The world did not scream.
That was the unsettling part.
When the Third Seal stirred, there was no thunder, no divine proclamation, no pillar of light cleaving the heavens. Instead, reality hesitated—like a man missing a step on a staircase and pretending nothing happened.
Across the continent, small things went wrong.
A swordmaster in the eastern provinces swung at empty air and felt resistance, as if an invisible shield had parried him.A high elf seer paused mid-prophecy, blood dripping from her nose as her vision fractured into static.In a dwarven vault older than recorded history, a rune that had never dimmed flickered—just once.
And in places far darker…
Something smiled.
Far beyond Auren's sight, in a city built layer upon layer like a wound that refused to heal, a man sat upon a throne that was never meant to be comfortable.
The Cloaked Sovereign tilted his head.
"Interesting," he murmured.
Before him, a vast mirror of black glass rippled. It did not show reflections—it showed possibilities. Thousands of them collapsed into one image: a knight standing beneath a scarred sky, light and ruin braided into his soul.
The Sovereign tapped the arm of his throne.
"So the ghost chose to walk again."
A lesser lord nearby stiffened.
"My liege… is it him?"
The Sovereign chuckled. Soft. Dangerous.
"Not him," he corrected. "Not anymore.""This one remembers pain, but not its full meaning. That makes him… flexible."
The mirror darkened.
Chains trembled somewhere beneath the city.
Elsewhere—high above cloud and consequence—a council convened without ceremony.
No chairs. No walls. Only floating sigils of authority, each one a surviving remnant of a god who had outlived relevance.
"The Third Seal has reacted," one sigil pulsed.
"It wasn't supposed to," another snapped. "Not yet."
A colder presence answered.
"You knew this day would come the moment you sent him back."
Silence followed.
Then, reluctantly—
"If the Wardens wake," a sigil whispered, "the balance breaks."
"No," the cold presence replied. "The balance is remembered."
Back in the mortal world, Auren stopped walking.
Lyra nearly collided with him.
"What is it?"
Auren pressed two fingers to his chest. His heartbeat had changed—not faster, not slower—but heavier, like each pulse carried weight that hadn't been there before.
"They noticed," he said.
Kael grimaced.
"That fast?"
Auren nodded.
"Power like this doesn't go unnoticed. It's like dropping a ring into a volcano and hoping the world doesn't care."
Lyra blinked.
"That's… oddly specific."
Auren allowed himself the faintest smile—gone as quickly as it came.
"Stories echo for a reason," he said. "Some truths are too stubborn to stay buried, no matter the age."
The ground beneath them gave a subtle thrum.
Not a quake.
A heartbeat.
Far away, something vast and ancient shifted its wings in its sleep.
Auren resumed walking, cloak trailing behind him like a promise and a warning intertwined.
"From this point on," he said, voice steady, "we're no longer ahead of fate."
Kael cracked his knuckles.
"So we're being hunted."
Lyra tightened her grip on her staff.
"By gods. By monsters. By things that shouldn't exist."
Auren didn't deny it.
"Good," he said quietly."I'm tired of being the only one who remembers what's coming."
The sky darkened—not with clouds, but with anticipation.
The world had blinked.
And now, it was staring straight at him.
"Legends do not return quietly; they announce themselves by disturbing everything that pretended to forget."
~Healer Elf-Queen