Aris watched from the altar, realizing that the story wasn't written in his books. It was being written in the dirt and blood of the battlefield. The weren't just legends of the past; they were the battle cries of the present.

The heavy iron gates of the Bargulf Archive groaned, a sound like a dying beast echoing through the silent halls of the Academy. For Aris, a scribe whose fingers were more accustomed to ink than steel, the sound was a death knell. He clutched the ancient ledger to his chest—the last record of the , the primordial energy that once fueled the world of Aerbor.

"They won't follow us," Aris replied, stepping into the cold night air. "They'll follow the Song."