They once called it Aeteria—a realm where magic breathed through the rivers, whispered in the forests, and danced across the skies.
But that was before the Sundering.
Before betrayal turned kings to tyrants, and heroes to monsters.
Before the gates between worlds were slammed shut.
Now, Aeteria is nothing but a myth. A bedtime story.
Aven Locke never believed in fairy tales. Not until the night the stars bled.
It began with a crackling tear in the sky, thin as a paper cut, humming with a song only the cursed could hear.
Aven, blood humming with a power he never understood, felt the pull deep in his bones.
And when she stepped through—silver-eyed, battle-scarred, beautiful—he knew his life would never belong to him again.
Not to this world.
Not to any world.
Because some rifts cannot be closed.
And some destinies cannot be escaped.