A thousand years ago, the Nytherra Kingdom - realm of the Whisperers - flourished.
But at this moment, it was nothing but ruins and flames.
Everyone had fallen... all but one.
Their queen lay in a pool of her own blood, breathing her last.
Even in her final breaths, her eyes shone with determination and hope.
Mustering all her strength, she raised her bleeding hand, and a blinding light emanated from it.
She turned her head toward her eight-year-old granddaughter, who knelt beside her, crying and urging her not to leave.
The queen looked deep into the girl's eyes and weakly muttered, almost breathless,
"You are the only survivor, and you shall carry our legacy. Fulfill the duties bestowed upon you... and we shall rise and thrive again."
The light from her palm dimmed, revealing two identical pendants.
One glowed fiercely red, marked with a symbol of ripples and a flame.
The other glowed softly white, bearing a crescent moon enclosed in a circle.
The eight-year-old looked at them in confusion.
Suddenly, her grandmother's eyes glowed white as she spoke in a strong, echoing voice:
"A thousand years ago we flourished,
And a thousand years to come, we shall rise again.
When fire meets silence, the storm shall sleep.
Two shall rise - born apart but bound by breath and fate.
One shall burn. One shall listen.
And the world shall tremble at their reunion."
The glow in her eyes faded, and her voice weakened again.
"Your duty is to protect her... and ensure the pendants reach their rightful owners."
Her hand fell. Her eyes closed. Her breath stopped.
The pendants pulsed once... then dimmed.
For centuries, they would wait.
For the children of prophecy.
For the moment silence would awaken...
And voice would kneel.