Zevarion's POV
Everything in Velmora Cradle was perfect, until it wasn’t.
The air had been crisp, humming with magic. After the morning rituals, I went hunting through the moss-veiled woods. I caught a rabbit quickly. Even the prey here seemed lulled into peace.
Sweat clung to my skin, and dirt streaked my arms. I wandered farther, deeper, until I found a small, pristine brook hidden beneath a curtain of weeping ferns. The water shimmered with a strange silver gleam, still, serene, almost too clean, like a mirror untouched by time.
Kneeling beside it, I leaned in to wash the grime from my body. But the moment I bent forward, everything shifted.
A vision.
For a moment, I thought the magic of the cradle had twisted my senses, playing tricks on a tired mind, but no it was real.
I saw myself, transfigured as a god. My powers had returned in full, cloaking me in radiant, terrifying light. And I was locked in a brutal fight with Xareth.
Earth cracked, lightning broke the sky. I drove him
