The chipped rune pulsed beneath Elara’s palm, a throb against the cold stone of the watchtower. Dust motes danced in the lone shaft of sunlight slicing through the gloom. It hadn’t sparked in centuries, not since the last Runeweaver… vanished. Now? A frantic, shivering light.
“What in the blazes…?” Kael, her captain, leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his expression a granite mask. He didn’t bother with questions usually. Just observed.
“It’s…singing.” The word felt thin, inadequate. It wasn’t a sound so much as a resonance, a tremor in her bones.
“Singing? Runes don’t sing, Elara. They *hold*.” Kael pushed off the doorframe and stalked closer, boots echoing on the worn stone. He stopped a respectful distance from the rune, his gaze fixed on the flickering light. “Show me.”
Elara traced the weathered lines of the rune with a calloused fingertip. The sensation intensified, a rush of images – churning grey seas, towers of black basalt, faces… lost, desperate. And a voice. A chorus, really.
“Hear their drowned oaths.” The words weren’t spoken aloud, but *felt* within her skull, a chilling echo of sorrow.
Kael’s jaw tightened. “What oaths?”
“I… I don’t know. It’s like pieces of memory, fractured. Something about exile. And… a binding.” Elara squeezed her eyes shut against the onslaught. The images sharpened: beautiful, haunting faces, scaled tails catching the light, eyes brimming with anguish. *Sirens*. Not the playful myths sung by sailors, but something ancient, something *powerful*.
“Sirens?” Kael scoffed, but his voice lacked its usual surety. “Those are just stories to frighten green hands.”
“These aren’t stories, Captain. This feels… real.” She glanced up, meeting his skeptical gaze. “Recalcium memory, it said. Fractured ages. Wars of sorrow.”
“Wars?” He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. “What kind of wars?”
The chorus swelled, overwhelming. Elara stumbled back, bracing herself against the cold stone wall. “It…it says if I can hear them, it’ll ignite something. A war. One that’s been dormant for centuries.”
A shadow crossed Kael’s face. He didn’t look at her. He stared at the rune. “Never heard a siren tale like this.” His voice was a low rumble. “Changes everything, doesn’t it?”
“If it’s true, it could reshape the balance of power.” She touched the rune again, cautiously. The images flooded back, more vivid now. The sirens weren’t just exiled; they were *bound*— their power suppressed, their history erased.
“Suppressed by who?” Kael asked, his voice sharper now.
“I don’t know! It’s… fragmented. But it feels like the Old Kings. Before the Accord.”
Kael swore under his breath. The Old Kings. The ruthless rulers who’d carved their empire from bloodshed and magic. Legends said they’d vanished, driven into the void. But what if they hadn’t vanished? What if they’d just hidden their enemies?
“And this ‘recalcium memory’?”
“It’s like… piecing together broken fragments. Bringing the past back into focus. If I can fully recall what happened, the binding will break.” Elara met his gaze. “But it says it won’t be without consequences.”
Kael stared at the sparking rune, then back at Elara. “Consequences we can handle.” He paused, his expression unreadable. “Or so we better pray.”
