The wind screamed through the Forbidden Wyrmwood like a warning no one was left to heed. Gnarled trees twisted toward the sky, their bark as black as ash and veins of crimson sap pulsing beneath their surfaces.
Out from the overgrown ruins of a long-lost temple, a girl stumbled into the pale daylight.
Her blonde hair clung to her dirt-smudged face. Her eyes were wild with adrenaline, exhaustion—and triumph.
In her hands, she held a relic wrapped in age and legend.
The Scale of Obedience.
It was deceptively delicate: a small, metallic balance scale forged from an eerie alloy that shimmered between silver and abyssal black. Strange runes etched into its spine glowed faintly, resonating with the mana in the air.
The moment it left the shadows of the ruin, the forest held its breath.
The girl's lips parted in wonder. "So the legends were true..."
She lifted it gently. "A forbidden artifact lost in time. Said to weigh the very essence of mana itself..."
The two plates trembled slightly, glowing softly as they registered her aura. One tipped ever so slightly downward, choosing her.
> "It really chooses... the stronger wielder," she whispered. "If someone's mana is weaker than mine... I could bind them. Control them. Completely."
She stared into the distance, wide-eyed.
> "With this... even kings would kneel."
The Scale pulsed once more, as if it approved of her ambition.
Behind her, the ruined temple groaned ominously—but she didn't flinch. Her gaze was fixed on the world beyond the trees. On what she could now take. Mold. Command.
Something old had awakened again—and the world didn't yet know it had just become far more dangerous.