The night sky burned crimson.
Not with fire, but with memory.
Above the jagged peaks of the Obsidian Reach, a red star pulsed into being—one that had not been seen in the heavens for over a thousand years. The "Red Whisper," as it was called in the forbidden annals Maelin once studied, marked the beginning of the prophecy's final verse.
She saw it as she emerged from the cavern of the Hollow Choir, bruised, breathless, and clutching the relic known as the Celestial Locket. Her blood still sang with the residual energy of the binding spell she'd risked her life to cast.
Caelum stood beside her, staring at the red light overhead.
"It's begun," he said grimly.
Maelin didn't respond. She couldn't. Her gaze was locked on the star, but her thoughts were elsewhere—on the image she saw inside the Locket: herself, wreathed in red, weeping, standing over a battlefield of ash and feathers.
"Is that the future?" she whispered. "Or a warning?"
Before Caelum could answer, the wind shifted. A low, almost inhuman whisper slithered through the air. It didn't come from behind them. It came from within her.
> "Red is not the end, Key-Bearer. Red is the price."
Maelin staggered. The blade at her side—the Starshard—responded, glowing faintly at the hilt with a heartbeat she no longer believed was her own.
"What did it say?" Caelum asked, stepping toward her.
Maelin's lips trembled. "That the red star isn't the prophecy's end—it's the cost of it."
Suddenly, the mountainside below erupted with flame.
A massive glyph—shaped like the Whisper's constellation—burned into the earth in blood-red fire. Figures cloaked in star-dust robes stood at each of the seven points.
The Fallen Choir had arrived.
Not to stop Maelin.
To crown her.
As Maelin stepped forward—blade drawn, starlight in her veins, and the Locket thrumming against her heart—she understood at last:
The Whisper wasn't a message. It was a command.
And red wasn't a warning.
It was her destiny.