They said the Spirit Queen had returned.

Some claimed to have seen her: a fleeting figure among the trees, an ethereal presence glimpsed at twilight, her steps leaving faint ripples on the rivers. She was the weaver of balance, the queen of the elements, the one who kept Alorindor ’s wild energies in check—until she vanished, leaving the land vulnerable to destruction. But that was ages ago, before the first cataclysm even struck, and now no one truly knew if the stories were anything more than rumor.

Yet rumors were enough to spark hope. They were enough to inspire whispers in the villages, cautious prayers in the temples, and tense discussions among scholars. People spoke of her return as both a blessing and a curse. Some said that if she had returned, it was to restore balance and calm the elemental uprising. Others feared her return was a herald of worse things to come, a sign that the Third Great Cataclysm—the Elemental Rebellion—would never end.

Naolin had heard the tales too. For the last few weeks, since the rebellion had torn through the forests and rivers near Valen’s Reach, he’d seen firsthand the destruction caused by the elementals, once silent forces of nature turned violently unpredictable. Fires flared without warning; rivers surged over their banks; the very ground shuddered beneath his feet.

But the Spirit Queen was just a story to him. An old myth, a figure who might as well have been the land itself. How could anyone really know she had returned?

That night, he stayed late at the Temple of Amaranth, tending to the shrines and placing offerings left by the fearful citizens of Valen’s Reach. He swept dried leaves from the stone floors, arranged flowers, and murmured quiet blessings over the worn stones. His duties were usually uneventful, but tonight, something felt different.

As he knelt to place a small sprig of heather on the altar, a strange chill swept through the air. It wasn’t the cold of night settling in, but something sharper, deeper. It made him pause, fingers hovering just above the stone floor. The chill seeped through his skin, lingering like a shadow.

Then he heard it—a whisper. Soft as a breath, barely audible. “Balance… Return…”

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Naolin’s hand dropped, and he spun around, half-expecting to see someone behind him. But the hall was empty, the only light coming from the dim braziers, their flames flickering faintly. He took a breath, laughing nervously to himself, but the chill remained, curling around him like a faint mist.

“Naolin?”

He jumped, his heart leaping into his throat. High Priestess Maelis stood in the doorway, her face unreadable as she watched him. She stepped into the hall, her gaze sweeping over the offerings and lingering on him with a sharpness that made him feel exposed.

“Why are you still here?” she asked, her voice softer than usual.

He glanced back at the shrine, still feeling the lingering chill of that whisper. “I… I thought I heard something, Priestess.”

“Something?” Her expression turned thoughtful, and she nodded as though confirming a suspicion. “You’re not the first. Others have felt… disturbances, especially those attuned to the elements. Ever since the rebellion began, people have been seeing things. Some say it’s her. The Spirit Queen.”

Naolin’s pulse quickened. He’d heard those rumors, of course—everyone had. “But no one’s seen her for sure, have they?”

“Not for sure,” Maelis replied, her gaze drifting to the braziers. “Only glimpses. Shadows. Words spoken on the wind. But if she is here, it could mean something grave or something miraculous. This rebellion has not ended, and the elements are growing more unstable by the day. If she’s here, perhaps she’s come to restore what’s been lost… or to warn us of something worse.”

The weight of her words hung between them, thick and heavy. The Spirit Queen was more myth than reality to him, but the idea that she might walk Alorindor again—that she could be here, close enough for rumors to spark—was both exhilarating and terrifying.

“Tomorrow,” Maelis continued, breaking the silence, “a scholar from the northern cities will arrive. The council has sent for them to help interpret these signs. They’ll need a healer, someone who knows the old rites. You’ll travel with them and seek out the disturbances across Alorindor.”

He felt his throat tighten. “Me? I’m just an apprentice, Priestess. I… I’m not ready for something like this.”

She fixed him with a steady gaze, one that brooked no argument. “None of us are ready for the call of the Spirit Queen, Naolin. But when she calls, we answer. Tomorrow, you will begin your journey.”

Reluctantly, he accepted a scroll she pulled from her robe, the parchment faded with age, the ink scrawled in a language older than anything he’d been taught. “Read this tonight. It’s one of the few remaining texts we have on the Spirit Queen and her connection to the elements. If she is here, then you must know her legacy, as well as the dangers she brings.”

As she turned to leave, her final words echoed softly in the dim temple hall.

“The Spirit Queen does not return without cause. Be prepared, Naolin. You may be about to witness more than you ever believed possible.”