Deep in the Valley of Whispers, the Ash Oracle awoke for the first time in a thousand years.
Blind and ancient, the Oracle walked barefoot over cooled embers, her hands glowing with sigil-light. She drew circles in the ash, whispering names no living soul should know.
"Elira… Flamebinder."
"Aran… Emberbearer."
"Child of flame… Breaker of chains."
When her eyes rolled back, the vision consumed her:
A tower of obsidian rising beyond time. A shadow with no face, crowned in glass. A betrayal not yet born.
She collapsed.
And the ash began to stir — not from wind.
But from wings.