The Grand Hall of Solthera had transformed. The air, once cold with the scent of mourning, now hummed with the vibrant energy of Drazhin magic. Crystal walls were draped with garlands of starblooms that pulsed with a soft, rhythmic light, looking like captured stars brought down to earth.
At the heart of the hall, Aetheron Vaeltheron stood at the center of the Starfall Tree dais. Beside him, PrincessLysaraofLysvaen was a vision of moonlight. Her silver gown rippled like water, and when she looked at Aetheron, her eyes offered a fierce strength that filled the void his father had left behind.
Just across the dais, KaelorDrayen stood with LadySeraphine. She was a warrior in a gown of crimson and steel, her dark hair braided with starblooms that flickered like tiny flames.
The High Seer stepped forward, raising a staff carved from the Starfall root. "By the light of Solthera and the flow of Lysvaen," she announced, her voice echoing through the hall, "we bind these souls as one."
The crowd erupted in a roar of hope. Starbloom petals drifted down from the ceiling like a gentle, glowing rain. For a moment, the weight of the crown felt lighter.
But miles away, in the black citadel of Zhalver, there was no light.
Inside a hall of jagged stone, DraevenZareth stood before Princess Vyris of Xeraphyn. Their marriage was not a union of hearts, but a pact written in power. Around them, the air thrummed with forbidden rites—the same sickly magic that had turned King Eldric into smoke.
Vyris looked at Draeven with obsidian eyes, reflecting his own dark ambition. They were a rising tide of shadow, preparing to drown the world.
In Solthera, Aetheron tightened his grip on Lysara's hand. He looked toward the darkening horizon, knowing that while they celebrated with flowers and vows, the enemy was sharpening a blade made of nightmares.
The war was no longer a threat. It was his destiny.