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description
The city of Luminara burned. Flames clawed at the skyline, devouring spires that once glittered with enchanted light. Captain Veyra staggered through the rubble, her armor scorched, the hilt of her shattered sword still clenched in her fist. They’d underestimated the Veil’s corruption—how it twisted even the purest souls into hollow, ravenous things. Now the streets ran red with memories, the echoes of the fallen screaming through the smoke. She stumbled into the shadow of the cathedral, its stained-glass windows blown out, and found the others: Kael hunched over a makeshift altar, his hands trembling as he channeled the last dregs of healing magic into Jaren’s limp body. Mira stood guard, her crossbow bolts spent, eyes sharp as the dagger she’d jammed into a crack in the cobblestones. "The wellspring," Jaren choked, blood flecking his lips. "Below the sanctum… it’s not a relic. It’s a seal." Veyra’s gut tightened. All this death, and they’d been guarding the wrong damn secret. Somewhere in the distance, a horn bellowed—three notes, jagged and wrong. The Veil’s heralds were coming. Mira yanked her blade free. "Move. Or we all become part of the problem."
