The stillness of the Sanctuary’s archives was a comfort to Sarlon. The faint scent of aged parchment and ink lingered in the cool air, and the soft rustle of her robes was the only sound as she moved through the vast chamber. Her fingers lightly traced over the ancient script on a half-decayed scroll, the ink faded but still legible under her practiced touch.

On a nearby pile of books, her cat lounged lazily, its tail flicking rhythmically in contentment. The feline was always a steady presence, a quiet reassurance in her otherwise solitary work.

But that calm was shattered as a low, resonant thrum echoed through the stones of the Sanctuary. The sound wasn’t loud, but it vibrated through the floor and walls, sinking deep into Sarlon’s bones.

The cat sat up abruptly, its ears flattened and eyes wide. It arched its back, fur bristling, and let out a warning hiss, followed by a low, guttural growl.

“Calm yourself,” Sarlon said, extending a hand to soothe the animal.

Before she could make contact, the cat swatted at her with claws extended, its growl deepening. Startled, she pulled back, watching as it leapt from the pile of books and disappeared into the shadows of the room.

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Then it struck—a blinding, searing pain that exploded behind her eyes. Sarlon gasped, clutching her head as her knees buckled beneath her. The chair she had been sitting on just moments before toppled over, clattering loudly against the stone floor.

Her vision blurred, then shifted.

The Guardians stood in the heart of a vast, ruined city. She recognized the architecture—it was Kali’dar. The obelisk loomed behind them, pulsating with faint, dark energy. Around them, waves of inky blackness surged forward like a living tide, crashing against their radiant forms.

They stood strong, their weapons blazing with the light of their elements, but the shadows pressed on relentlessly, consuming everything in their path.

A laugh—a sinister, echoing cackle—pierced the air, sending chills down her spine. The voice that followed was one she had not heard in centuries, yet it was unmistakable.

“They will be mine…” the voice hissed, venomous and triumphant.

Sarlon’s heart raced as the vision shifted and faded, the darkness swallowing even the Guardians' light.

When she returned to herself, she was lying sprawled on the cold floor of the archives, her breaths ragged and her body trembling. Slowly, shakily, she pushed herself to her feet, leaning heavily against the edge of the table for support.

“What have they done?” she whispered, her voice trembling with fear and anger.

The resonance of the thrum still lingered in the air, faint but unmistakable. Her cat, now perched on a high shelf, stared down at her with unblinking eyes, its fur still on edge.

Gathering her strength, Sarlon straightened and steadied herself. She could feel the threads of fate twisting around the Guardians, drawing them deeper into the heart of a perilous destiny.

“They don’t know what they’ve awakened,” she murmured, her voice firmer now. She turned her gaze to the scattered scrolls and books before her, her mind racing.

If the Guardians had stumbled upon something tied to the shadows, then she would need to act quickly. There was no time to waste.