The wind howled against the wooden shutters, rattling them like restless spirits. Kael Solhart lay awake, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. Sleep had eluded him again, but this time, it wasn't just the cold keeping him awake. A dream—no, a vision—clung to his thoughts, its remnants lingering like whispers in the back of his mind.
He sat up with a sigh, rubbing his face before his eyes settled on the object resting against the far wall. His father's sword. The worn leather hilt and dark steel blade had remained untouched for years, yet tonight, it seemed different. The faint glow of moonlight reflected off its edge, making it appear almost alive.
Kael hesitated before standing and crossing the room. His fingers hovered over the hilt. There was something unsettling about the way it called to him, a silent presence that he could not explain.
A sudden knock shattered the silence.
"Kael, it's Jorin. Open up."
Kael's head snapped toward the door. Jorin, one of the village watchmen, rarely visited him this late. His stomach twisted with unease as he grabbed his cloak and unlatched the door.
Jorin's face was pale, his breath visible in the cold night air. "You need to come with me," he said, his voice low. "Now."
Kael frowned. "What's going on?"
Jorin glanced over his shoulder, as if expecting someone—or something—to be watching. "Something happened near the forest."
Kael grabbed his belt, securing the sheathed sword at his waist, and followed Jorin into the frigid night.
The village of Aethar was silent, save for the whisper of the wind threading through the narrow streets. Frost clung to the rooftops, glistening under the moonlight. Kael had spent his whole life here, yet tonight, the village felt... unfamiliar. As if the land itself held its breath, waiting.
They moved quickly, their boots crunching against the frozen ground. When they reached the outskirts of the village, Kael noticed a gathering of villagers standing near the forest edge, their faces illuminated by torchlight. Murmurs of fear and confusion rippled through the crowd.
"What happened?" Kael asked as they pushed forward.
Then he saw it.
A massive blackened scar marred the earth, stretching across the clearing like a wound. The grass was burned away, leaving behind a strange circular pattern etched into the soil. Faintly glowing symbols pulsed in the dirt, forming intricate lines that seemed almost... intentional.
Kael's chest tightened. He had seen these markings before.
"They're the same," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Jorin turned to him. "Same as what?"
Kael's fingers instinctively brushed the hilt of his sword. The runes in the clearing were identical to the ones etched along the blade.
A low hum filled the air, almost imperceptible at first. But as Kael focused, he realized it wasn't coming from the clearing.
It was coming from his sword.
He took a step back, his heartbeat hammering against his ribs. The vibrations traveled up his arm, sending a shiver down his spine.
The whispers began.
Faint at first, like echoes from a distant past. They curled around his thoughts, elusive yet insistent.
"The blade is not just a weapon—it is a warning. And you, Kael, cannot ignore it any longer."
Kael's grip tightened. The voice was inside his mind, cold and ancient, as if it had been waiting for this moment. His vision blurred, flashes of fire and steel dancing behind his eyes. He staggered, barely catching himself.
Jorin grabbed his arm. "Kael, are you alright?"
Kael shook his head. The whispers faded, but their weight remained, pressing down on him. He looked at the runes in the clearing, then back at his sword.
This wasn't a coincidence.
Before he could speak, a piercing cry shattered the night. The villagers gasped, stepping back as a dark figure emerged from the forest.
A cloaked man stood at the edge of the clearing, his face hidden beneath a deep hood. His presence sent a ripple of unease through the crowd.
"You should not be here," the figure spoke, his voice smooth yet unnatural.
Kael took a step forward, instincts screaming at him to be ready. "Who are you?"
The figure tilted his head slightly. "It is not who I am that matters. It is who you are."
Kael's hand went to his sword, but the man merely chuckled. "Do you think steel will protect you from fate?"
The whispering in Kael's mind grew louder. "Draw me."
Kael hesitated. The last time he had wielded this sword, he had barely been old enough to lift it. His father had taught him how to fight, but he had never felt the sword… respond like this before.
The hooded figure raised a gloved hand. The runes in the clearing pulsed brighter, a wave of energy surging through the air.
"The world is changing, Kael Solhart," the man said. "And you are at its center."
Kael's breath caught. How did this stranger know his name?
"Who are you?" Kael demanded again.
The figure took a step forward. "I am a messenger. And I bring you a choice."
The runes flared, casting shadows across the clearing.
Kael's grip on his sword tightened. He had a feeling that after tonight, his life would never be the same.