During the night, the campfire had died out.

A faint violet glow flickered beneath the stone archway where they slept, casting long, spindled shadows against the crumbled stone walls. The wind rustled through the nearby trees, their branches creaking like tired old bones. The stars above were veiled by passing clouds, broken only by faint traces of starlight and the occasional hiss of faraway thunder rolling through the mountains beyond Zantaru Cliffs.

Kazi stirred in her sleep.

She hadn’t been dreaming, not in the usual sense. She floated instead, held in the space between memory and meaning, where images shifted without reason and time dissolved into heat.

Her mark flared suddenly, glowing beneath the fabric of her sleeve. At first, it pulsed softly, in rhythm with her heartbeat. Then it surged.

She gasped and sat up, breath sharp in her chest. The air around her had changed. It was warmer, tinged with the coppery scent of something burning.

The others slept nearby. Dakarai’s arms were crossed over his chest, still crackling faintly with residual static. Rhazir sat a short distance from the fire, unmoving, head bowed as if asleep with his eyes open.

Kazi looked down at her arm.

The Mark of Azibo blazed.

Not just a soft glow, but alive. Shapes within the mark shifted like molten glass, symbols rising and falling in its pattern. She tried to call out but found her voice caught in her throat.

And then the world vanished.

She blinked, and found herself somewhere else.

The ground beneath her feet was black glass. The sky overhead pulsed with amber light, like fire swirling inside a massive dome. Pillars of flame stretched high into the sky, flickering with impossible energy. Across the horizon, the silhouettes of eight massive beings stood in a wide circle. She couldn’t see their faces. Each of them burned with a different light; cobalt, green, white, silver, violet, electric blue, bronze, and her own blazing amber.

At the center of them all floated a single mark.

Not carved in flesh, but hovering like a symbol etched into the air. It spun slowly, emitting waves of energy with every rotation.

She stepped forward, drawn by something she didn’t understand.

A voice called out to her. Not loud. Not spoken.

“You are not the first.”

Kazi froze. The air around her shimmered as one of the figures moved. Its light burned brightest, amber like hers, but deeper, denser, as if it held fire from a thousand suns.

“You are the spark. But sparks can burn, or fade.”

“Who are you?” Kazi asked, or thought she did. Her voice didn’t echo here. It didn’t feel like it needed to.

“I am what remains.”

“I am Azibo.”

The air thickened. The eight figures pulsed once in unison, and the central mark split open, revealing layers beneath it, like gears within a divine machine.

Images slammed into her mind.

A mountain consumed by vines.
A desert cloaked in violet smoke.
A white cliff where words were carved in stone and then swallowed by the sea.
A child standing on a battlefield, untouched by the chaos.
And finally, a single eye, glowing with all eight lights, blinking once, then closing.

The voice came again.

“They will come for the rest. You must find them before the fracture begins.”

Kazi fell backward, light folding in on itself.

She awoke with a shout.

The fire was burning again. Violet and gold this time. Rhazir was standing, already moving toward her. Dakarai sat up, sparks dancing along his arms.

Her chest rose and fell in heavy breaths. The mark still glowed faintly, pulsing slower now.

“You okay, Kazi?” Dakarai asked with concern but ready to fight for some reason

“Yes, I’m okay, but I think I had another one of those visions.” She exclaimed.

“What did you see?” Rhazir asked, his voice steadier than his eyes.

Kazi looked at them both.

“Azibo.”