There has always only been three.
Give us trust
and we grant peace.
From three corners of the land,
our wise eyes watch, our ember wings guide.
In troubled times take care and seek
to bind us three at the peak.

These words are etched in the founder’s stone, a stone which used to be a site of pilgrimage, a site of honor and of respect. Now, this stone is buried deep within the ruins of the ancient library of Qrestilia. The words have long been forgotten, Qrestilia has not been entered since the battle of Perish.

Until now. A young boy, maybe of elven descent, was crawling through a collapsed archway, accompanied by a rather small griffin and a human, maybe 16 years of age. Together the three traversed through the ruins with anxious looks, as if they were being followed. Which of course the were, which they didn’t know.

And you ask how I know? Well that my friends, is something that you will never know.

Though I tell you this. This, this is only the beginning.