Being the Ageless to the Astardodda Ethereal Throne was not without perks. Unlike the other Ageless, Wicorin wasn’t doomed to endless wandering seeking bits of lore or relics. Forever drifting in search of knowledge.

Silimas ground his teeth trying to push the high thrum out of his mind as he raced between the crystals arrayed around the room. “The memory we used to share is no longer coherent.” The words reverberated through the room, broken and distorted, escalating the thrum to a wail.

Not two steps into Aari’s and I’m faced with books. Bookshelves she’s said to have ensorcelled to keep curious mortals out. While walking through the shelves one may catch glimpses of the sorceress at her workshop center, invariably the curious souls ends up back at the door. I, however, swear she ensorcelled it to only show the dullest books written.

Too a few, those blessed with power, Mililath Tower blazed in the heart of the night, consumed by a magical storm raging within. However, even those a child’s stone throw away slumbered in blissful ignorance through the layer upon layer of wards sealing structure. Kellsie didn’t share either the grace or the power and stood at the storm’s heart.

I jerked when the hand rested on my shoulder. I swung my head to the side, peering at Ebony. Her brows were drawn down, forming a slight crease in her forehead. How long had I been ignoring her? Worse. I had no idea what she had asked.

The sunset made the sky a bloody mess as I stood on the battlements. I waited alone, but for what I couldn’t guess. Red had stained my death and trapped my sight still.

The spatter of seeds sounded harmonized with Ariade’s steps and chanting as she paced the garden, rebounding against the garden’s high walls. The ground shifted beneath her, a behemoth welcoming its own. A welcome disturbed by a disharmonious step upon the wall.