Dawn had barely broken when the heirs gathered in the shadow of the ancient Sanctum. The city lay in a fragile state—its towers and arches scarred by the Veil's relentless tremors—but hope still burned in their hearts like the Emberheart in Liam's steady grasp. In the quiet before the storm of another battle, Liam's voice carried across the hushed courtyard.
"We have sealed the Anchors, but the true threat lies at the heart of the corruption," he said. "The Source—the very place where the Veil was first woven—must be found if we are to mend this realm."
Elena, her eyes still haunted by dreams of shifting specters and the echo of Veyra's torment, nodded. "I feel it pulsing in my veins. It calls out to me, urging us to follow its sound." Her hand brushed the silver chain that cradled the Emberheart against her chest. Despite the lingering scars of corruption, her resolve shone brighter than ever.
