Mo made his way east, away from Lake Endar. The transformation left him stronger, but also disoriented. He needed answers—about the power coursing through his veins, and the ancient war he was apparently reborn to fight.
On the fourth night, as he camped beneath the crumbling statue of a forgotten deity, he met her.
A girl his age, dressed in sky-blue robes embroidered with gold patterns of wings. She landed soundlessly from above, carried by a glider woven with essence-thread.
"You carry the shamshir," she said. "You shouldn't be alone."
Mo drew his blade, though it felt wrong to threaten her.
"I am Aylen," she said calmly. "Initiate of the Skybound Order. The stars have spoken of your coming."
The Skybound Order. Alric had spoken of them once—guardians of the old pacts, scholars of the celestial seals.
Aylen showed him a glyph, burned into her arm: a seven-pointed sigil radiating light.
"You are not the only one with a legacy, Mo," she said. "And you're not the only target. The Flame Sect has broken two of the elemental seals already. They will not stop."
Mo sheathed his blade.
Together, they walked beneath the stars.