The Seer’s Warning

Fixina moved through the swirling fog of the portal, her steps light yet deliberate as she crossed the boundary between realms. The air crackled around her, humming with the old magic of the mystical realm. Unlike the mortal world, where steel and concrete smothered nature, this land pulsed with ancient power. The sky above was a never-ending twilight, stars glistening against deep indigo hues, shifting and dancing like embers caught in the wind.

She had not set foot here in decades.

The Seer lived on the outskirts of the sacred lands, beyond the valleys where the Witches’ Coven ruled. He had never sworn allegiance to any faction—neither witch, nor werewolf, nor vampire could claim him. He was simply there, a relic of time itself, watching the world turn with the patience of a being who had seen the rise and fall of civilizations.

His name was Oryn’thul.

The Whisperer of Fate.

The one who spoke in riddles no one fully understood—until it was too late.