Far beyond Kean's quiet village, past rivers that whispered old tales and mountains that never bowed to time, stood a tower of stone and silver.
It was said to be built before the realms were even named.
No birds flew above it. No animals lived near it. The air around it was heavy — like sound itself avoided that place.
Inside, at the highest floor, a circle of nine chairs stood beneath a glass dome that showed no sky.
The room had no doors. No guards.
Only silence.
But then… a whisper broke it.
"He has been born."
The voice came from the first chair — a woman with skin like silver dusk, and hair that floated as if underwater. Her eyes glowed gently, like candlelight.
Another figure leaned forward — face hidden behind a bone-white mask shaped like a crescent moon.
"Are we sure it's him?"
A third voice answered, low and rough, like sand dragging across stone. "The sky wept. The winds froze. The shadow touched the Third Realm. There is no doubt."
A fourth chair creaked. An old man coughed, then spoke — more to himself than the others.
"We sealed the Void…"
"And yet," said the fifth voice, sharp and young, "it whispers again."
The sixth chair remained empty.
No one mentioned it.
The seventh spoke: "Should we intervene?"
The eighth laughed softly — but it didn't sound amused. "Intervene in what? A child? A baby that doesn't blink?"
The first woman raised a hand, and silence returned.
She spoke softly. "We watch. Nothing more. Not yet."
"And if the eye opens?"
"Then," she said, "we remember who we are."
The ninth member had not moved all this time.
He now leaned forward — just slightly — and placed a small wooden toy on the table. It was carved like a bird, wings open.
He whispered, "Hope is a dangerous thing. But so is silence."
Then the dome above flickered.
Just for a second.
Like something enormous had passed over it… but left no shadow.
None of them looked up.
Because they had felt it.
Somewhere far below… something old had blinked.
And now, it was watching.
End of Chapter 5.