Alena

“Alena of the Torn Hearts,” it intones, and the air itself shivers with the gravity of its words, “your plea has moved the stones of my resting place, stirred the dust of ages.” A light flickers in the darkness, illuminating the chamber with an ethereal glow. Before me, a pedestal rises from the ground, cradling an object that pulses with an inner radiance. It is an artifact, ageless and crafted from a time long forgotten—a crystal with a core that burns like the heart ...