When the Harmony cracked, it didn't shatter all at once. It splintered—quietly, invisibly—like frost spreading across a lake before the ice gives way beneath someone's feet. But the consequences were immediate. All across the continent, the effects of the rupture rippled through time and memory.
In the capital of Aevorith, the Empire's central Spire of Accord trembled. Its golden dome dimmed for the first time in a thousand years. Arbiters of Harmony clutched their temples as the threads they'd woven into the very souls of their citizens began to hum discordantly. People paused in the middle of prayers, performances, and punishments. The oppressive unity that once ensured compliance flickered.
At the peak of the eclipse, those who had always felt like background echoes suddenly felt their presence surge to the forefront.
In a small village once erased from every map, a forgotten child looked to the sky and remembered his real name.
