The morning after the Crimson Eclipse was unnaturally quiet.
The villagers of Kaelmoor whispered rumors of omens and bad spirits, of a strange hum in the air and dreams that didn't end when they woke. But Aeren… he didn't sleep at all.
He sat alone at the altar where the sky had cracked open, his right eye still flickering with residual black light. His heartbeat echoed like drums beneath his skin. The Codex—it wasn't just power. It was a presence. Something ancient, hungry, and bound to him.
"Resonance unstable. Core fragment—imprinted."
The voice echoed in his thoughts, alien and mechanical, a far cry from the harmonious tones of the Fatesongs. He didn't understand it—but he felt it. The Codex was alive. It had chosen him.
And it had gifted him something more.
Before him lay a blade that hadn't been there the night before—thin, curved, and black as the void. It vibrated slightly, as if harmonizing with a song no one else could hear.
The Dissonant Blade.
When Aeren reached for it, pain lanced through his arm, and visions crashed into his mind: burning cities, gods weeping blood, empires crumbling beneath a sky turned to ash.
But he did not let go.
Instead, he stood, sword in hand, and felt—for the first time in his life—the hum of something. Not harmony. Not order. But power.
Aeren returned to the village. People stared. Whispers followed.
And then came the soldier.
A scout from the Fatesong Enclave, sent to investigate the strange pulse detected during the eclipse. He confronted Aeren, accusing him of disturbing the weave. When the scout drew his blade, the villagers scattered. Everyone expected Aeren to run.
He didn't.
One swing. The Dissonant Blade howled.
The soldier's weapon shattered like glass. His Fatesong collapsed mid-chant. He fell, screaming, as his song was ripped from him—turned to silence.
The villagers were no longer whispering. They were silent.
That night, Aeren was no longer just Fatesilent. He was something else.
A herald.
A warning.
Far to the east, in the silver spires of Altheris, Veylor received the report.
"A dissonant power… a boy who silenced a Fatesinger with a single strike," he said, voice calm but eyes cold.
He turned to the golden mirror in his sanctum.
"Prepare the Choral Blades. We strike before the silence spreads."