Shadows and Spheres

Prologue

The wind was an unstoppable beast, roaring between the peaks of the Eternal Ranges as if the entire world were on the brink of shattering. Shadows had begun to stir. They were no mere echoes of twilight but something more... something alive. Thalyon knew the end was near. With the Sphere of Twilight pulsing in his hands, he could feel reality itself tearing around him.
The stars in the sky began to blink out, one by one.

"This is the end of Elarion," thought the old mage. But his hand did not tremble.
Beneath that sky, deep in the Aerithen mountains, a group of mages stood as the final line of defense for a world that had known glory and now watched its light fade. The Dusk War had ravaged continents and kingdoms alike, pitting the forces of light against the shadows summoned by those who had once sworn to protect the balance. Yet power had corrupted the most ambitious, and Karthis Vaal, the greatest traitor, had invoked the Shadows of the Dark Realms to unleash chaos upon Elarion.

The Sphere of Twilight, now in Thalyon's hands, was the key for both sides. Within its core lay the power to alter reality, but darkness had tainted its essence. Thalyon and his order had fought with every shred of their power to prevent it from falling into Vaal's hands. Yet, they knew they could no longer win—only delay the inevitable.

"Dusk takes what is its own," murmured one of the mages beside him, gazing at the horizon where the sky was darkening.

Thalyon did not reply. He knew there were no words vast enough to capture the despair they felt. The land itself seemed burdened by a power so ancient that the trees, the mountains, and the rivers whispered songs of death. The Sphere glowed intensely, its energy crackling like a storm contained within a small orb.

With a final breath, the old mage raised his hands and murmured the words that would seal Elarion's fate. An ancient spell, forgotten by almost all, wove a dimensional prison deep within the Eternal Ranges. The abyss opened, swallowing the Sphere into its dark center, sealing it beyond the reach of any living being.

The mages, witnesses to Elarion's last hope, were consumed by the energy unleashed in the process. Their bodies vanished like ashes in the wind, and the abyss closed its doors, disappearing from sight, leaving only silence.

Karthis Vaal, watching from afar, felt the Sphere of Twilight slip through his grasp. Despite his power, he had not been able to claim it. But his resolve did not falter. Time was on his side, and he knew the darkness he had awakened would not be contained forever.

Centuries passed, and with them, the memory of the Dusk War faded into myths and legends. The Sphere was forgotten by all, save for those who, deep within their being, felt the echo of its latent power. The lands of Aerithen and Syltharion began to heal, but shadows never fade completely.

In the depths of the ruins of Zel-Thara, where shadow and light had once clashed, lay a power few could comprehend. Centuries later, Eryon Faelym would find this place, and with it, the mark that would bind him to a destiny that would draw him toward the very shadows the mages had sought to contain.

The boundaries between worlds began to wear thin. The Shadow Realms, once a whisper in ancient stories, grew increasingly accessible, their portals opening more frequently in the darkest, most forgotten places of the world. And in Syltharion, where the barriers between dimensions had always been thinner, the threat of shadows grew with each passing day.

Elarion, the vast world that had known both light and shadow, awaited a new conflict. And those who still walked upon its soil did not know that ancient wars never truly end; they only await the right moment to rise again.

The echo of the Sphere of Twilight still reverberated, and those who heard it knew that the Dusk, though delayed, was closer than ever.