The old woman lay on her bed, motionless, staring up at the ceiling of the only home she’d ever known. She was born in this room. She would die there too.

She’d laid her withered hands upon the Stone one last time the day before, feeling the surge of warm, familiar energy as it coursed through her frail body. Her mind beheld an array of familiar images: the past, present and future of her people, a history she helped shape. As the feeling of unity with Arantha began to subside, she felt suffused with a tremendous sense of inner peace. Her work finished, she would soon be welcomed into Arantha’s waiting arms.

For her people, the road ahead would be difficult. Their isolated way of life, the path Arantha put them on centuries ago, would end. The chain of events she’d set in motion with her final order would see to that. And it would be up to her daughter Kelia, as her successor, to discover a new path for them. New enemies would arise, as would new allies. She saw them all, time and time again, in her mind’s eye: the dark twins, the northern mage, the painted woman from the Above.

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One last, lingering doubt crept through the old woman’s mind. She’d prepared Kelia for her role as Protectress her entire life, and though Kelia didn’t possess her mother’s level of foresight, her elemental abilities were unequaled. She was a strong leader, well-respected, and wise beyond her years. But would it be enough?

It has to be, she thought with a regretful sigh. To fail would mean oblivion for my people, and for all of Elystra.

Her vision darkened, a curtain of blackness that stole her sight one inch at a time. Her breath became ragged, and she felt her heart beat for the final time.

As her spirit left her body, her final thought was a silent prayer:

Arantha, watch over them.