The Nightingale sliced through the void like a phantom blade, drawn toward the edge of all known existence. Stars fell away behind them, and the darkness deepened. It wasn't the silence of space that gripped the crew — it was the absence of time.
The Veil of Before wasn't marked on any chart. It wasn't a destination but a memory — a place half-remembered by Realms that had barely survived the Shattering. Aeris had spoken of it with reverence, but even she had never seen it with her own eyes.
Kaelen stood on the bridge, arms folded, eyes locked on the approaching anomaly. Before them stretched an expanse of rippling gold and black — like a curtain stitched from stars and shadow.
"It looks… alive," Lyra whispered, her fingers hovering above the controls.
"It is," Aeris said from behind her. "The Veil is not just a place. It is a wound in the Flamechain. Everything before the Realms began is trapped within."
Sera frowned. "And we're just flying in?"
Aeris gave her a faint smile. "There is no door to knock on. The Veil accepts those it deems worthy… and consumes the rest."
Riven muttered under his breath. "Comforting."
As they breached the outer edge, the ship groaned. Not from pressure — but resistance. The Veil wasn't built to allow passage. It was a locked box sealed by forgotten gods.
Kaelen reached out with his aura, letting a sliver of his Flame touch the barrier.
It responded.
A swirl of starfire opened like an eye.
The Nightingale passed through.
Inside the Veil, there was no space, no time. The crew was split instantly.
Lyra found herself in a burning city, walking among ghosts of her past. Her mother stood on a balcony, smiling before the flames took her. Her people bowed in reverence, then turned to ash.
She ran, heart pounding, until the vision shattered like glass.
She woke in darkness, a single ember floating before her.
"I'm not that girl anymore," she whispered.
And the ember pulsed once — in acknowledgment.
Sera stood knee-deep in snow, but it wasn't cold. The Frostflame within her flared gently. She turned — and saw her sister. Alive. Laughing.
Then frozen.
Then gone.
The weight of failure crushed her. She dropped to her knees.
"I couldn't save you."
But a voice echoed back — not her sister's, but her own.
"Then save yourself."
When she stood again, the ice around her bloomed with light.
Riven found no visions. No memories.
He was surrounded by silence.
And then a mirror.
In it, he saw hundreds of versions of himself — all wearing different faces. All bearing the same eyes. The same scars.
One version smiled.
"I am who you would become… if you lie."
Riven broke the mirror with a single wordless breath.
Truth, cold and sharp, wrapped itself around his blade.
Kaelen faced fire.
Not symbolic — real, ancient, divine.
The Ash-Flame — the original source of his power — burned before him in the shape of a man. It spoke with his voice, but older. Tired.
"You fear your own light."
"I fear what it costs."
"You fear the truth."
Kaelen didn't answer.
The Ash-Flame raised its hand — and showed him a vision.
Lyra, dead.
Sera, turned.
Aeris, erased.
And Kaelen… on the Void-King's throne.
"No," he said through gritted teeth. "I am not him."
"You were," the Ash-Flame said. "You will be."
Then it vanished — leaving behind only smoke and a single phrase written in the air:
"Unmake to Remake."
Aeris stood at the heart of the Veil, her arms stretched wide, her eyes glowing like twin galaxies.
She remembered it all.
The First Shattering.
The forging of the Flamechain.
The betrayal that broke time.
And now, with the others converging toward her through the folds of the Veil, she opened the memory sealed beneath it.
A shard of the Prime Flame.
The original fire that birthed the Realms.
It floated before her, humming with forgotten voices.
As the others arrived, one by one, the shard reacted.
Kaelen's presence dimmed it.
Lyra's ignited it.
Sera's stabilized it.
Riven's truth shaped it.
And Aeris — she remembered it.
Together, they formed a convergence. A resonance the Realms had not seen in millennia.
Then the shard spoke — not in words, but in will.
"One of you must carry me. One of you must bear the Prime Flame."
The group looked at each other.
Silence hung heavy.
Then Kaelen stepped back.
"Not me."
Aeris tilted her head. "You were meant to."
"I was," he agreed. "But I no longer deserve to."
The shard floated toward Lyra.
She trembled.
But did not run.
Far beyond the Veil, in the Dreadspire, the Void-King stirred.
His eyes opened slowly.
"So… it begins."
And from the shadow beside him, the Seventh General stepped forward — a figure wrapped in twilight armor, face hidden behind a mask of broken time.
Their voice was smooth and cold.
"I will retrieve the Flame," they said. "And break the girl who dares hold it."
The Void-King smiled.
"Then go, and bring me the ashes of their hope."