The Three vagabond: Shadows of the forgotten realm
They say the realm of Vehl’Tharun never existed.
No map marks its place.
No kingdom claims it.
No scholar can prove it.
No story dares speak its name.
But the realm remembers.
It remembers the weight of stars that once hung low in its skies, the rivers that shimmered with memory, the towers of glass that bent time itself. It remembers its people bright as flame, strange as gods. It remembers their laughter before the silence. Their betrayal before the fall.
And it remembers what they sealed away.
Now, Vehl’Tharun stirs again.
In the deep places of the world between breath and shadow it hums. Among ancient stones hidden beneath city foundations, glyphs shimmer faintly in the dark. In forests long forgotten by cartographers, trees twist toward invisible moons. Beneath the sea, temples rise inch by inch, defying physics and time.
The realm is waking.
It begins with silence. Then sound.
Then names.
Kael. Mira. Tarn.
Three strangers bound by nothing. No bloodline. No oath. Not even a shared past.
Just a dying man’s map, pressed into hands too young to understand its weight.
A spark passed on, quietly, as the world keeps turning.
They are vagabonds, not heroes.
A fugitive who never wanted to lead.
A scavenger with something to prove.
A scholar who stopped believing in legends long ago.
They do not remember Vehl’Tharun.
But the realm remembers them.
In their dreams, fragments flicker:
A silver staircase that spirals into the sky.
A throne made of living light.
A voice, not entirely human, whispering, “You left us.”
Somewhere, something watches.
Waiting.
And tonight, it opens its eyes.