PROLOGUE
They say prophecy is a dangerous thing—truth wrapped in riddles, burdened by belief.
I was not always a believer.
Most prophecies I’ve come across in my years of study are nothing more than fractured myths—twisted through retelling, lost in translation, or buried so deep in political fear they rot alongside the corpses of the eras that silenced them. But this one . . . this one has always felt different.
The Spiritborn.
The name never appears in full. Not in any of the texts I’ve found, nor in the ruins where whispers still linger. And yet, the signs are there—half-formed, scattered across centuries like breadcrumbs meant for those who know where to look. I have spent most of my life chasing these remnants, and, still, I do not have all my questions answered.
Of all Elements born, belonging to naught.
A force, ne’er destroyed, enclosed & caught
When the four align, the fifth shall rise.
And the Castaway shall awaken in cries.
I’ve read those lines more times than I can count. I’ve seen it etched into stone beneath the ruins of the old Sanctum. I’ve heard it echoed by the Guardians of Mythren Valley—dragons older than the clans themselves, speaking in riddles and flame. They never name the Spiritborn. But they are watching.
So am I.
In the sealed archives in the capital, there are whispers of records—prophecies purged, rewritten, or locked away behind blood-bound wards.
Even in the Forsaken Lands, the ruins of the lost Shadow Realm hold memories and magics that people forgot. I will find the truth.
There are seers who’ve spoken of dreams—visions not of the past, but of a coming storm. A figure wreathed in light and shadow, standing at the edge of unraveling. They do not know a name. Or a face. Or even a form. Only that this one—whoever they are—was never meant to survive.
Somethingisreturning.
The Elements feel it. The dragons sense it. The edge of something unraveling. And somewhere out there, a child born of fire and storm, earth and tide is waking up.
If they are the one the whispers speak of, then everything we know is about to change.
And the prophecy?
It was never about preventing the end.
It was always about surviving it.
—Valen Thorne
Sage of the Fire Court
Archivist of Forgotten Truths
LUMORIA
ONE
“I’m getting closer to finding the Spiritborn, but we are running out of time. Shadeheart’s forces appear to be getting closer. I believe she is behind the rips in the protective Wards.”
—VALEN’S JOURNAL
AMARA
It’s early spring. The kind of morning that lies.
