Weeks had passed since the fall of Shar-Gul.
The desert winds no longer screamed with whispers, and the Temple of Echoes now stood as a monument to redemption rather than torment. Yet, Aarav found no peace.
He stood atop a cliff, overlooking the endless sands. Beside him, his mother—Ishira—cloaked in white and gold, braided her silver hair with quiet purpose.
"There are forces watching now," she said softly. "The ring's awakening has stirred them. Kaalkrit was only a servant… the true master still slumbers."
Aarav turned to her. "Who?"
She pointed skyward.
Not to the stars—but to the emptiness between them.
"The Nameless One. A being cast out when the Three Truths were formed. He lies beyond the sky, imprisoned in the Void Between Realms. And now… he stirs."
Aarav clenched his fist. The three sigils on his body shimmered faintly—fire on his palm, wind on his forearm, unity across his chest.
"What must I do?"
"You must gather the other Rings," she said. "There are five. Yours is the first. The others are hidden in the lost kingdoms—each guarding a Truth of the World."
She handed him a scroll, sealed with wax bearing a strange crest—a serpent devouring its tail.
"The next is in Nandaka, the city beneath the sea."