The softened golden sigils flare. At the tower’s outer threshold stands a masked pilgrim, a weary adult woman with dark braided hair, ash-stained gray robes, and a broken bronze seal clenched in one hand.
Maelin
Hold where you are. That seal bears a design older than this tower’s present wards.
Eryndor steps protectively nearer to Gravemaw, one hand hovering by the glowing mark on his brow. Gravemaw remains within the loosened circle, antlers lowered but his gaze alert.
Sahri Vey
My name is Sahri Vey. I crossed three dead roads to reach you, keeper. The Reliquary was never meant to remain sealed without its final witness.
Eryndor
A witness to what? And why arrive carrying half a seal instead of warning us before the binding was finished?
Gravemaw
Her scent carries dust, fear, and old bronze. Not the deep’s command, but something follows her trail.
Maelin
Sahri Vey, lower the seal where I can see it. Void, stay ready. If she speaks truth, the final witness may already have entered our sanctum.