The first warning came as a headache.
Lyria doubled over during the Blood Moon rites, her vision swimming with images of crumbling skies. The High Oracle's grip bit into her shoulders as the vision tore through her:
*"The Veil weakens where your heart pulls. Every shared breath, every whispered promise—it frays further."*
Across the city, Aric woke gasping, his sheets drenched in sweat. The scar on his palm—where Lyria's magic had once healed a sword cut—throbbed like a fresh wound.
That morning, the Sun King summoned his knights. "Something is breaking the world," he said, unaware his own champion was the cause.
Aric's hands shook as he tightened his gauntlets.