Weeks passed.

The world above — untouched by fractures and ancient horrors — went about its business, blissfully unaware.

But beneath that surface, everything shifted.

The factions were no longer openly at war — not because peace had won, but because everyone was waiting.

Waiting to see how far the Silent Court would reach.

Waiting to see who would break first.

Elian and his team remained in motion, avoiding cities, constantly relocating.
Safehouses provided by Lysara’s old contacts in the Eastern Guild Network offered brief shelter, but not certainty.

The Court had not struck again.

Not yet.

Tonight, they sheltered in a carved-out sanctuary beneath the Windspire Mountains.
The stonework was old — predating even the first Fracture Wars.

Elian sat before a map spread across the worn table.

A new map.

One the Cartographer had sent in secret.

Lines etched themselves across the parchment, glowing faintly as the ink dried into memory-thread.

Each marked not a place, but a potential fracture — latent weak points scattered across the known world.

The Silent Court was already moving to claim them quietly.

Cray paced behind him.

"Look at this," Cray muttered, eyes scanning the glowing lines.
"They’re not just targeting fractures. They’re mapping power centers — trade hubs, political cores, even neutral guild strongholds."

"They’re positioning themselves to control everything," Lysara said, voice hard.

"Without ever needing armies," Calen added quietly.

Elian nodded, jaw set.

"That’s why the Court offered us partnership. They always knew we wouldn't accept. But if they could delay us long enough, they’d own the board before we even moved."

He stared at the map.

Seven primary fracture sites still existed.

Four already showed faint Court sigils near them — territory falling without a single open fight.

But the remaining three…

Unclaimed.

For now.

Suddenly, Cray stiffened.

"Wait," he whispered.
"Someone’s here."

They all rose instantly, hands on weapons.
Lysara summoned a containment ward.
Calen began stabilizing the stone around them.

A soft knock echoed from the sealed door.

Then a voice:

"Easy, Elian. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t knock."

Elian froze.

He knew that voice.

"Let him in," Elian said.

The stone door unsealed, sliding back with a grinding hum.

And there stood a ghost from his past.

The man was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in traveling leathers worn from years on the road. His beard was thicker now, streaked with iron-gray, but his sharp eyes hadn’t dulled.

A scar traced across his left brow — one Elian remembered very well.

"Veylen," Elian said softly.

The Wolf had returned.

Cray swore under his breath.
"That bastard’s still alive."

Lysara raised one hand warily.
"You were supposed to be dead, Veylen."

Veylen grinned.

"Rumors. Useful things."

Veylen, once Elian’s mentor.
Once his closest ally.

Once the man who betrayed him to the Root’s servants… before vanishing into exile.

"I heard you’ve been busy," Veylen said casually, glancing at the glowing map.
"Sealing fractures, rejecting generous offers, making dangerous enemies."

Elian’s voice was steel.

"What do you want, Veylen?"

Veylen stepped closer, lowering his voice.

"I bring you knowledge. Information the Cartographer doesn’t have. Information even the Court fears."

Elian narrowed his eyes.
"Why help us?"

Veylen smiled faintly.
"Because while the Court plays for control… someone else is already reaching for dominion."

He unfurled a second map — older, stitched together from dozens of parchment fragments.

"These fractures are nothing, Elian.
The Court’s power is only half the story.
There is another."

He pointed to a remote region beyond the known lands.

"The Veiled Dominion. The place where the First Masters hid what even the Fracture could not contain."

The room fell utterly silent.

Even Lysara’s glyphs dimmed as though unwilling to record the words.

Calen whispered, "That place is a myth."

Veylen shook his head.

"Not a myth. A contingency. The final vault. If the Dominion is breached—"

He locked eyes with Elian.

"—all the old powers return."

Elian’s breath slowed.

The Silent Court was not the end.

Not even close.