crown of self-interest

The mirror splintered into a thousand shards, each fragment reflecting a different reality—some twisted, others grotesque. Zaros’s breath stilled for a moment, his sharp gaze tracking each reflection with a surgeon’s precision. What was once a singular image now spread into a dizzying kaleidoscope, each shard whispering secrets from distant realms, both known and unknown.

He had seen the Mirror of Aeloria's visions before, and they were never wrong. They were, however, cryptic. His mind churned as he pieced together the fragmented glimpses of the future.

**The figure in darkness.**

Zaros focused on one shard. It showed a towering form, cloaked in shadow, yet the presence of immense power radiated from it like a storm on the horizon. The figure’s eyes glowed faintly in the fractured reflection, mirroring the cold gaze Zaros so often saw in his own eyes. The shards shimmered, shifting between possibilities—future after possible future unraveling before him.

His mind snapped to the last words of the intruder. **“The cosmos is unpredictable...”** Could this be the force the fool had alluded to? He couldn’t tell, but something about the dark figure felt unsettlingly familiar. Zaros knew the inherent dangers of overextending his reach into the fabric of time and fate—too many sorcerers before him had been consumed by such knowledge.

But Zaros was no mere sorcerer. His hands flexed against the runes engraved into the edges of the mirror, feeding a pulse of energy into its fractured surface. The shards vibrated as though responding to his command, realigning themselves, but the dark figure remained, unmoved by his attempts to force clarity. A faint growl rumbled in Zaros’s throat. He hated mysteries. More than that, he despised the notion that any entity, seen or unseen, might threaten his carefully laid plans.

Suddenly, the mirror’s fractured surface shifted once again, the dark figure receding. In its place came a new reflection—a glimpse of something far more tangible, far more immediate.

Zaros saw the flicker of flames and the shadow of a city—a city that hovered impossibly above the ground, its towers spiraling into the clouds. He recognized it instantly: **The Skyward Cities of the Aetherborn**. But something was wrong. The once-pristine floating islands appeared...damaged, as though their foundations had cracked and frayed, their majestic glow dimmed. Above them, storm clouds gathered, thick and oppressive, their churning mass punctuated by jagged streaks of arcane lightning.

The flames grew stronger, devouring the skyward islands, and Zaros could hear—no, feel—the screams of their inhabitants. It was not just fire that threatened them, but something far more destructive, far more ancient. The Mirror of Aeloria had shown him a possible future: the fall of the Aetherborn, one of the oldest and most powerful civilizations in Xynarith.

He inhaled sharply, pulling his gaze from the mirror as the vision flickered and vanished. The weight of what he had seen hung in the air, palpable and suffocating. Zaros paced in front of the mirror, his mind racing. The Aetherborn were no allies of his, but their downfall would ripple across Xynarith in ways even he couldn’t entirely predict. Worse, if the Mirror was correct, their fall wasn’t distant—it was near, far nearer than he had anticipated.

His fingers traced the lines of a nearby table, its surface covered in maps of the known world, arcane diagrams, and sketches of potential alliances and enemies. The Aetherborn had always kept their distance, confident in their aerial dominance. But that wouldn’t last long if the Skyward Cities were to collapse. Their fall would undoubtedly leave a void, and voids attracted power-hungry forces.

“Should I intervene?” Zaros muttered to himself, eyes narrowing. He had no personal stake in the fate of the Aetherborn, but if their fall unleashed a greater threat—a threat that could spread to his dominion—it would be unwise to ignore. And then there was the figure in shadow. Was this force behind the flames that would consume the Skyward Cities?

Zaros paused, his mind turning to another question—one that tugged at him with increasing insistence. **Where was the intruder from earlier?** He had vanished in the blast of his magic, but something told Zaros that the encounter wasn’t finished. The timing of his arrival, combined with the visions now swirling in his mind, felt too calculated to be coincidence.

He turned sharply and exited the room, the mirror’s lingering energies pulsating faintly in his wake.

---

In the Citadel's lower halls, Calista and Velora conferred quietly, their expressions tense. Calista's brow furrowed as she studied the subtle warping of the Citadel's wards—an anomaly that had only worsened since the ritual. Velora, crouched near a glyph, was adjusting the arcane inscriptions with a meticulous focus, her hands glowing faintly with blue light as she worked.

“You sense it too, don’t you?” Calista murmured, her voice low as if the very walls could overhear them.

Velora nodded without looking up. “It’s as if the Citadel is...stressed. Not breaking, but bending. The magic isn’t flowing the way it used to. It’s as though the foundation itself is resisting something.”

“Something Zaros did,” Calista concluded.

Velora’s hands stilled for a moment before she resumed her work. “Whatever forces he’s playing with, they’re...different. More powerful than anything we’ve dealt with before. These wards are strong, but I’m not sure they were designed to handle whatever’s coming.”

Calista exhaled slowly, her mind racing with possibilities. “We need to be prepared,” she said, her tone more resolute. “If the wards fail...”

Velora looked up, her eyes meeting Calista’s. “Then we won’t have time to prepare.”

Their conversation was cut short by the sound of approaching footsteps. Both women turned as Zaros appeared at the far end of the hall, his form cutting an imposing figure as he strode towards them. His expression was unreadable, but there was a sharp intensity in his gaze that set Calista on edge.

“Strengthen the wards,” Zaros ordered without preamble. “Double the protection around the spires and the library. I want no gaps, no weak points.”

“We’ve already reinforced—” Velora began, but Zaros cut her off with a sharp gesture.

“Then reinforce them again,” he said, his voice brooking no argument. “The ritual has drawn attention, and I won’t allow any vulnerabilities to be exploited.”

Calista exchanged a glance with Velora, who quickly stood and moved to comply with Zaros’s orders. Once they were alone, Calista stepped closer to Zaros, her eyes searching his face for any hint of what he was thinking.

“You saw something, didn’t you?” she asked quietly.

Zaros’s expression remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes—something close to doubt. “The Mirror of Aeloria revealed a potential future. The Skyward Cities will fall.”

Calista’s eyes widened in shock. “The Aetherborn? They’re—how? Why?”

“Fire. Destruction. The vision was unclear on the exact cause, but the flames were consuming their islands. I suspect it’s connected to the ritual, to the forces I invoked.”

Calista’s mind raced as she processed the information. The Aetherborn were powerful, far too powerful to fall so easily. If they were truly in danger, it meant something even more dangerous was at play.

“We should warn them,” she said after a moment, her voice steady. “If they know, they may be able to prepare.”

Zaros turned sharply to face her, his expression cold. “And why would I do that?”

Calista hesitated, unsure of how to respond. “Because their fall would destabilize the entire region. It would throw the balance of power into chaos. Whoever—or whatever—is behind this will not stop with the Skyward Cities.”

Zaros’s eyes narrowed. “You speak of balance again, as though it is something to be preserved. Balance is an illusion, Calista. A comfort for the weak. If the Aetherborn fall, then they were too weak to survive.”

Calista’s lips pressed into a thin line. She had expected such a response from Zaros, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. “Even so, we cannot afford to ignore this. If the Aetherborn fall, others will follow. We could be next.”

Zaros’s gaze shifted, his eyes hardening. “Then we will prepare. But I will not intervene to save them. Their fate is their own.”

Calista wanted to argue, but she knew it would be futile. Zaros’s mind was made up, and once he had decided on a course of action, nothing could sway him. She could only hope that whatever force was behind the impending destruction of the Skyward Cities would not turn its gaze toward the Citadel too soon.

---

Several days passed, and the tension in the Citadel grew with each hour. Velora and her weavers worked tirelessly to strengthen the wards, while Calista kept a vigilant watch for any signs of impending danger. But the skies above Xynarith remained eerily calm, and no news came from the Skyward Cities.

It was on the fourth day after the vision that Zaros received word.