PROLOGUE
The Hall of Ages wakes as the elders gather beneath its stone arches. They arrive without summons, drawn by the same shift that has echoed through every realm.
Valdrik stands at the center, watching as Nova and Noxian take their places opposite him. Light flickers unevenly along Nova’s arms. Noxian’s shadowed form ripples at the edges, thin where it should be solid.
Both are weaker.
The balance of creation, light and dark born as twins, falters in front of those sworn to guard it.
“The Fracture has begun,” Valdrik says quietly.
Nova nods. “We feel it in the fabric of the realms.”
“The Succession.” Noxian’s voice carries an old resonance, although the strength beneath it has dulled. “The next pair approaches.”
A murmur spreads through the circle. The prophecy of the Succession has slept for untold ages, its meaning debated, but none here have forgotten it.
“In the mortal age,” another elder says, “a new light and dark will be born.”
“And when they rise,” Valdrik replies, “our time ends.”
Nova presses her hands together, her glow dimming with the movement. “It feels close.”
A quiet stillness moves through the hall. The elders hold the weight of it with a steady acceptance.
Another elder lifts their head. “There is more.”
Valdrik turns. “Speak.”
“A forbidden pull,” the elder whispers, “from the sealed passage. The breach stirs.”
Noxian’s shadows tighten around his feet. “Someone reaches for a power that was never meant for them.”
The murmurs rise again. Valdrik raises a hand and silence falls. “Whoever reaches will fail,” he says. “The passage cannot be claimed by any realm.”
Even as he speaks, faint uncertainty flickers in his eyes.
The elders stand in a heavy stillness, listening as something vast shifts beyond sight.
Nova’s light fades another shade. Noxian’s form frays again. Two forces who have never faltered now dim together.
Valdrik closes his eyes. “The prophecy wakes. The next pair draws near. And when they come…”
The Hall of Ages seems to exhale, dust trembling from ancient stone.
“…the realms will change.”
CHAPTER 1
Frankie
Ijolt upright, sweat plastering my shirt to my skin.
“Fuck!” The word tears out of me, scraping across my raw throat. I must’ve been screaming. Air rushes in too fast, and I can’t force any of it back out.
The room is dim, shapes barely there, but it’s enough to grab onto.
“Dino.”
