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Nyomae stood at the edge of the Foranfae Forest. She glanced along the road and recognized the spot where, as Hope, she had pleaded with Toryn to take the route through the hills to avoid the eyes within the trees. And while she now understood the reason for her terror, the trepidation of entering the forest prevailed.

Nyomae instructed her riders to set up camp and await her return. She did not anticipate she would be longer than a day, but she could not know whether a day in the Foranfae would be the same as a day outside — especially as she desired to consult the Nym.

Nyomae patted her horse’s nose and whispered words of encouragement, but his head bobbed as his wide eyes stared at the forest. She took a deep breath, stepped off the road and strode under the shadow of the trees. Her hope was the Nym would come if she recited the Maidens’ calling. But they were of a different age, a different world, and would answer at their whim.

Nyomae calmed as she walked. She needed a clear mind to summon the Nym. She looked up to the dark ceiling high above hoping to see the sky. Night would soon be upon her, and the world outside would not wait. Her feet tingled. She stopped. This would be a suitable place. She kneeled and placed the stones selected from the hills around Neverdor in a circle. To draw the attention of the Nym, Nyomae had to create a space outside of time, much like the circle at the heart of the forest. It would take days to trek to the center, so Nyomae had to convince the Nym to come to her. Satisfied the arrangement was complete, she stood, placed her palms together and bowed her head. She slowed her breathing and felt her feet connect with the ground as if taking root, linking to the pulse deep beneath the land.

Nyomae entered the Song, easily evading the attention of the Watchers. The Present Verses streamed past as if she stood in a fast-flowing river. She opened her arms and splayed her fingers, creating a sphere of shimmering air between her hands. The globe expanded to the width of the stone circle, bathing her in a soft blue light as it rose over her head. While her feet stayed grounded in the Foranfae, her spirit in the Song floated up and entered the sphere.

She called the Nym. The Nym came, and Nyomae recited the first line of Aber’s Verse.

Of the time she had spent in the company of the Nym, Nyomae struggled to recall exactly what had happened. Convinced she had spent days in the circle, she had hurried back to her escort. Yet on her return they assumed she had been unsuccessful as she had been gone not an hour. Asked if she had learned what she sought, Nyomae could not answer. She knew it would take days to at first absorb, and then more time to comprehend the knowledge the Nym had imparted. True to their nature, the Nym had spoken in riddles, flitting from one age to the next, making it difficult to determine of which age they referred. Nyomae had made it known she wished to discover more about Aber’s Verse and the Maidens’ Cypher. But the Nym responded with waves of consciousness that overwhelmed her senses. She had come close to collapse as the Nym had led her through thousands of years, a challenge almost beyond the limits of a mortal mind, even of her ability. But as Nyomae and her knights approached Abernost, the revelations bestowed upon her began to emerge.

The Nym had graced the land in the earliest of days. Existing in three forms within the water, forests, and mountains. The Nym of the mountains had long ago withdrawn to the foundations of the great peaks, caring little for the troubles of the surface. The Nym of the waters, chose to reside mainly in mountain streams inaccessible to most, or the lakes of Telamir and Syris, thus had little contact with the peoples of the land. But the Nym of the forests remained ever watchful, ready to intervene to protect the trees from harm.

The Nym of Foranfae had honored their pledge. They led Nyomae through the Verses to the arrival of the firstborn of the Maidens’ Song.

They were the Elorym.

As the name became known to Nyomae, it awoke a deep memory. Conceived after the Maidens’ struggles, the Elorym were brought into the world to heal its wounds. And at the Maidens’ behest, the Nym befriended the newcomers. The Nym taught the Elorym the ways to harness the natural forces to enhance both their race and the land. They became a wise and powerful race, living for many centuries without aging until their last days. From what she could determine, perhaps Nyomae’s kind and the Amayans descended from the last of the Elorym, but much weakened by the ensuing centuries of conflict with Ormoroth and his vast armies.

Nyomae recalled her journey through the Nym’s Verses. For centuries, the Elorym had grown, learning the ways of the world, channeling the energy from the land to build. Their cities enriched the beauty of the Maidens’ creation. With tall, glistening spires, floating gardens, waterfalls of glistening water cascading through the buildings, and trees growing from platforms connecting the structures, they easily surpassed the cities built at the height of even Draegelan’s time. Neither Saphrir nor Kalamir, the most beautiful cities of recent times, could match the work of the Elorym, seeming vulgar compared to those of their predecessors.

And of Ormoroth, the Nym had kept a watchful eye. When the gods defeated and imprisoned his Master, Ormoroth had fled and hid beneath the mountains in the lands that would become known as Nordruuk. And as the Evil One had deceived the Maidens, so Ormoroth sought to win the trust of the Elorym, thus to corrupt the Maidens’ children and avenge his Master. But the Elorym had grown in stature during the years Ormoroth had plotted his revenge. Thus, he misjudged their wisdom, and they easily resisted his attempt to win over their hearts. Seeing through his disguise, they challenged Ormoroth, and his deceit was laid bare. The Elorym pursued him to the frozen wastes at the top of the world. But in the uncharted and unforgiving terrain, he evaded capture, and the Elorym gave up their chase, believing Ormoroth had perished.

But Ormoroth had outwitted his pursuers, feigning his death as if consumed by the fearsome beasts that roamed the ice in those times. And so it was, he escaped. In the century that followed, he built an ice fortress atop a great mountain that no mortal has ever set eyes upon. In the caverns beneath the mountain, Ormoroth bred a race of his own from the Dark Verses. From the hardy creatures who could endure the bitter cold of the region, he formed the fierce Norgog. Ormoroth then sent these forth to summon the dark beings driven out by the Elorym. And they came, defying the treacherous terrain to rally to his call.

Yet despite his strength, Ormoroth knew he could not defeat the Elorym with armies alone. Thus, he withdrew to his stronghold to venture deep into the Song in search of the old ways. And so it was, in the silence of his deep vault, Ormoroth unknowingly stumbled upon the means to crush the Elorym. At first, the faint, but steady pulse beating far beneath his fortress, intrigued him. But as the years passed, the constant throbbing taunted, then tortured him, evading his desire to determine its origin. The pulse became a tremor, the tremor became a quake, until it seemed to Ormoroth the very hammers of the gods pounded on the walls of his stronghold.

Driven to the brink of despair, Ormoroth raged, imploring the dark gods to aid his search and ease his torment. The Nym knew not whether the old gods had answered his plea, or whether it was the madness that consumed him, but in that moment, Ormoroth became as powerful as his Master. In the time it took a bird to flap its wing, the Song was silenced, and the harmony disrupted. Time itself faltered, allowing Ormoroth to witness the birth of the world. And so it was, he came to know that which should never be known. Ormoroth had discovered the heartbeat of the land… and the source of the Elorym’s power.

Ormoroth tasked the Norgog to dig a shaft. Deeper and deeper, they burrowed until the skies became a distant memory, and the heat of the inferno sapped their strength. But Ormoroth drove them on, and the Norgog dared not to incur his wrath. Finally, they broke through the crust, releasing the hot blood that coursed through the veins of the world.

Ormoroth built a great furnace, channeling the magma to feed its fires. And in this forge, he fashioned a mighty pillar of iron, taller than the highest peaks of the Kolossos. Then he accomplished a task surpassed only by his Master at the height of his power. Twisting the Verses that formed the very foundations of the land, Ormoroth defiled the iron and bent it to his will. It was said the ground trembled as he despoiled the pure iron, cast at the dawn of time. And thus, the Angorlith was made. In the years it took Ormoroth to recover from his labor, the pillar cooled. And in that time, his warlocks drew upon its vile power and spawned a vast army thrice that of the Elorym.

Then Ormoroth struck. He drove the Angorlith down as if a great stake, impaling the deep veins beneath his fortress. The land quaked, astounding the Elorym. But they were yet strong and would not be easily defeated. Before Ormoroth could marshal his armies, the Elorym formed the stones of the Amanach. Seven were made from rock quarried from the Caerwals, yet untainted by evil hands. The seven were set along lines of power, augmenting the pulse of the land to counter the distortion of the Angorlith. Ormoroth was dismayed, but kept his anger at bay, desiring not to repeat his errors of the past. In the darkness, he labored to strengthen his great pillar of iron to drain the power of the Elorym stones. But the Amanach were strong, and Ormoroth would have to bide his time.

Under the protection of their stones, the Elorym flourished, building ever grander and greater cities, and set sail across the wide seas to discover new realms of the Maidens’ making. Perhaps it was their faith in the Amanach, or the absence of Ormoroth, but the Elorym became complacent, believing their supremacy could never again be challenged. And so, to celebrate their victory over the darkness, they fashioned the Towers of the Lakes.

Through the Nym’s eyes, Nyomae witnessed the height of the Elorym’s craft. The immense structures rose from the lakes as if the waters spiraled high into the skies to create their intricate forms. In her state of bewilderment, it took a moment for Nyomae to realize five such towers were made. Two were lost, Cyloris and Qaamir had stood in the lakes now named Benmuir and Ravern. But of the fifth, the Nym did not divulge its location. Nyomae observed the lakes of the four known spires, formed a line across the realms running northwest to southeast straddling the Kolososs — but to what purpose? Were the lakes natural, or formed by the Elorym? Nyomae could not comprehend what could bring about the destruction of such immense towers. And where had the fifth stood? Did it yet stand?

The Nym had then revealed the tragedy leading to the Elorym’s demise.

Great indeed had the Elorym become, but Ormoroth had not been idle. His armies had grown until he could no longer conceal them behind the impenetrable walls of ice surrounding his northern kingdom. But still he waited. The Amanach stones yet constrained the Angorlith’s corruption, but Ormoroth knew their power diminished. The Elorym’s ambition demanded ever more resources until, unbeknown to them, the balance tipped.

In the great battles that raged, both sides were devasted by losses. But Ormoroth cared not for casualties, breeding more creatures faster than the Elorym could fill the gaps in their ranks. Too late did the great ships of the Elorym answer the plea to return. By the time they made landfall, they found their cities besieged by dark forces they had not thought possible, and therefore could not defeat.

Then Nyomae came to understand why the Nym had shown her the demise of the eldest of races. In the final days as both armies were brought to the edge of destruction, the Elorym invoked the power Aber had stumbled upon many centuries later. The Nym hid the Elorym’s last desperate action from Nyomae’s eyes, wishing to withhold knowledge of this dreaded power. But they made it known, the Elorym had delivered a crushing blow to Ormoroth, but in the act, had consumed the last of their strength. The power sustaining their towers waned, and two collapsed.

Ormoroth retreated north, much weakened and would take centuries to recover, and even then, not to his former glory. But the cost to the Elorym had been great — too great. And once their strength failed, so did their fine structures. The cities crumbled like dying plants, withering to return to the earth from whence they came. Nyomae’s heart had broken as she felt their pain and despair as Cyloris, then Qaamir shuddered and fell, sinking into the lakes without trace.

Of the Elorym, little remained. Most had perished in the terrible battles, hewn limb-from-limb by the great beasts of Ormoroth’s pits. Of those who endured, many succumbed to the plagues released by their retreating foes. The few survivors mourned the loss of their kin, and devastated by the destruction of their creations, many left these shores never to return. Those who remained tried to rebuild the shattered cities, but their Verses failed, and the Elorym declined. The last of their kin wandered the land, lost, and shattered by their grief. Some strayed too far north and were enslaved by Ormoroth. Chained to the cold walls of his dungeons, he finally shattered their spirits. And so it was, these broken souls became the warlocks who would fight Draegelan in the wars to come.

Nyomae wept for their loss. The Elorym endured years of hardship and suffering, and their eventual demise laid a terrible burden on those who followed. In the ensuing centuries, Ormoroth would return like a dark wave crashing over all before him. But each time, the new realms had the strength and resolve to repel his depleted attacks. But the victories came at a cost, and Ormoroth would recover to return, just as the relentless tides of the seas.

Nyomae looked to the gray walls of Abernost in the distance. Today, the Five Realms commanded but a fraction of their predecessor’s strength, struggling to hold back even the lesser forces of Ormoroth’s servants. If the warlocks could by some means bring back their master… Nyomae shuddered. If they had any hope of securing their freedom, she had to find the secrets held at Abernost.

As the gates creaked open, Nyomae contemplated the last revelation from the forest. The Nym had mourned the loss of their friends, retreating to the forests, rivers and mountains, never to openly converse with the children of the land… until Draegelan. And they had shown her, what they had once disclosed to him.

Nyomae looked up to the ornate stonework on the arch over the gate. She followed in Draegelan’s footsteps. The Nym had disclosed a secret of the Elorym to him, and he had chosen to conceal that knowledge. Should she attempt to uncover what he had found? But she had to know. She had to know what the Elorym and Draegelan had discovered that could possibly defeat the forces of Ormoroth. She had to know how the use of this power had destroyed the Elorym, and what led Draegelan to bury his findings. To achieve this, she must enter the Elorym vault the Nym revealed lay hidden beneath Abernost.