Beyond the rust-hued fields of Isenvar, where the rivers whisper forgotten names, two cloaked pilgrims walk the ancient path to Aurenthal—the realm’s last celestial ring. The Gateway looms like a silent god, carved not by hands, but by time and the will of stars. They say it opens only for those whose hearts hold no fear… and no desire. Behind the ring lies the Temple of Echoes, where truths long buried rise to speak. As the wind carries ash and light, the pilgrims near the threshold, each step a vow, each breath a farewell. The mountains do not watch—they remember. The Gate waits, and destiny stirs beneath the snow.
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