The twin suns of Virellia hung low on the horizon, bleeding red and gold across the jagged mountain peaks. For centuries, the ancient kingdom had basked under their warmth, its floating citadels drifting across skies painted in eternal dusk. But tonight, a shadow was spreading—something deeper than darkness, colder than space. The world was dying, and its people didn't even know it.
Kaelen stood alone on the Skywatch Tower, high above the capital spires of Aerthwyn. His cloak billowed in the wind, dark against the glowing sky. The orb in his hand pulsed faintly—a heart of crystal wrapped in silver veins, humming with the dying breath of the planet. It was called a Starcore, one of the last remnants of the Ancients, a race so old even myths forgot their names.
His voice was low, grave "It's begun."
Behind him, footsteps echoed—soft, but deliberate. A woman emerged from the archway, her armor gleaming like obsidian glass, braided hair coiled tightly against her back. Seris Vale, Commander of the Nova Guard, and Kaelen's oldest friend.
"You felt it too," she said, stepping beside him. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, were fixed on the horizon. "The suns… they're weakening faster than the projections. We were supposed to have two cycles left. Maybe three."
Kaelen turned to her, the lines of worry etched deeply into his face. "It's not just the suns. The Veil is thinning."
Seris stiffened. "The Veil?" Her voice dropped. "You mean—"
"Yes," Kaelen said. "The Realms are bleeding into one another. Magic is leaking into the Coreworlds. Technology is failing. The Old Laws are breaking."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Below, Aerthwyn glittered with life—hovercrafts weaving between towers, floating markets bustling, and the hum of arc-energy lighting the streets. All of it so fragile. All of it unaware.
"How long do we have?" Seris asked finally.
Kaelen looked at the Starcore again. It had turned darker in his hand, its light flickering. "Maybe a moon cycle. Maybe less."
Seris inhaled sharply. "Then we need to find the others. The Starborn."
Kaelen's hand closed around the orb. "If they still exist."
"They do," she said firmly. "They must. The Ancients didn't forge the Starcores to be buried in ruins. They left them for the chosen—for the ones who could bind the Realms."
Kaelen didn't respond. He was remembering the visions—the burning cities, the sky tearing open, the colossal machines from the Outer Worlds falling like gods upon the fields of Andareth. Magic battling machines. Starships crushed by shadow dragons. The end of everything.
"They're just children," he whispered. "Scattered across time and stars. And we expect them to save us?"
"We don't have a choice," Seris said. "If we don't find them, the Realms collapse. Virellia falls. The stars go dark."
He looked at her then, his voice softer. "You really believe the prophecy?"
She didn't hesitate. "I believe in you."
That silence fell again—deep and wide as the void. Then Kaelen turned, his cloak snapping in the wind. "Prepare the Eclipse. We leave before the next eclipse. Start with the Coreworlds—Rivenar, Tal-9, and the old ruins on Earth. One of them might still carry the bloodline."
"And what about the Forbidden Zones?" Seris asked.
Kaelen's voice was grim. "We'll need to go there too. The Starborn aren't the only ones waking up. The Voidspawn are stirring."
A cold shiver passed between them. Everyone feared the Voidspawn—ancient beings of shadow and silence, imprisoned behind the Veil since the Sundering War. If they were stirring, it meant the worst: the Balance had tipped.
As Kaelen and Seris descended the tower, a pulse of energy surged through the Starcore, and for a moment, it glowed brighter—just enough to cast a sliver of hope.
Far across the galaxy, on a world forgotten by charts and time, a young girl awoke screaming from a dream of stars on fire.
She did not know it yet, but her name would shake the heavens.