she said. "To the place where the Harrow first touched the world. If we can confront it there, end it at its root—"
Ashen nodded. "Then that's where we go."
But the journey would not be easy. The Source lay beyond the Withered Sea, where no prophecy could see, and where the stars themselves had gone dark.
As the Harrow battered the city's edge, Caelara whispered a prayer to a sky that no longer answered.
Let there be light. Let there be hope. Let there be fire—guided, not fallen.
And then, with cloak and blade and fire at their backs, they stepped through the shattered gates and into the storm.