The Wayward Shrine stands at the crossroads of three paths—one from the Ash Wastes, one from the harbor cities, one from the Thornwood. An ancient place, built long before Eldermoor, long before the founders. A place where travelers have gathered since time began.

You arrive first, the three relics heavy in your pack. Seraphine’s Quill. Aldric’s Scales. Thornwen’s Seed. Three pieces of a puzzle that’s been waiting three hundred years to be solved.

But you didn’t gather them alone.

Mira emerges from the eastern path, her bow slung across her back. She looks different than when you met her in the wastes—less suspicious, more certain. The hunt she was on has become something larger.

Theron arrives from the south, dressed more practically than the merchant’s finery he wore in the harbor. His easy smile remains, but there’s steel behind it now. A man who’s stopped running from his legacy.

And Wren steps from the forest as if the trees simply parted to let her through. The Thornwood’s guardian, carrying seeds and herbs and the weight of generations.

“So,” Mira says, surveying the group. “This is it? The army that’s going to save Eldermoor?”

“Not an army,” Theron replies. “Something better. Something smaller. Harder to see coming.”

“The founders were four,” Wren says quietly. “Four who stood against the darkness. Four who gave everything.” She looks at you. “Now we are four again.”

You set your pack down. Time to see if the pieces fit together.

“The relics. Each of you helped me find one. But I don’t know what to do with them. How they work together.” You pull out the Quill, the Scales, the Seed. “I was hoping one of you might—”

The moment all three relics touch the shrine’s surface, light explodes.