The Starborn Codex: Entry IV — Continued

The Fracture of Flame

The Court responsible would later be erased from formal record.

Their name struck from the ledgers.
Their sigils broken.
Their lineage scattered into dust and quiet bloodlines.

Yet their doctrine endures in the fractures they left behind.

They were a Court who revered the sun as the purest expression of power.
Who taught that power was proof of worth.
That brilliance was not merely guidance, but mandate.

To them, the Starfallen had not been divided – it had been misplaced.

Five fragments, scattered like careless seeds.
Power diluted by distance.
Authority weakened by restraint.

They believed the shards were meant to be gathered.
Unified.
Returned to a single will bright enough to command them.

Their first efforts were not violent.

They sent envoys beneath banners of warmth and shared purpose.
They spoke of balance.
Of inevitability.
Of a future where the Realms would no longer circle one another in suspicion, but stand aligned beneath a single, radiant order.

Most Regents declined.

Ember, in its pride, did not answer at all.

And so the doctrine sharpened.

If the fragments could not be persuaded to unite…
Then they would be proven capable of answering to another.

Their gaze turned to the Court of forge and flame.
To the shard that burned most fiercely in its natural state.
To the power that shaped steel, war, and boundary alike.

They did not announce their intent.
They are far too clever to give any warning.

Instead, they infiltrated.

Scholars first.
Observers.
Those who claimed reverence for the craft.

They mapped the resonance of the forges.
Measured the cadence of the shard’s pulse beneath the mountain.
Listened for what answered when another fragment was brought close.

And then, in a single night – recorded only as fractures in the deep ledgers of Ember’s vaults – the attempt became something more.

What began as influence became incursion.
What began as presence became force.

They did not come in open ranks.
But they did come prepared.

There are gaps in the record here. Pages removed. Names burned away.

The Archivists can say only this with certainty:

Steel was drawn.
Fire answered.
Blood was spilled.
And many were lost.

They did not succeed in taking the shard.
But they came close enough to leave a wound the Court of Ember still carries.

Three sentinels did not rise again.
And Ember’s High Regent, once known to walk unarmoured among their people, was carried from the inner chamber with wounds no salve could swiftly mend.

It was the first time a Regent had bled by the hand of another Court.

From that night onward, Ember changed.

Once known for their pride, splendour, and a courage so open it had never imagined being tested – Ember now learned caution.

Armour was no longer ceremonial.
Wards were no longer symbolic.
Borders were no longer matters of courtesy.

The Court of flame began to prepare not for possibility, but for inevitability.

The other Courts noticed, in time.

They called it severity.
They called it overreach.
They called it unnecessary posturing.

They wondered why Ember no longer removed their armour.
Why its High Regent no longer stood unguarded before friend or emissary – or only very few.
Why the Court of flame remained prepared for battle even in age of supposed peace.

You may wonder why, until this day, Ember do not lay down their shields.

Now, Emissary, you understand it.