Two days remained until the eclipse.
The realm had entered a state of quiet urgency. All across the Myrrhwood, messengers rode through glowing forests and crystalline valleys. Cities once fractured by war now stood alert, their people lighting lanterns shaped like memory sigils—reminders of what they had survived, and what they stood to lose. The White Ember Keep became a haven of ceaseless activity. Scholars combed through forbidden codices, sentinels sharpened weapons they might never use, and spell-weavers wove ambient wards into the very stones of the citadel's foundation.
But no preparation held more weight than the mission Miraen now faced.
She, Aeliana, Elyon, Lira, and Archivist Renna stood at the edge of the Starlit Archives, a place buried deep beneath the ruins of an ancient observatory. The entrance was carved from obsidian veined with moonsteel, etched with stanzas of a long-lost song. Few had walked beyond its gates and returned. Fewer still had entered willingly.
