Kael sat cross-legged on the floor, the small green bottle resting a few feet away atop his worn wooden table. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, especially not with the bottle still in his hand. But the day had been long, his foot still sore, and the warm meal with Bren had left him groggy.
He didn't remember drifting off. One moment, he was staring at the stubborn bottle, willing it to open; the next, darkness had claimed him.
And then—the cold.
A sudden, unnatural chill spread across his palm.
Kael's eyes snapped open. At first, he thought he was still dreaming. His vision was blurry, his limbs heavy. But the cold didn't fade. It pulsed, like something breathing against his skin.
He looked down—and froze.
The bottle, still resting on the table, now glowed faintly. Not from within, but from without. Tiny motes of white light drifted through the open skylight above, converging around the bottle like snow drawn to a flame.
Each mote shimmered, delicate and alive, coalescing into a slow-moving storm of luminescence.
Kael's breath caught in his throat.
It wasn't just glowing.
The lights were entering the bottle—vanishing into it through its sealed surface as if the glass weren't there at all.
He bolted upright, knocking over his stool with a thud. The noise startled him more than it should have. He half-expected the bottle to react—explode, hiss, vanish—but it remained there, steady and cold.
Kael stared, his eyes wide.
"What are you?" he whispered.
As if in response, another wave of white motes floated down through the skylight and joined the rest. The air tingled with energy. His skin prickled.
He reached out and touched one of the lights.
Cool.
Insubstantial.
But… aware?
The mote danced across his fingertip, then zipped toward the bottle.
It was like watching a ritual. Not random, but deliberate. Intentional.
He grabbed the bottle again, and once more, that strange warmth pulsed through his fingers. The sensation was stronger now—not hostile, but vibrant. Almost… eager.
No longer afraid, Kael tucked the bottle back into the leather pouch and slung it around his neck, hiding it beneath his tunic. He looked around the room.
This couldn't stay hidden forever. Not if it kept glowing like that.
He needed to get outside.
Moving quickly, he unlatched the door and slipped into the night.
The camp was quiet. No voices. No footsteps. Only the occasional chirp of a night insect and the distant rustle of wind through trees.
He made his way toward a clearing near the base of Verdant Hollow's cliffs, a place rarely visited even during the day. There, beneath the open sky, he pulled the bottle from his pouch.
This time, the effect was instant.
The motes returned—not one by one, but in waves. Dozens, then hundreds, then too many to count. They poured in from every direction, forming a radiant halo around the bottle.
Kael took a step back.
The lights didn't stop.
In fact, they multiplied.
Within moments, the bottle was surrounded by a basin-sized sphere of swirling white fireflies.
They weren't attacking.
They were offering themselves.
The bottle pulsed again, brighter now. And Kael, watching with a mix of fear and awe, understood one thing clearly:
This bottle wasn't broken.
It was waiting.
And tonight, something had finally begun.