The rain had been falling since dawn, a relentless curtain of silver washing over the gray city streets. Most students had already left school for the safety of home, but Arka lingered in the library, hiding among the scent of old paper and dust. It was quiet here—comforting, even.
He wandered the aisles aimlessly, his fingers brushing over the worn spines of forgotten books. In the farthest corner, where no one ever went, a strange volume caught his eye. It was unlike the others—thick, bound in deep green leather, and humming softly, almost as if it were alive.
Curiosity gnawed at him. Against his better judgment, Arka pulled the book free. The second his hand touched the cover, the world around him shifted. The shelves, the fluorescent lights, the cold rain outside—they all dissolved into blinding blue light.
He tried to scream but no sound came out.
When the light finally faded, Arka stumbled forward onto grass—real grass, wet with dew, under a sky that shimmered a pale lavender. The air smelled sweet, thick with the scent of wildflowers and earth. For a moment, he simply stood there, heart pounding, trying to understand.
Then he saw it.
A creature loomed ahead, larger than anything he'd ever seen. A dragon. Not a figment of imagination, not a picture in a book, but a living, breathing dragon. Its scales gleamed like molten silver, and its great wings folded neatly against its back. Golden eyes watched him, ancient and intelligent.
Arka froze. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but his legs refused to obey.
The dragon moved, lowering its massive head until it was level with him. Then, to Arka's utter disbelief, it spoke—not with a roar, but with words that echoed directly in his mind.
"At last, you have come... Keeper of the Relic."
Arka stumbled back a step, heart hammering. "W-what? Who are you? Where am I?"
The dragon's voice was calm, patient, but carried an undeniable weight.
"I am Eryndor. And you, young one, stand upon the fields of Aetherion—a world on the edge of ruin. You were summoned, as the Relic has chosen you."
"This has to be a mistake," Arka said, shaking his head. "I'm just a student. I don't belong here!"
Eryndor's snout nudged Arka's chest gently, almost reassuringly. A sudden warmth spread through him, sinking into his bones. He looked down and gasped—beneath his skin, right over his heart, a soft blue glow pulsed like a second heartbeat.
"The Relic and your soul are now bound," Eryndor rumbled. "There is no returning... not yet."
Around them, the grass seemed to sway toward him, as if drawn by the light within him. The sky darkened slightly, and in the distance, black shapes moved across the hills.
"The armies of Umbravale are stirring. They seek the Gate of Light, and if they destroy it, Aetherion will fall into shadow."
Arka's hands clenched into fists. He didn't understand everything, but deep down, something ancient stirred within him. He wasn't a hero. He was barely more than a boy. But something about this place, about the way the dragon looked at him—not with scorn, but with hope—ignited a fire inside him.
He took a deep breath.
"Okay," he said, voice trembling but determined. "What do I have to do?"
The dragon's golden eyes gleamed with pride.
"Come, Arka. Your journey begins now."
Together, boy and dragon turned toward the horizon where the first storm clouds of war were gathering.