Before the fire, there was a name. Before the name, there was a scream. The world remembers the war as myth. The gods remember it as treason. And one cursed king cannot forget it at all. Aelira dreams of mirrors and fire, of a stranger's grief and a voice that calls her through centuries. The stars have begun to move again. The old signs bleed through the seams of the present. Far away, a beast waits beside a broken throne and a blade he dares not unsheathe. The silence he carved with blood begins to stir, and the name he buried beneath ash begins to rise. Something is waking. Something that once burned the world to its bones. And it is not finished.
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