The Echo Marsh lay silent beneath the morning haze.
Mist curled like snakes around the tree roots and stone bridges. Pools of stagnant water shimmered with faint light, and the air was thick—too still, too calm.
Lysara stood alone at the heart of the marsh, her feet planted on a stone dais etched with runes older than time. Emberlight danced around her, soft and watchful.
Lysara (whispering): "You've been here before… haven't you?"
The marsh didn't answer, but the wind changed. A coldness crept in from the east, carrying with it the scent of metal and decay.
And then—
A soft sound, like silk tearing.
From the mists emerged the Veilshapers—six in total. Clad in cloaks woven from shadows, their faces obscured behind glass masks, their hands flickering with twisted magic.
Lysara didn't flinch.
Lysara: "You come cloaked in mist. Yet you reek of fear."
One of the Veilshapers stepped forward. His voice echoed unnaturally, like many voices speaking at once.
Veilshaper One: "We are the silence between stars. We are the breath before the scream. And you, Flameborn, are out of time."
Lysara: "You talk like poets. But you walk like thieves."
The Veilshaper raised a hand. Vines of black smoke burst from the marsh, snapping toward her.
Lysara's eyes lit.
Lysara: "Wrong forest."
With a sharp motion, she slammed her palm into the stone beneath her. A ring of flame erupted, incinerating the dark tendrils mid-air.
Lysara: "This place remembers me."
Another Veilshaper launched forward, blades of air spinning from their palms. Lysara ducked, rolled, and summoned her embersteel blade with a flash.
Steel met shadow.
Veilshaper Two: "You cannot burn what has no form."
Lysara: "Then I'll give you one."
She thrust her blade forward, igniting the fog itself into a wall of fire. The flames danced, weaving through the marsh, lighting runes along the ancient stones.
One Veilshaper screamed as their cloak caught fire—real fire. They stumbled, tore off the burning mask, and vanished into the mist with a hiss.
Lysara (quietly): "One."
The others began to encircle her.
Their voices merged again.
Veilshapers: "The Hollow has no place for flame. You do not belong."
Lysara: "Neither do you."
She raised both hands, and the flames around her pulsed, then dimmed—turning blue. The heat intensified. The very air began to crackle.
Lysara: "I came not to destroy the Hollow… but to protect it. And if you dare threaten it—"
She took a step forward.
Lysara: "—then burn with your secrets."
The Veilshapers struck together, magic slicing through the air in all directions. Ice. Smoke. Echoes of pain.
Lysara let the world slow.
She danced through the attacks, her blade spinning in spirals of flame. She moved like a comet—blazing, swift, inevitable.
Two more Veilshapers fell. Their shadows ripped from their bodies, consumed by her heat.
The final three backed away.
Veilshaper Three (panicked): "She's bound to the ancient flame. We were not told—"
Lysara raised her hand, and a fire sigil formed in her palm.
Lysara: "Run."
They did.
Within seconds, only the whisper of burning leaves remained.
She stood in the center of the clearing, breathing hard, eyes glowing.
And from the mist, another figure stepped forward.
Clad in robes of storm-gray, her silver hair tied in braids, her eyes glowing faintly blue.
Stormcaller: "Well," she said, voice sharp and amused. "You made quite a fire."
Lysara (turning): "You're late."
Stormcaller: "You started early."
They shared a look—one of mutual respect and measured power.
Lysara: "The Hollow calls for more than fire now."
Stormcaller: "Then let's see what storm I can summon."
Back at the Hollow Court, Elira stirred from her trance by the Moonwell.
Her eyes widened.
Elira: "They held the line."
Caelum approached, sensing the shift in her aura.
Caelum: "The Veilshapers?"
Elira: "Defeated. Driven off."
Caelum (smiling): "Then Lysara is as fierce as she seems."
Elira: "She's not alone anymore."
She looked northward—toward the cliffs where thunder now rumbled.
Elira: "The storm has joined the flame."