Ashes Of The First Tyrant

Thalen sat upright in bed, soaked in sweat.

The vision had been clearer than any before: a village swallowed whole, not by fire or storm, but by something far more terrifying erasure. Reality itself twisted, unmade by a single figure in a pale mask. No blood, no bodies. Just... nothing.

And the pressure. The overwhelming, suffocating weight of that presence.

Vael Seros.

Thalen knew it in his bones. The tyrant whose legacy still echoed through the realm had returned. Not in the stories, not in some ancient ruin but now, walking the earth again. And somehow, inexplicably, Thalen had seen it.

Was it a warning? A vision of the past? Or something worse?

He rose from his bed and reached for his sword. The blade sat against the wall, humming faintly. No aura ignited on contact, but it felt heavier tonight more real. Like it too had seen something.

A knock sounded at the door. Three short taps, two long.

Dain.

Thalen opened the door. "You felt it too?"

Dain’s face was pale. "Something... tore through the aura field last night. Half the tower woke up gasping. You had a vision, didn’t you?"