The night deepened.
But the peace did not hold.
Ashardio lay awake long after Kaelith had fallen into dreamless sleep beside the flickering embers of their campfire. The stars above had shifted subtly, realigned — and he could feel it. Not with his eyes, but in the marrow of his bones.
Something ancient was watching again.
He stood.
The fire crackled behind him as he stepped away into the tall, dew-drenched grass. Every blade brushed against him like fingers tugging at truth.
And then—
A sound.
Barely a breath.
Not speech.
Not song.
But something in between.
He turned his head sharply.
The field was empty.
And yet—
"Vaes'theron…"
The name was whispered in a thousand voices layered into one.
Low. Intimate. Familiar.
He froze.
"Son of the undone throne…"
Ashardio's heart slammed in his chest. His eyes flared with golden Void-light for a moment before he reined it in.
He could feel them.
The Celestials.
Not the ones of prophecy or honor — but the buried ones. The ones unspoken by the Order. The ones whose thrones no longer shone in the heavens, but in hollows of forgotten worlds.
"You speak in light… but walk in shadow…"
The whispers coiled in his mind like smoke.
"You love. But you will lose."
He clenched his fists, steadying himself, but the voices deepened.
The sky rippled.
The stars… blinked.
Not shimmered. Not twinkled.
Blink.
Like something behind them had moved.
The grass beneath his feet curled. Black veins of shimmering Void spread in a perfect circle around him.
And within it — sigils.
Thirteen.
Twelve known.
One cracked.
The throne of his bloodline.
He dropped to one knee, not in submission — but anchoring.
And the whisper became a single voice.
Old.
Feminine.
Gentle, but terrible.
"Will you break the thread, Ashardio Vaes'theron?"
His breath caught.
The riddle. Again.
The thread he could not cut.
He stood, voice hoarse.
"Show me who speaks."
A pause.
Then the whisper returned, amused.
"You have seen her already. But not with your eyes."
"When you remember her fully… the storm begins."
The circle flared white — and vanished.
The grass stood untouched.
The stars returned.
Kaelith stirred behind him, murmuring in her sleep.
He turned to her slowly.
Her face was serene. Still. So familiar.
He stepped forward—
Then stopped.
Her hand twitched in sleep.
Not random.
A sign.
An old sigil drawn from memory.
The cracked thirteenth throne.
Ashardio's chest tightened.
He whispered her name — not aloud, but inside.
And in response…
The Celestial whisper returned — inside his skull this time, like silk turned to steel.
"The thread you cannot cut… is her."