The Falling Throne

Last image of the Third Throne, as seen from the Seventh, in the year before the Twilight Rebellion.

Nuwmont 6, 998 AC: The Farstride

It seemed that the world passed beneath our feet too quickly, even faster than a blink of an eye. All too soon, the troop of brass-clad soldiers came into view, around a corner that should have taken us a good twenty minutes of hiking to reach.

Nuwmont 6, 998 AC: The Trolltop Gambit

“Thorn, take another step to your left,” Aurora said. She walked behind us, treading a circular path, her fingers moving as she counted paces.

I did as she instructed, moving closer to Gilliam. We stood as a group in the widest part of the mountain trail outside the cave. Aurora was arranging us in some sort of pattern, behind our one remaining mule, the bridle of which Silva held, rubbing the beast’s nose.

Nova, the Twilight Maiden

The Shadowmaiden. 
The Twilight Lady. 

Rowena was not alone, in the creation of a reflection based on a misunderstanding of the Travelers' technology. But whereas her First Shard's fusion with a SHADE created the entity known as "Ivy," Leansethar's First Shard was touched with that twins' affinity for Matter, rather than Thought.

The being known as "Nova" would not attain a physical manifestation until the activation of Andahar's Engine. While every other living being in the Kingdom was burned beyond ashes, their spirits trapped across the Fusion Boundary in Andahar Onyx, that catastrophe was the key that freed Nova.

Nuwmont 6, 998 AC: What Was Heard From the Shadows

“Shhh!”

Aurora’s warning hiss quieted the already low murmur of our conversation around the sputtering fire. A gleam of red-gold light from her wrists banked the fire down to a dull red glimmer among the meager branches and brambles.

Her golden eyes narrowed, and the dark stones above the red gave off deep glimmers of purple light. Silva’s pale hand closed over her sister’s wrist.

Nuwmont 6, 998 AC: Transformations

Aurora’s fingers flexed, drawing the bow again, her other three fingers uncurling, letting fall a smoking, cracked and blistered stone. Her wings gave a twitch, her tail flicking the opposite direction as she corrected her aim. Another gleaming lance of condensed fire coiled into being, but this one was less intense than the last one she’d loosed, thinner, finer. Her golden eyes scanned the peaks above, and then the jumble of stones and bodies along the trail.

Nuwmont 6, 998 AC: The Oracle Speaks

The siren’s coughing grew less, and she gave a shudder, straightening up. Her hands uncurled, and she spent quite some time staring at her hands, turning them to one side and then the other. The bobbing of her hair indicated she was also regarding the bracers. She finally sat back, shaking her head, hands going to her temples, the motion also pushing her hair from her face. She finally drew a clear breath, and rose to her feet. She brushed at her gown, the motion slowing. She plucked at the front of the dress, rubbing the fabric between her fingers, then running her hands up and down the sleeves.