You push through the fleeing crowd, following the Elder’s path.

The Temple of the Founders rises at the edge of the ceremony grounds—older than most buildings in Eldermoor, its stone walls thick enough to withstand any fire. Carvings of the four founders decorate its entrance, their faces worn smooth by centuries of weather.

The Elder’s guards have created a cordon. Citizens are being turned away, directed to other shelters. But when you approach, one of them looks at your ceremonial robes—your hand still faintly glowing where you touched the gem—and steps aside.

Inside, the temple is cool and quiet. The chaos outside feels muffled, distant, as if the walls absorb not just sound but urgency itself. Oil lamps flicker in alcoves. The smell of incense mingles with stone and age.

The Elder sits on a bench near the altar, his attendants hovering anxiously. His eyes are closed, his breathing labored. He looks smaller here, away from the ceremony. Older. Fragile.

“You came.”

You turn. A man in scholar’s robes stands in the shadows—middle-aged, with ink-stained fingers and spectacles perched on his nose. Brother Aldous, you realize. The temple’s record-keeper. You’ve seen him in the archives, always surrounded by books and scrolls.

“The Elder asked for you specifically,” Brother Aldous says. “Before the chaos. Before the explosions. He knew you would touch the gem differently. He’s been watching your cohort for months.”

“Why?”

“Because of the dreams.” The scholar moves closer. “You’ve been having them, haven’t you? Visions of the founders. Of the gem’s creation. Of a man in armor who seems… wrong.”

Your silence is answer enough.

“The Elder has the same dreams,” Brother Aldous says quietly. “He’s had them for fifty years. Ever since he became the temple’s keeper. The gem speaks to those who can listen. And lately—”

“Lately what?”

Brother Aldous glances at the Elder, then back to you.

“Lately, the gem has been screaming.”