As Merial and Syrial finally approached the University of Ny'theras, the towering cristal spires emerged from the mist like sentinels of knowledge. The University stood as the physical manifestation of the centuries-old alliance between the Sylarei and Verithil races—a testament to what could be achieved when intellectual pursuit transcended political differences.
The main gates were flanked by statues representing the founders: a Sylarei sage with runes flowing across her carved robes and a Verithil seer whose stone eyes contained intricate star-like patterns. Together, they held a crystal sphere that glowed with soft blue light—a symbolic representation of shared knowledge.
"We must report directly to the Council," Syrial said, her voice tight with urgency. "What we've witnessed cannot wait for the usual protocols."
Merial nodded, though her mind still echoed with the dream's cryptic message. As they passed through the University's outer gardens, where floating platforms supported exotic plants used in various magical studies, she noticed an unusual number of Verithil scholars gathered in small groups, their golden eyes flashing with concern as they spoke in hushed tones.
The alliance between Sylarei and Verithil had always been built on complementary strengths. Where the Sylarei excelled at manipulating reality through precise Words of Power, the Verithil's unique ocular abilities allowed them to perceive hidden truths and glimpse potential futures. Together, they had created magical innovations that neither race could have achieved alone.
Yet recently, tensions had begun to surface. The Verithil had become increasingly secretive about certain research projects, particularly those involving the Dome's structure. Some Sylarei elders whispered that their golden-eyed allies were withholding crucial visions—perhaps ones that contradicted their political interests.
As they entered the main hall, a messenger intercepted them, his face grave.
"Elder Syrial, your presence is requested immediately in the Chamber of Echoes. The Council has convened an emergency session."
Syrial's expression darkened. "The Chamber of Echoes? Not the usual council room?" The messenger lowered his voice. "The Verithil insisted. They claim their seers need the chamber's amplification properties to share a vision of great importance."
Merial felt a chill run down her spine. The Chamber of Echoes was rarely used—its unique acoustics and magical properties made it ideal for sharing complex visions or performing dangerous magical experiments, but those same properties made it exhausting for participants. Whatever the Verithil wished to share must be of extraordinary significance.
"Come, Merial," Syrial said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You witnessed what happened in the Dead Zone. Your testimony will be valuable."
The Chamber of Echoes lived up to its name—a perfect hemisphere carved from a single massive crystal, its walls inscribed with thousands of interconnected runes that glowed with soft blue light. The floor was a mirror-like surface that reflected not just images but magical energies, creating a space where power could be amplified and shared with precision.
Already seated in a semicircle were the University's highest authorities: five Sylarei elders, their skin covered in complex runic patterns that marked their mastery, and five Verithil seers, their golden eyes seeming to look through rather than at the newcomers.
At the center stood Virell, the eldest of the Sylarei Council, his ancient face a map of wisdom and caution. Beside him was Nythera, the Valisther of the Verithil, her white hair forming a stark contrast with her dark robes.
"Elder Syrial," Virell acknowledged with a slight nod. "We have been awaiting your report. But first, the Verithil have a vision to share—one they believe contextualizes what you may have discovered."
Nythera stepped forward, her golden eyes now glowing with an intensity that made Merial want to look away.
"Three days ago, our most gifted seer experienced a vision so powerful it left her unconscious for a full day," the Valisther began, her voice resonating perfectly in the chamber's acoustic design. "What she saw concerns us all—not just our two races, but all who live beneath the Dome."
With a gesture, Nythera signaled to a younger Verithil woman who stepped into the center of the chamber. Her eyes were different from the others—not just golden, but with pupils that seemed to contain swirling galaxies.
"This is Elara, an Astronyx of rare ability," Nythera explained. "She will share what she has seen."
Elara raised her hands, and the chamber's runes responded, glowing brighter. The air above the center of the room began to shimmer and coalesce into images: a map of Inhevaen, with pulsing red points marking what Merial immediately recognized as Dead Zones.
"They are not random," Elara said, her voice eerily calm. "Watch."
As the vision continued, lines began to connect the red points, forming a pattern that made several elders gasp. It was a complex sigil—one that Merial had seen in ancient texts about the Dome's structure.
"This is a breaking pattern," one of the Sylarei elders whispered. "A systematic attempt to weaken the Dome's integrity."
"Precisely," Elara confirmed. "And there is more."
The vision shifted, showing shadowy figures performing rituals at each Dead Zone location. Though their faces were obscured, one detail was clear: each wore a pendant bearing the symbol of a black thorn coiled upon itself.
"The Black Thorn Guild," Syrial breathed. "But they're mere traffickers, not mages of this caliber."
"They are pawns," Elara said, her strange eyes fixing on Syrial. "Directed by someone with knowledge of the Dome's weaknesses and the power to exploit them."
The vision faded, and Elara swayed slightly, steadied by Nythera's hand on her shoulder. All eyes turned to Syrial and Merial.
"Now," Virell said gravely, "tell us what you found in the Dead Zone of Velh'Ciriand."
Syrial stepped forward, her expression solemn. She recounted their discovery of the ritual site, the appearance of the Child of Silence, and—with a proud glance at Merial—how her apprentice had defeated the creature through extraordinary magical skill.
"The ritual fragments we recovered bear similarities to ancient Sangor blood magic,"
Syrial concluded, "but with modifications I've never seen before. And the Child of Silence was unlike any previously documented—more focused, more purposeful in its attacks."
Merial listened, her mind racing. The vision had confirmed her growing suspicion: the Dead Zones weren't natural occurrences but deliberate attacks on the Dome's structure.
But who would want to weaken or destroy the only thing protecting Inhevaen? And why had that voice in her dream told her to protect the Bearer?
As if reading her thoughts, Virell turned to her. "Apprentice Merial, you've shown exceptional ability both in your studies and now in the field. Your perspective may offer insights we elders might miss. What do you make of these events?"
Merial swallowed hard, aware of all eyes upon her. The pressure of the moment was immense, but she forced herself to organize her thoughts. This was no time for hesitation.
"The pattern shown in the vision suggests knowledge of the Dome's structural weaknesses," she began carefully. "Such knowledge would be restricted to the highest levels of magical scholarship. And the coordination required to create Dead Zones in this specific pattern indicates organization beyond the capabilities of mere traffickers."
She paused, gathering courage for what she would say next.
"I believe we're witnessing the first moves in a long-planned strategy—not just to weaken the Dome, but to fundamentally alter it. The Children of Silence aren't just byproducts of the Dead Zones; they're weapons being tested and refined."
A heavy silence fell over the chamber. Merial had voiced what many had feared but none had dared articulate so directly.
Finally, Nythera spoke. "Our seers have glimpsed fragments of a prophecy—one that speaks of a time when the Dome will sing, calling to one who can hear its voice. Some believe this heralds the Dome's destruction; others, its transformation."
Merial's heart skipped a beat. The words echoed her dream with uncanny precision.
"The Bearer," she whispered, almost involuntarily.
All eyes turned to her again, sharper now, more intense.
"What do you know of the Bearer?" Virell asked, his voice suddenly cold.
Merial hesitated, caught between the urge to share her dream and an inexplicable instinct to keep it private. Before she could decide, the chamber doors burst open.
A messenger rushed in, face pale with urgency. "Forgive the interruption, but news has arrived from Olkaris. The Crystal Council has declared an emergency alliance. All races are being called to address the proliferation of Dead Zones."
Virell and Nythera exchanged glances.
"It seems events are moving faster than anticipated," Virell said. "Syrial, you and your apprentice will represent the University at the Crystal Council. Your firsthand experience with the Dead Zone will be invaluable."
"And Merial," Nythera added, her golden eyes seeming to pierce through the Young Sylarei's defenses, "we will continue our discussion about the Bearer at a more appropriate time."
As they were dismissed, Merial felt a weight settle on her shoulders. She had been thrust into events far larger than she had imagined, and the cryptic warning from her dream now seemed less like a mystery and more like a burden.
The journey to Olkaris would take them through territories increasingly destabilized by fear and political tension. And somewhere out there, someone was systematically attacking the very foundation of their world.
As they left the Chamber of Echoes, Syrial placed a hand on Merial's shoulder. "Whatever you know—or think you know—about the Bearer, be cautious with whom you share it. Not all who speak of prophecies have Inhevaen's best interests at heart."
Merial nodded, her mind already racing ahead to what awaited them in Olkaris. The Crystal Council, with representatives from all seven races, would be a crucible of competing interests and ancient grudges. And at the center of it all, a question no one had yet answered:
Who would benefit from the Dome's destruction?
And why did she feel, with growing certainty, that she was being drawn into a role she neither understood nor desired—protector of someone she had never met, against threats she could barely comprehend?
As they prepared for the journey to Olkaris, Merial cast one last glance at the University's crystal spires. For years, this had been her sanctuary, a place of learning and relative safety. Now she was venturing into the wider world of Inhevaen, where the political machinations of seven races created currents far more dangerous than any Dead Zone.
The Dome above seemed to pulse once, as if acknowledging her thoughts, and Merial couldn't shake the feeling that it was watching her—waiting to see what she would do next.