The first rays of dawn filtered through the chamber, casting a golden glow over the silken sheets. The lingering warmth of the previous night's passion still clung to the air, mingling with the scent of exotic perfumes and the faint traces of embers that had long since burned to cinders.
Evon stirred, his senses slowly awakening to the sensation of soft bodies pressed against him. His muscles ached in the most satisfying way, and as he shifted slightly, a delicate sigh escaped from beside him. He turned his head to find Lyria curled against him, her fiery locks cascading over her bare shoulders, her golden eyes still closed in peaceful slumber. On his other side, Naia lay with her head resting against his chest, her cool touch contrasting against the residual heat of the night.
Evon exhaled, running a hand through his hair. The reality of his situation settled over him—not just the night of passion, but the weight of what it meant. He was the first man in this world, a being of legend, a catalyst for change. But change came with responsibility, and the world he had entered was teetering on the edge of something greater than just his presence.
A soft knock at the chamber door disrupted his thoughts. The sound was hesitant, unsure.
Lyria stirred first, her eyes fluttering open. She stretched, feline-like, before smirking lazily at Evon. "Seems like our time alone is already up," she murmured.
Naia, still half-draped over him, sighed and rolled onto her back. "Duty calls."
Evon sat up, careful not to disturb them too much. "Who is it?" he called.
The door creaked open, revealing a figure wrapped in flowing silks of midnight blue. A pair of glowing violet eyes peeked out from beneath a delicate hood. "My apologies for the early intrusion, Seer," came a voice, soft yet commanding. "The High Council wishes to speak with you."
Evon studied her. She was unlike Lyria or Naia—there was an air of mystery about her, something almost ethereal. He could see the faint shimmer of stardust dusting her shoulders, as though the night itself clung to her.
"And you are?" he asked, pulling the sheet around his waist as he swung his legs over the bed.
The woman stepped forward, lowering her hood to reveal dark, flowing hair that shimmered like the cosmos itself. "I am Selene, of the Moonborn. We have watched your arrival with great interest, and the time has come for you to understand the weight of your presence here."
Lyria groaned, stretching again before sitting up. "The Moonborn always have a flair for theatrics. Give him some time to recover, at least."
Selene's lips quirked slightly. "The council is patient, but the world moves forward, Lyria. He must be prepared."
Evon glanced between them before standing. "Then I won't keep them waiting."
---
The High Council's chamber was a grand hall carved from ancient stone, its towering pillars entwined with roots that pulsed with a faint luminescence. The air was thick with magic, a hum of energy that resonated through Evon's very bones as he stepped inside.
Seated in a semi-circle were the representatives of the major races—women of power and prestige who had shaped this world for centuries. Among them, Evon recognized Lyria and Naia, who had already taken their places, along with the imposing figure of Sythara, her wings folded neatly behind her as she regarded him with the same sharp intensity she had the night before.
At the center of the council, a woman draped in flowing robes of deep emerald studied him with piercing emerald eyes. Her skin was the color of rich earth, her hair woven with vines that seemed to pulse with life.
"Evon Wang," she spoke, her voice rich and resonant. "You have been thrust into a world unfamiliar to you, yet one where your existence holds immeasurable significance. We, the Council of Elders, have gathered to determine your place among us."
Evon inclined his head. "I understand."
The woman nodded. "I am Elyndra, Matriarch of the Verdant Kin. You have already met Lyria, Naia, and Sythara. But before we proceed, you must understand the balance of this world."
She gestured, and an intricate map unfurled before him, projected in the air through a flickering weave of magic. It depicted vast continents, islands adrift in endless skies, and sprawling civilizations built upon wonders he could barely comprehend.
"This world has thrived without men for centuries," Elyndra continued. "But it has not been without struggle. The balance of power has remained delicate, and war is never far from our history. Your arrival disrupts this equilibrium. Some will see you as a harbinger of fortune. Others, as a threat."
Sythara leaned forward, her wings twitching slightly. "The Skyfang Clans believe strength determines destiny. If you are to remain here, you must prove yourself—not just in words, but in action."
Evon met her gaze evenly. "And how do I do that?"
A low chuckle rumbled from Lyria's chest. "You've already begun. But there is more to strength than just battle."
Naia tilted her head. "There are secrets buried in this world, Evon. Ancient ruins, lost artifacts, knowledge that could reshape everything. Your gift allows you to see beyond what is—perhaps even beyond what was. If you are willing, we would ask you to seek these truths."
Evon considered their words carefully. He had been granted power, yes, but it wasn't just about survival anymore. This world was complex, layered with history and hidden struggles. And if he was to be a part of it, he needed to understand it.
"I will help uncover what is hidden," he said at last. "But I won't be a pawn. If I walk this path, I do so on my own terms."
Elyndra smiled faintly. "Spoken like one who shapes his own fate. Very well, Seer. Your first trial begins now."
She raised her hand, and the map shifted, zooming in on a distant land—a place where shadows loomed over broken ruins, and the faint glow of something ancient pulsed beneath the earth.
"Your journey takes you to the Ruins of the Lost. There, lies knowledge that predates even our recorded history. If you wish to understand your place in this world, that is where you must begin."
A ripple of anticipation moved through the council. Even Lyria's usual smirk had faded into something more serious.
Evon exhaled. A journey into the unknown. A test of his abilities. A chance to shape his own destiny.
He clenched his fists, feeling the pulse of his newfound purpose.
"Then let's begin."
---
The journey to the Ruins of the Lost was treacherous, the landscape shifting from lush forests to desolate wastelands within days. Evon, accompanied by a small but formidable group—Lyria, Naia, and Sythara—pushed forward, their path fraught with unseen dangers. The land itself seemed to whisper secrets of the past, remnants of a world long forgotten.
As they neared the ruins, a chill settled in the air. Evon's gift pulsed within him, warning of something ahead—something watching.
Lyria's hand rested on her sword hilt. "We're not alone."
Naia's voice was barely a whisper. "Something stirs in the shadows."
Evon took a steadying breath, stepping forward.
"Then let's find out what waits for us in the dark."
....
The ruins loomed ahead, vast and crumbling, their ancient stone walls half-buried in shifting sands. The remnants of towering spires clawed toward the sky, their surfaces etched with symbols that glowed faintly in the dim light. There was an eerie stillness here, a silence that pressed against Evon's ears like a held breath, waiting to exhale.
Lyria's golden eyes flickered with a cautious gleam as she surveyed the area. "No signs of life," she murmured, resting her palm against the hilt of her sword. "But that doesn't mean we're alone."
Naia knelt beside a broken column, running her fingers over the smooth stone. "The markings here… they belong to an ancient civilization. Long before our time." Her voice was hushed, reverent. "It is said the Lost Ones vanished without a trace, their knowledge buried in places like this."
Evon's pulse quickened. If there were answers to his past—or to the nature of his strange abilities—this was where he would find them.
Sythara spread her wings slightly, the movement subtle but filled with restless energy. "Something lingers here," she said, her voice low. "The air is thick with it."
Evon closed his eyes, letting his ability stretch outward, feeling the threads of possibility unravel before him. For a moment, the present faded, replaced by flickering images—figures clad in flowing robes walking these halls, their voices lost in time. Then, darkness. A great calamity. Screams swallowed by shadow.
He gasped, staggering back as the vision snapped away.
Naia was at his side in an instant, her cool hands steadying him. "What did you see?"
"Something… something happened here," Evon said, shaking his head as he tried to focus. "Not just abandonment. Something took them. Consumed them."
Sythara's eyes darkened. "Then we should be ready."
They moved carefully through the ruins, their footsteps echoing against the ancient stone. The deeper they went, the colder the air became, and soon, even Lyria's natural warmth could not stave off the chill that seeped into their bones.
A deep growl rumbled through the chamber ahead.
The group froze as monstrous shapes emerged from the darkness—hulking figures covered in jagged black armor, their glowing red eyes filled with malevolent hunger. These were no simple guardians. These were ancient horrors, remnants of a forgotten past.
Lyria's grip on her sword tightened. "Monsters."
Sythara cracked her knuckles, a smirk playing on her lips. "Finally, a real fight."
Naia lifted her hands, water surging around her in defensive swirls. "Be careful. These things don't just attack—they devour."
The creatures lunged.
Evon's eyes flared with the glow of his power, the threads of fate unraveling before him. He saw their movements before they made them, their weaknesses laid bare before him.
"There!" he shouted, pointing to the glowing cores embedded in their chests. "Strike there!"
Lyria moved first, her blade slicing through the air with blinding speed. Fire erupted around her as she drove her sword into the heart of the nearest beast. It let out a guttural screech before crumbling into ash.
Sythara launched into the air, her wings propelling her forward. She twisted mid-flight, her claws ripping through another creature's core, sending a burst of dark energy scattering into the air.
Naia's water lashed out like whips, constricting one of the monsters before freezing solid, trapping it in an icy prison. With a flick of her wrist, she shattered it into fragments.
Evon dodged a swipe from a massive claw, his movements guided by his visions. He spun, grabbing a fallen spear from the ruins and hurling it with precision. The weapon found its mark, piercing through the core of the final beast. It let out a final, desperate wail before disintegrating into nothing.
Silence fell over the chamber.
Lyria exhaled, wiping sweat from her brow. "That was… exhilarating."
Naia let out a slow breath. "And dangerous."
Evon stepped forward, his gaze landing on the altar at the center of the chamber. The crystal still pulsed with light, untouched by the chaos.
As he reached for it, the voices returned.
_You have taken the first step, Seer._
The light flared, blinding him. When his vision cleared, he stood not in the ruins, but in a city lost to time. Golden towers rose into the sky, untouched by decay. The air was filled with laughter, the hum of life.
Then, in an instant, darkness swallowed everything.
He saw them fall—men, women, children—consumed by a void that devoured light itself. Not death. Erasure.
Evon gasped, stumbling back into the present.
Naia caught him, concern flashing in her eyes. "Evon?"
He steadied himself, his fingers tightening around the crystal. "This isn't just about the past," he murmured. "It's about the future."
Lyria frowned. "What do you mean?"
Evon met their gazes, determination settling in his chest. "Whatever happened here—it's coming back."
A heavy silence fell over them.
Then Sythara exhaled sharply. "Then we better be ready."
Evon nodded. Because now, more than ever, he knew that his journey had only just begun.