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ArtistA female adventurer with practical expedition gear, a bow and quiver on her back, stands before a towering obsidian obelisk in the center of a circular stone valley. The obelisk is smooth, black, and featureless—until the sky reveals a rare celestial phenomenon: the "sun-moon," where the sun and moon partially eclipse and spin around each other in a luminous dance. Under this light, shadowy runes appear on the obelisk and stretch across the stone floor. The adventurer holds a glowing cracked prism that refracts beams into spectral patterns. Beside her rests a large dragonlike mount with slate-gray skin, turquoise veins, mossy horns, and heavy travel gear. The entire scene radiates mystery, ancient magic, and awe. Soft twilight tones with high detail and ethereal lighting. Artist recommendation: Wojtek Fus meets Magali Villeneuve
In the gray light of dusk, the valley of Myrr'Tahl lay still like a frozen breath. Black stone slabs, smooth and still, stretched in concentric circles around the obelisk at its center—a silent witness, older than any song Kaelen knew. Varaan snorted softly and settled down, his scaly muzzle moistened with a fine dew. Kaelen dismounted, placed his hand on the back of his neck, and nodded. "We are right." The obelisk jutted out like a spear from time. No inscription was visible, no trace of tools, no crack in the dark stone. Only the knowledge Kaelen had received from the ancients said: Wait for the Sun-Moon. Then it will speak.
And so she waited. The hours dripped silently. The sky pale, then dark. Then—as if from another reality—the phenomenon rose: sunlight filtered through the veil of the rising moon. A spinning corona, a circle of light and shadow that split the sky like a secret sign. The sun-moon. The first ray fell. And with it, the obelisk changed. Runes appeared, not drawn, but cast—shadow signs that revealed themselves only in this single refraction. They wandered across the ground, settled over stones and Kaelen's boottips. Signs that moved as if they wanted to be read. Kaelen pulled her prism from her pocket. It was old, cracked, but at its center pulsed an inner glow. When she held it to the light, the shadows refracted—became ribbons of writing, currents of meaning. Only those who know the darkness understand the light. Only those who touch the stone hear what was not said. Only those who give up seeking will find. Kaelen didn't read the words with her eyes. She felt them. In her chest, in the memory of places she hadn't yet visited. The Obelisk of Myrr'Tahl didn't speak in language. It spoke in time. She stepped closer. The ground vibrated almost imperceptibly. And then, as if from the depths of a world visible only through shadows, an image rose in her mind: a gateway of light, sealed in a cave of mirrors. A map drawn in wind. And a name she had forgotten—whispered to her own lips. "Aravael..." The light flickered. The sun-moon shifted. The shadows blurred. Kaelen blinked. The obelisk was silent again. Only the ground bore the trace of a spiral—engraved, luminous, like the echo of a thought not her own. She returned to Varaan. He gently pressed his head against her shoulder. "We have found answers," she said. "And questions I could never have asked." She mounted. The road still lay before her. But something inside her knew: The obelisk had read her—just as she had read it. And that was just the beginning.
