In the shadowed depths of the Eldergloom Forest, where moonlight seldom touched the mossy floor, the old wizard Elric made his quiet approach. In one hand, he carried a lantern lit with captured starlight. A steady calm, born of ancient knowledge, settled across his weathered face. Before him stood the Armillary of Storms, a long-lost relic said to turn the skies themselves. As tendrils of lightning danced from its brass rings, aligning with unseen constellations, the forest seemed to hold its breath. Whatever Elric sought—truth, passage, or power—it waited just beyond the turning spheres.
