What the Flames Forgot, the Shadows Remembers
History in this world wasn't inked.
It was burned into bone.
Centuries ago, long before mirror fractures split the sky and bled out nightmares, the continent of Aeltheria was ruled not by kings, but by Bloodlines—not mere families, but elemental dynasties, each born with a power the world bent to obey.
Each House held dominion over an Element:
House Ravenshade: Masters of the wind and earth —swift, sharp, unpredictable. Known for their cunning diplomacy ,eerie ways, strong will and determination.
House Valerborne: Steeped in shadow. Quiet strength, brutal legacy. Always watching, rarely trusted.
House Aurelius: Bearers of lightning—bold, proud, protectors of old oaths.
House Virellia: Keepers of ice—stoic, cold-blooded aristocracy with secrets in every blink.
House Nairoveth: Water-born, rich, spoiled, but politically untouchable.
And once—
House Kharkan: The fire-blooded. Fierce. Feared.
And gone.
Or so they said.
The Kharkans weren't just burned from history. They were erased.
Accused of breaking the Accord that kept the Mirror Realm sealed, of summoning horrors in the name of conquest. Of trying to turn all of Aeltheria into ash.
The rebellion was swift.
And savage.
What remained of Kharkan was banished beyond the Veil—sealed inside the Mirror Realm. Their allies were executed. Their name made taboo.
Even their children, it was whispered, were hunted. Burned.
The Nairians, fire-born cousins of the Kharkans who refused to kneel, were the last to fall. They vanished—blamed, betrayed, and eventually forgotten.
---
But blood remembers what history tries to bury.
Now, cracks are appearing in the veil again.
Echoes slipping through. Twisted things born of regret, rage, and everything the world tried to seal away.
And at the center of it all?
Two names whispered in noble halls and war chambers:
Seraphina Ravenshade. Lioren Valerborne.
Neither fully awakened.
Both anomalies.
But those who knew the old stories—the ones that still met in the dark with hushed voices—were starting to wonder:
> "Did we destroy the fire?"
"Or did we scatter the embers?"
---
In the war rooms of Elarion Academy, and even deeper in the High Citadel where only the most ancient of families still held seats, the debate was growing dangerous:
> "Train them."
"Use them."
"Break them."
"Or kill them before it's too late."
"We need them whether we like it or not "
But no matter how many scrolls were burnt, one line remained carved into the obsidian walls of the Hall of Judgment:
> "When the flame returns to the world, so too shall its shadow."