The first forgotten realm

The first forgotten realm chapter seventeen:

The Threshold of Ruin

The portal had already begun to wither behind them. Its edges flickered and frayed, the luminous tear folding inward with an unearthly hiss. Emma glanced over her shoulder, watching the final shreds of golden light dissolve into nothingness.

There was no turning back.

The realm they had stepped into was unlike anything she had seen before.

The ground was black and cracked, like old stone splintered by centuries of battle. Glimmering frost clung to the jagged rock, and fine silver mist drifted across the desolate landscape. The twin suns hung low in the sky, their dim, sickly light casting an eerie orange-pink haze over the horizon.

Towering spires, ancient and broken, jutted from the ground at unnatural angles. Some leaned sharply, precariously suspended in their crumbling states, while others were mere remnants—shattered pylons and fractured stone arches, scarred by battle. The land itself seemed fractured, its terrain uneven and pitted with deep, narrow fissures, glowing faintly with residual magic.

The atmosphere was thin and cold. Emma's breath emerged in soft, silvery clouds that drifted toward the sky before vanishing. She clutched her cloak tighter around her shoulders and glanced at Liam.

He stood still beside her, scanning the ruined expanse with narrowed eyes. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword, his stance tense but steady. The wind tugged faintly at his cloak, revealing the scabbard across his back and the slender dagger strapped to his thigh.

He caught her glance and gave her a faint nod. Steady. Alert. Ready.

She returned his nod, then turned toward the landscape ahead. The air felt strange—thick with the residue of forgotten magic. The Veil's influence was stronger here, pulling at the edges of her consciousness. She could feel it like a distant heartbeat—faint, but pulsing in time with the stone beneath her feet.

The Heartstone in her palm thrummed faintly, resonating with the strange energy of this place. Its glow was weak—dim and uncertain—but steady.

"We're not alone," Liam murmured softly, his voice barely louder than the whispering wind.

Emma stilled. Her fingers curled slightly around the Heartstone. She extended her senses, allowing the faint pulse of her magic to stretch outward like invisible tendrils, seeking, feeling.

There.

A presence—a faint, flickering trace of magic. Old, but still active.

Her eyes narrowed. "You're right. Someone's been here recently."

The Hollowborn's Scar

As they descended from the rocky ridge into the valley below, the remnants of a battlefield emerged. The fractured landscape was scarred with the remnants of ancient magic—deep gouges in the stone where spells had once clashed. The skeletons of ancient siege engines and broken weaponry were half-buried in the dirt, their rusted remains blanketed with frost.

But the worst were the bones.

They littered the ground—thousands of them, stretching out across the valley. The remains of Veilwalkers and Hollowborn alike. Jagged shards of broken armor clung to their skeletal forms, their rusted blades still buried in the earth.

Emma knelt beside one, brushing away the frost-covered soil with her fingers. Beneath the bone was a sigil—faint but unmistakable.

The mark of the Architects.

Her breath caught faintly. The symbol had been branded into the dead man's armor, still faintly etched into the corroded steel—a jagged, angular spiral with runic glyphs surrounding it.

She traced the symbol with trembling fingers, feeling the icy ridges of the worn etching.

"They were here," she whispered, her voice low with dread. "The Architects."

Liam knelt beside her, his expression darkening as he ran his hand along the skeletal remains of a fallen Hollowborn warrior. The robes were shredded, but he could still see the familiar glyphs sewn into the fabric—the twisted, corrupted symbols of the cult.

He exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. "These ruins… they weren't just forgotten." His eyes met hers, sharp and grim. "They were erased."

Emma's chest tightened. She could feel the wrongness in the air—the lingering taint of the Architects' magic still woven into the soil itself.

"Why would they destroy an entire realm?" she asked softly, her voice barely audible.

Liam's gaze hardened. He shook his head slightly, the muscles in his jaw clenching.

"To hide something," he murmured darkly. "Or to keep it out of reach."

The Rising Threat

The farther they traveled into the forgotten realm, the more evidence of the Architects' destruction they found.

The fractured spires held strange glyphs carved into their stone—ancient sigils Emma didn't recognize, but she could feel the raw magic still clinging to them. Pockets of residual Veil energy pulsed faintly in the fissures along the ground, flickering like dying embers.

But worse still was the unmistakable sense of watching.

At first, Emma thought it was nothing more than her frayed nerves. The residual magic in the realm made her skin prickle, and her exhaustion made her more vulnerable to tricks of the mind.

But as they pressed deeper into the valley, the feeling grew stronger. She could sense it now—thin, whispering tendrils of magic coiling through the air like smoke, barely perceptible, but unmistakably real.

The Architects were still here. Somewhere. Watching. Waiting.

Liam's hand hovered near the hilt of his sword, his steps slower, more deliberate. His eyes swept the horizon with the sharp, assessing gaze of a soldier scanning for an ambush.

Then he stopped.

He turned to Emma, his voice low but firm.

"Do you feel that?"

She stilled, expanding her senses again. And then she felt it—a faint tremor in the air, so subtle it was almost imperceptible.

Magic. Active magic.

Her pulse quickened. She held the Heartstone tightly, closing her eyes for a brief moment, letting her magic reach outward.

There. A faint ripple, not far ahead—a disturbance in the Veil.

She opened her eyes sharply, her breath catching.

"There's a portal here," she whispered, glancing at Liam. "Still open."

His eyes narrowed slightly, his jaw clenching. He glanced at the cracked spires ahead, scanning for movement, for signs of life.

"Or a trap," he muttered grimly.

The Forgotten Gate

They pressed forward cautiously, making their way across the fractured valley toward the disturbance. As they approached, the mist thinned, and the faint shimmer of a portal came into view—a jagged tear in reality, veined with gold and black.

It pulsed faintly, holding itself open, though barely. Its edges flickered like dying embers, as if it had been left abandoned and neglected.

Emma's fingers tightened around the Heartstone. Her throat was dry.

"That's not a natural portal," she murmured softly. "It was made by Hollowborn magic."

Liam's hand slid toward his blade. His knuckles whitened slightly around the leather-wrapped hilt.

"But it's still open," he said softly, his eyes narrowing. "Which means they're still moving through it."

Emma's pulse quickened. She stared at the unstable portal, her fingers twitching with residual magic. Her body was still weak from the last battle, but her magic was stirring, still connected to the Veil.

Liam stepped closer, his voice low, but his tone sharp with warning.

"Are you sure you can close it?"

Her lips parted faintly, and she met his gaze.

"No," she admitted softly. "But I can follow it."

The look in Liam's eyes hardened, but he didn't argue. He simply stepped closer to her, his hand brushing hers.

"Then we do this together," he said softly.

And as they stepped into the Architects' portal, Emma knew one thing: whatever they found on the other side would change everything.

The portal rippled and snapped shut behind them with a sudden, violent hiss. The golden edges fractured into curling tendrils of energy, then collapsed inward, leaving nothing but empty space.

Emma staggered slightly, her knees buckling under the disorienting weightlessness that clung to her limbs. Her boots scuffed against the uneven stone, nearly slipping on the thin sheet of frost that coated the fractured terrain.

Liam's arm was already around her waist, steadying her with a firm grip. His warmth cut through the bitter cold of the realm like a tether to reality. His breath was steady in her ear, his voice low and calm.

"Easy," he murmured, holding her against him for a brief moment. "I've got you."

She exhaled sharply, the tremor in her legs slowly subsiding. Her fingers curled against his chest, anchoring herself against the residual dizziness from the crossing.

"I'm okay," she whispered, her breath still slightly unsteady.

But as she straightened, her eyes widened slightly, drawn immediately to the world around them.

The Forgotten Realm was nothing like she expected.

It stretched before them like the remains of a dream torn apart by time—a once-beautiful land now reduced to jagged ruins and frost-laden desolation. The ground was fractured and splintered, cracked into uneven planes, as though the very earth had been shattered by magic.

The stone was blackened and brittle, veined with glowing fissures that flickered faintly with molten light—the remnants of old Veil spells, their power still slowly bleeding into the earth centuries after the war had ended.

And beyond the broken ridge, the land simply… stopped.

Emma's breath caught slightly as she stared out over the edge of the precipice. The horizon fell away into nothingness—a vast, swirling void of ink-black mist, where the realm had been torn apart, leaving only fragmented islands of stone adrift in the empty abyss. Massive, jagged landmasses floated like ancient titans, suspended in slow orbit, half-shrouded by mist. Glimmering rifts of golden and violet magic streaked through the air, faint remnants of the Veil's corrupted power still flickering like faint candlelight in the distance.

"It's beautiful," Emma murmured softly, her voice barely above a breath.

Liam stood beside her, his gaze sharp and steady as he scanned the broken horizon. His hand hovered near the hilt of his sword, his muscles coiled with an instinctive tension. His eyes narrowed faintly, wary.

"No," he muttered darkly. "It's wrong."

Emma turned her head slightly, glancing at him with a questioning look.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, his gaze still fixed on the fractured landscape.

"This place—it was more than just forgotten," he said softly. His voice was grim, quiet, but laced with certainty. "It was broken deliberately."

Emma's eyes narrowed. She took a slow step forward, her boots crunching faintly over the frost-laced stone. She knelt by a jagged crevice in the ground, brushing her gloved fingers lightly over the surface. The blackened stone was scorched—not by flame, but by magic.

She closed her eyes briefly, extending her senses outward. The faint remnants of the Veil's magic still clung to the earth, like ash on the wind. But there was something darker buried beneath it—older, fouler.

Her fingers curled slightly against the stone. When she opened her eyes again, her voice was low and measured.

"Someone obliterated this place," she murmured, her throat tightening faintly. "Erased it."

She turned her gaze to Liam, her eyes shadowed with realization.

"The Architects," she whispered.

His expression darkened further. His hand lingered over his blade, his voice quiet but sharp.

"Then we're not alone."

The Hollowborn's Scar – Expanded Battlefield

As they pressed deeper into the ruined realm, the remnants of battle became more apparent. The terrain grew increasingly fractured, littered with jagged remnants of conflict. The shattered stone was pitted with the scars of spells—deep, violent gouges etched into the landscape by powerful magic.

Emma knelt beside the remnants of a broken blade half-buried in the frost-rimmed soil. The steel was blackened with corrosion, the edges still faintly coated in frost-touched blood. Her fingers brushed lightly against the blade, and she felt it—the faint, lingering echo of Veil magic still clinging to the steel.

Her throat tightened.

"They fought here," she whispered softly, glancing at Liam. "Veilwalkers. And Hollowborn."

Liam knelt beside her, his expression grim as he picked up a broken fragment of armor. The metal was charred and twisted, marked with strange runes that glimmered faintly with residual magic.

But it was the symbol carved into the steel that made his eyes harden.

A jagged, angular spiral with rune-like etchings woven into its edges. The mark of the Architects.

He exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. "They wiped them out," he murmured softly, turning the metal fragment over in his hand. His eyes narrowed. "But the Hollowborn… they didn't run."

Emma glanced at him sharply. "What do you mean?"

He gestured to the ground.

She followed his gaze, and her eyes widened slightly.

The positioning of the bodies—Veilwalker and Hollowborn alike—was deliberate. The Hollowborn had fought in tight, concentric formations around the Veilwalkers. Defending them.

Her lips parted faintly, realization sinking in.

"They were fighting… together."

Her voice was barely louder than a breath, disbelieving. She turned to Liam, her eyes wide.

"But why?"

He exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing.

"Because they had no choice," he muttered darkly. His voice was low, grim. "Whatever the Architects were hiding here… they didn't want either side finding it."

The Rising Threat – The Architects' Warning

As they pressed deeper into the forgotten realm, the presence of the Architects' magic grew stronger.

The fractured spires were etched with jagged glyphs—old, forgotten symbols of power woven into the very stone. Emma could feel them beneath her fingertips—the residual traces of containment magic, still pulsing faintly after centuries.

But it was the statues that made her stop.

Scattered throughout the landscape were massive, broken monoliths—stone effigies of the Architects. Each one depicted a veiled, faceless figure, shrouded in angular robes of carved stone, their elongated hands clutching massive, broken tomes. Their faces were obscured by smooth, expressionless masks.

But it was their eyes that caught Emma's attention.

Despite the centuries of erosion, the carved eyes still glimmered faintly with faint, golden light—enchanted glyphs, flickering softly with residual magic.

"Liam," Emma murmured sharply, her voice tight with warning. "They're watching us."

He turned swiftly, his hand gripping his blade as he scanned the horizon. His eyes narrowed slightly, assessing the landscape.

And then he saw it.

Hidden in the jagged spires beyond the statues, faint glimmers of movement—dark, inhuman shapes slithering through the mist. Their silhouettes flickered briefly—cloaked figures, indistinct but unmistakably moving toward them.

Liam's jaw tightened.

"They're here," he muttered darkly, his voice low and tense. He turned sharply to Emma, his voice a steady command.

"Get behind me."

Her hand tightened around the Heartstone, the crystal already thrumming faintly with power. Her eyes narrowed, her breath steady despite the pulse quickening in her chest.

And as the first of the Architects' emissaries emerged from the mist, Emma knew they were no longer the hunters.

They were the hunted.

The Broken Veil – The Fractured Crossing

As the portal behind them collapsed into nothingness, Emma staggered against the biting cold of the Forgotten Realm. The air was razor-thin and sharp, cutting through her lungs with each shallow breath. The crossing had left her disoriented—her senses still flickering between the physical and the ethereal, as though part of her were still tangled in the Veil's residual magic.

For a moment, she felt herself slipping—her footing unsteady on the jagged stone beneath her boots. But before she could fall, Liam's hand was on her waist, steadying her.

His grip was firm and familiar, anchoring her to reality. She pressed her hand against his chest, her fingers curling into the leather of his tunic. She felt the steady, reassuring rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palm, and her own pulse gradually slowed.

"Stay with me," he murmured against her hair, his voice low and soothing. His breath was warm on her temple, a fleeting contrast to the icy wind cutting across the fractured landscape.

She exhaled sharply, blinking against the disorientation. Her legs still trembled faintly, but she straightened, lifting her eyes to meet his.

"I'm fine," she whispered, her voice low but steady.

For a moment, he simply held her gaze, his storm-gray eyes searching hers. Then, with a small nod, he released her—but his hand lingered lightly against her lower back as they turned toward the landscape before them.

And when Emma's eyes fell upon the Forgotten Realm, her breath caught in her throat.

The Forgotten Realm – Expanded Landscape

The world stretched out before them in fragments—a shattered reflection of its former self.

Massive, broken landmasses hovered in midair, torn from the fabric of reality. They drifted slowly, suspended over the endless chasm of nothingness below. The void beneath them was infinite—a swirling abyss of shadow and mist, where fractured remnants of the realm floated like skeletal islands.

Faint, ethereal rivers of golden magic coursed through the jagged cliffs, weaving like glowing veins through the stone. The light was faint—ancient Veil magic, still pulsing weakly despite centuries of decay.

Above them, the sky was unnatural—a vast canvas of swirling violet and indigo clouds, tinged with streaks of gold and crimson. Twin suns hung low on the horizon, their light dim and fractured, casting elongated shadows that stretched unnaturally across the jagged terrain.

Frost coated the ruins. It clung to the broken spires and blackened stone, shimmering faintly with crystalline reflections. Emma knelt briefly, brushing her gloved fingers over the brittle layer of ice.

The frost was strange—too uniform, too perfect. It clung in thin, spiraling patterns, almost like glyphs burned into the earth by residual magic.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. Spellfrost.

"Liam," she called softly, her voice tight with caution. "Look at this."

He knelt beside her, his brow furrowed. His fingertips brushed lightly over the same swirling frost. The moment his skin touched it, the ice shimmered faintly, and the symbols briefly flared with a dim, golden glow.

"Runework," he muttered grimly. His voice was low and sharp. "The Architects did this."

Her eyes flickered toward him. "You're sure?"

He exhaled slowly, rising to his feet. His eyes scanned the fractured landscape—the blackened spires, the floating ruins, the ominous fissures of bleeding Veil magic. His fingers lingered on the hilt of his sword.

"I've seen this kind of magic before," he said darkly. His voice was low and measured, but a faint edge lingered beneath it. "During the war."

Emma's eyes narrowed slightly. "The Architects used this in the Hollowborn War?"

His gaze hardened. "No," he murmured grimly. "They used it before the war."

Her stomach tightened faintly, dread blooming low in her chest. She turned her eyes back to the frost-laced ruins, scanning the jagged edges of the broken spires.

And then she saw it.

Carved into the blackened stone of a ruined archway, partially obscured by frost, was an Architect sigil—a jagged spiral of interwoven glyphs, its edges lined with faint, angular runes. The mark was ancient, but its magic still hummed faintly in the stone, like a heartbeat long forgotten but never silenced.

Her breath caught slightly in her throat.

"They were here," she whispered. Her voice was barely louder than a breath.

Liam's expression hardened. His eyes narrowed, scanning the remnants of the sigil.

"No," he muttered darkly. "They still are."

The Shadows of the Past – Faint Whispers

As they pressed deeper into the shattered expanse, Emma could feel it—the presence lingering beneath the surface. The faint, residual magic clung to the stones, whispering faintly at the edges of her consciousness.

She slowed her pace, her boots crunching softly against the frost-laced ground. She let her eyes drift closed briefly, expanding her senses outward.

And she felt them.

Faint, fractured echoes, still clinging to the stones—memories burned into the land by ancient magic.

Without thinking, she pressed her hand lightly against the broken wall of a ruined spire. The stone was cold beneath her fingers, but the moment she made contact, a faint pulse of magic stirred.

Her breath caught. Her eyes widened slightly as the spell stirred the echoes hidden in the stone.

And suddenly, she heard them.

Whispers.

Fragmented voices—low and distant, fading in and out of existence. The faint murmur of old magic, still bleeding into the atmosphere centuries later.

"…hold the line…"

"…they're coming through…"

"…the Architects must not…**"

The voices were hollow, disjointed—remnants of a battle lost to time, etched into the very foundation of the realm.

Emma's throat tightened faintly. She opened her eyes sharply, blinking against the disorienting blur of images—the flickering silhouettes of faceless warriors moving through the mist.

She exhaled slowly, forcing the echoes away. Her breath was unsteady as she turned to Liam.

"This place isn't just broken," she whispered. Her voice was hoarse with the weight of realization. "It remembers."

Liam's eyes narrowed slightly. His hand lingered lightly against the hilt of his sword. His voice was low but steady.

"Then we're walking through a graveyard," he muttered darkly.

The Architects' Presence – The First Warning

The deeper they pressed into the forgotten realm, the stronger the Architects' presence became.

The jagged ruins grew more deliberate—the broken spires and floating islands forming unnatural patterns. The landscape was no longer random. The fractured landmasses formed a lattice of power, their positions meticulously arranged.

Emma's eyes narrowed slightly. She could see it—the faint but unmistakable glyph patterns woven into the geography itself. The entire realm was laced with forgotten sigils, etched into the floating stone and buried in the fractured earth.

The Architects hadn't just destroyed the realm. They had reshaped it—warping the very fabric of reality into a massive spellwork.

And when Emma's eyes caught the glimmer of gold runes flaring faintly along the horizon, she realized the spell was still active.

"Liam," she breathed sharply, her voice laced with warning. "It's still alive."

He turned sharply toward her, his expression hardening.

Before he could speak, the ground beneath their feet shuddered violently. The runes along the jagged horizon flared with golden light, and a low, guttural hum filled the air.

Emma's breath caught in her throat. Her hand flew to the Heartstone at her waist, but she was already too late.

The air fractured—splintering with light.

And from the shadows, the Architects' emissaries emerged.

The Realm's Awakening – Unseen Power Stirring

The earth trembled beneath their boots.

Faint tremors rippled through the fractured stone, dislodging brittle shards from the jagged spires. The glowing glyphs that snaked along the horizon flickered violently, like ancient veins of molten light suddenly awakened from centuries of slumber.

Emma's breath caught in her throat. She clutched the Heartstone at her waist, feeling the crystal pulse faintly against her palm. Its resonance vibrated softly against her skin—a faint hum that grew stronger with every step forward.

The land itself was stirring.

Magic seeped through the fractured ground, rising like mist from the cracks. It coiled and slithered through the air in luminous tendrils of gold and violet light, the colors of old Veil magic—fractured, corrupted, but still potent.

Liam slowed his pace, his boots crunching over the frost-laced stone. His hand lingered over the hilt of his blade, but his eyes remained sharp, scanning the shifting terrain.

"Do you feel that?" he muttered, his voice low and measured.

Emma exhaled softly, her breath visible in the biting chill. She pressed her palm against the nearest stone spire, extending her senses outward.

And she felt it.

A heartbeat.

Faint, sluggish, but unmistakable. The realm itself was alive.

Her eyes widened slightly, a shiver running down her spine.

"This place…" she whispered, her voice barely louder than a breath. "It's not just broken. It's… waking up."

The Leyveil Nexus – The Forgotten Realm's Veins

As they pressed deeper into the realm, the ground fractured beneath their feet, splintering in long, jagged veins that pulsed with liquid light.

The magic wasn't just lingering—it was returning.

Emma slowed her steps, her eyes scanning the terrain as faint rivers of Veil magic seeped from the broken fissures. The glow was faint at first, slithering through the frost-coated crevices like molten veins. But as they walked, the light grew brighter, more vivid.

The ley lines were stirring.

Emma knelt by the largest fissure, brushing her gloved fingers lightly over the warm stone. When she made contact, the ground pulsed faintly beneath her fingertips—a slow, steady rhythm.

The glow beneath the earth flared brighter in response.

Her breath caught faintly in her throat.

"They buried it," she murmured softly. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she turned to Liam. "The Architects didn't just destroy this place—they sealed it."

He knelt beside her, his hand brushing the edge of the fissure. His brow furrowed faintly as he studied the glowing ley lines, the molten light shifting subtly in rhythm with Emma's touch.

"Buried what?" he asked softly, his voice low and steady.

She exhaled slowly, her fingers curling slightly against the warm stone.

"The old magic," she whispered, realization sinking in. "It's still here."

Her eyes widened slightly, her breath uneven. She turned to him, her voice barely above a breath.

"The Veil's lifeblood—it never died. They tried to destroy it, but they couldn't."

She glanced toward the horizon, her gaze lingering on the jagged spires silhouetted against the twin suns. The faint glow running through the veins of the earth was no longer weak—it was spreading, growing stronger with every step they took.

The realm was healing itself.

The Shattered Nexus – Awakening the Forgotten Power

They pressed deeper into the Forgotten Realm, weaving between broken spires and suspended landmasses floating in slow orbit above the mist-laden chasm.

As they walked, Emma's magic began to stir in response. The Heartstone at her waist grew steadily warmer, its crystalline surface pulsing softly with each step.

It was feeding from the realm.

Emma's breath quickened slightly as she felt the familiar surge building in her chest—the faint hum of Veil magic vibrating through her veins. She closed her eyes briefly, and with a slow exhale, she extended her magic outward.

The realm responded immediately.

The swirling mist parted faintly, revealing shimmering, iridescent fractures in the air—small gateways where the Veil's energy still bled into reality. The remnants of ancient spells clung to the broken landscape, their power still trembling beneath the surface.

When she opened her eyes, the floating ruins no longer seemed random.

Her breath caught.

"Liam," she whispered sharply, her voice tight with realization. She turned, her eyes wide. "Do you see it?"

He slowed, his eyes narrowing faintly as he scanned the hovering fragments of stone.

And then he saw it.

The floating islands—the broken remnants of the Forgotten Realm—were aligned in a precise formation. Their slow orbit formed concentric rings, like the markings of an ancient glyph etched into reality itself.

He exhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing.

"A spell circle," he muttered grimly. His voice was low, laced with a dark edge.

Her throat tightened. "No," she whispered softly. Her voice was barely louder than a breath. "It's a key."

The Forgotten Power – The Realm's Core

As they approached the heart of the broken realm, the ley lines grew brighter, more vivid. The fractured landmasses that floated in slow, silent orbit began to shimmer faintly with power, the long-forgotten magic slowly awakening.

Emma's pulse quickened. She could feel it—the pulse of the realm, a slow, steady thrum that beat in time with her own.

When they reached the center of the ring, the ground shifted beneath them. The fractured stone shivered violently, and the magic within the ley lines surged upward, pouring into the ruins.

The sky above them fractured, shimmering with golden light. The clouds split apart, and shafts of iridescent energy poured down, illuminating the broken ground. The floating landmasses slowed their orbit, locking into place.

Emma felt the resonance build in her chest. Her breath quickened, and she clutched the Heartstone tightly in her hand.

And then she felt it—the surge of magic, raw and ancient, bleeding through the fractures in reality.

The Forgotten Realm was awakening.

The broken glyphs scattered throughout the ruins flickered to life, glowing with molten light. The fractured stone beneath her boots shivered, shifting into jagged spires as the ley magic surged upward, blooming into cascading ribbons of gold and violet light.

Emma stumbled slightly, but Liam's hand was there immediately, gripping her wrist. His touch was steady, grounding her.

"Steady," he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

She exhaled sharply, gripping his hand as the magic exploded outward.

The fractured spell circle that encased the floating realm finally activated. The ancient glyphs woven into the orbiting islands blazed with radiant light, the spellwork reconnecting in one unified circuit.

And in the very center, suspended in the void, a massive crystal obelisk slowly emerged from the mist.

The crystal was enormous—easily twenty feet tall, its jagged edges pulsing with liquid gold and azure magic. Veins of power shimmered along its surface, bleeding raw magic into the air.

Emma's breath caught sharply.

"The Heart of the Forgotten Realm," she whispered.

Her fingers tightened around the Heartstone at her waist, her voice barely above a breath.

"They didn't just destroy this place," she murmured softly. "They buried its power."

Liam's eyes narrowed sharply, his hand still firmly clasped around hers. His voice was low, steady.

"And now," he muttered grimly, "we've woken it up."