Before George could answer, the world around him altered. The atmosphere grew dense, and his eyes went fuzzy. Suddenly, he felt like he had been transported to another age—an age different from the current AlbëToryl.
The uncultivated, untamed landscapes stretched out before him, uncivilized and brutal. George in this vision did not just see it; he could sense the earth beneath his feet, the breeze filtering through the trees, and the raw power of the land itself. It was AlbëToryl unfettered and raw, a country for which only instinct and survival ruled supreme.
Through the thick fog that eddied around him, George was able to see five figures approaching. At first, they were just shapes, but as they approached further, their forms became clear. A lion, a gorilla, an elephant, a bear, and a wolf—moving side by side, as if tied together by some shared purpose.
Suddenly, George sensed them like a powerful presence. They were not animals; they contained an age-old energy and something much greater than which he could comprehend. He sensed that they were going to accomplish something extraordinary.
When George watched, the lion stepped forward, to the middle of the pack. Its chest heaved as it took a deep breath, and then, in a quick motion, let out a deafening roar. The sound was like it cut through the air, shaking the very ground George stood on.
Then the gorilla approached, its massive fists thumping its chest in thundering, rhythmic booming. The thumps resonated through the air, the drumbeat of each growing louder, calling to the heart of AlbëToryl itself.
The elephant raised its trunk high into the sky and let forth a deafening trumpet blast, so deep and booming that it sounded as if the planet itself was speaking.
The bear followed, unleashing a great rumbling growl that harmonized with the chorus of might in the air.
At last, the wolf, haughty and upright, bent its head back and gave a long, otherworldly howl which seemed to be drawn out to eternity, calling up to heaven above.
George sat in wonder as the five voices blended into a single unifying voice, suffusing the air with a pure energy that was tangible. The air was heavy with the feeling. And then, something incredible began to happen. From the five animals' bodies, a bizarre serum began to radiate, sending out an otherworldly glow.
The serum churned in the air, mixing with AlbëToryl's native magic. The combined energy stretched out like a mighty wave, enveloping the land. George watched as the emanating force surrounded all living creatures—ogres, trolls, griffins, centaurs, and even the most ferocious of beasts. The moment it touched them, it transformed them. Where there had been only instinct and savagery before, intelligence, self-preservation, and understanding now were.
AlbëToryl itself seemed to be filled with renewed vitality as the magical energy reshaped it, establishing balance and awareness in each region of the continent.
As the change reached its climax, George noticed an alteration in the mood. His attention was drawn upwards, where the sky began to rip open. The heavens were opened, and a shining light poured down on the five beasts. The power from above descended on them, anointing them with inconceivable power.
They became greater than just beasts—they became the Apex Beasts, god-like creatures with powers to warp reality and travel through worlds with ease. Their tie to AlbëToryl's magic was now fulfilled. They had reshaped the continent not only in form but had also assumed responsibility as its immortals guarding it forever.
George felt the weight of their transformation. Their power was unthinkably vast, their presence required to maintain the fragile equilibrium between AlbëToryl. He was aware that without them, the world itself would break down or fall into nothingness. And yet, these beings did not rule or interfere; they simply existed, their presence enough to stabilize the continent and the universe around it.
Finally, the vision shifted, and George was looking at the five of them staring at each other with peaceful understanding. This was their world now, and they would fight it to the end. The lion walked forward once again and, in a deep, throaty voice, named the world they had helped create: AlbëToryl, "The Purified World Ascended."
The name stayed with George in his mind as the vision faded slowly. The vivid colors and the loud sounds lost strength, and George found himself once more with Zephyros, where he was still at the spot he had started. It was as if no time had passed at all.
Zephyros smiled knowingly, watching as George tried to gather his thoughts upon witnessing such a profound moment. "Now," the divine being whispered, "you know the true history of AlbëToryl and I imagine you have heard of Trevor's rebellion," Zephyros, the Supreme Sorcerer, declared as he stared at George's eyes.
George nodded slowly, still trying to get his bearings after what had happened. His head was spinning from the last few hours. The name of Trevor rang in his ears, a name that was linked with evil deeds.
"Yes," George replied weakly. "But… I still don't get why the other four haven't stopped him, or even killed him since then."
Zephyros sighed heavily. "There's a reason, George. There was an old, unbreakable bond made way back when. A magical bond between Trevor and the other four members of Apex, something none of them can break. They can't hurt each other, no matter what happens. That's why Trevor couldn't so much as put his hands on the other four. No, he just walked away, leaving the bond to form new, lethal partners."
George furrowed his brow, trying to piece it all together. "I believe I get it now… but there must be a means of defeating him. Someone will take him on." His mind wandered as he spoke, remembering the first vision that he had received before he ever arrived at AlbëToryl.
Zephyros, not noticing that George had interrupted him, continued. "Trevor's uprising rocked our world. He began terrorizing the lands, assaulting innocent people, and amassing an army of shadow wolves, spawned from his shadow magic. Numerous people have perished under his regime."
George shivered at the idea. The image of shadow wolves, preying at night, sent shivers down his spine.
"But then," Zephyros's tone grew deeper, "a prophecy was revealed to us, one that filled us with hope. You see, though I don't directly work with the Apex, I've been their friend for a long, long time. As Trevor's terror enveloped the land, I spent many a night wide awake reading ancient tomes, hoping to find a way to end his reign. And it was then that I found the prophecy, hidden deep within a very old forgotten book. It was of a human, not of this world—someone untainted by the magic of AlbëToryl—who would rise up against the rebel and bring him crashing down."
George's heart leapt with excitement when he heard.
"Eerily since the time we have learned about this prophecy," Zephyros went on, "the rest of Apex and I worked day and night to construct magical items. Books, toys, light sources, and things of every description, infusing each one of them with a little bit of our own brand of magic. With our friends—the Brownies, the Spriggans, the Pixies, Gremlins, and Boggarts—tooting our horn and cheering us on, we inundated the several alternative worlds around us, each world where there were humans or, at the very least, creatures not quite unlike them but yet quite unlike."
George's eyes widened at Zephyros' description of the operation. He imagined such magical creatures darting between worlds, concealing enchanted objects nobody would ever behold. It seemed like something taken from the loveliest stories he had ever heard.
"Those things," Zephyros continued, "we called 'Shiftbinds.' Their purpose was to catch the eye of whichever child was fated to be in the path of Trevor. When a suitable child touched a Shiftbind, they were brought here, to AlbëToryl. But not all together. We did it in fits and starts, one child at a time. Weeks passed, then months, as children came and left. But none of them was the one."
"What became of those children?" George asked, worried but also intrigued.
"We returned them," Zephyros said. "We brought them back to the exact moment that they left their world. And so they would not be confused, we manipulated their memories. They remembered nothing except one small thing—like a dream which fades upon awakening."
There was a pause from George for a moment as he digested all this.
"But then we thought," Zephyros said, his voice softer, "that this was not the correct way. So we stopped. We waited for the proper time, in hopes that fate would find the chosen one when the time was right."
George stared at him in amazement. "And. the book that brought me here? Was that one of those Shiftbinds?"
Zephyros grinned. "Yes, George, but not just any Shiftbind. The book which you found is a Mastershift relic. It doesn't respond to just anyone." To someone special, someone with an exceptional job in front of him, can you be drawn to it. And that, my lad, is why you are here."
The weight of Zephyros' words hit George in the chest, and his heart hammered away. "So you're saying. I'm meant to fight Trevor? I'm meant to stop him?"
Zephyros nodded solemnly. "Yes. That is your mission here. To end Trevor's reign of terror."
Fear crossed George's face. He shook, his voice trembling. "But. I can't. I'm just a kid. I don't know how to fight! I don't even know how to find my way home. My parents are probably worried about me right now. I just want to go back."
Zephyros knelt beside George again, his voice soft but firm. "Listen to me, George. I know this is too much to ask. But there is something you must hear. When an individual exits their native universe—like you did when you passed through the Shiftbind—time within that universe ceases. It's as if the moment you left, everything froze."
George's eyes widened. "What are you talking about?"
"Think of it like this," Zephyros told him. "The moment you touched the book and entered AlbëToryl, time in your world ceased. Everything was halted. So, however long you stay here, when you go back, no time will have passed whatsoever. To everyone else, it will seem that you vanished for a split moment. Your parents won't even realize you'd been gone."
George felt a strange sense of relief. "So… everything will be the same if I come back? Like I never left?"
"Exactly," Zephyros replied, his eyes creasing at the corners. "Your parents won't worry. They won't even notice you were here."
George let out a sigh of relief, some of the fear vanishing off his shoulders. But while the thought of returning home comforted him, the fact of the responsibility now on his shoulders still troubled his mind.
Zephyros paused, his eyes locked on George, the weight of all that he'd revealed clearly heavy on his shoulders. "It's a lot to take in, George," he said softly, his voice little more than a whisper. "That's all for today. Go, rest, and return tomorrow. We have much to do."
With a movement of Zephyros' fingers, George was standing outside the tent, eyes squinting against the waning light. Jeremy and Gryff, his loyal animal companion, stood waiting at his side. The sun was setting, casting shadows over the camp, coloring the sky soft hues of orange and purple.
Moments later, a young centaur, his muscles rippled and massive, approached them. His dark mane streamed in the evening breeze, and his muscles rippled under his shining coat as he approached them. "Come," he said, his voice deep but calming. "I've been sent to bring you to where you will be staying."
Without hesitation, George, Jeremy, and Gryff climbed into the same wooden cart they had used previously. The familiar driver nodded respectfully and cracked the reins, sending the cart off. The centaur walked ahead, trotting them deeper into the village.
The journey was quiet, except for the rhythmic thud of hooves and the creaking of the wheels on the wagon. George's mind spun with the importance of Zephyros' secrets, but another problem nagged him. Whereas Jeremy's tribe had been prepared to depart, this village looked still—too still.
As he walked along the village, George noticed silhouettes away from the other side, stood in impeccable coordination. They were five, standing tall and regal, appearing to be elves but radiating with the essence of ancient power. Their arms went upwards, a shimmering wall of magic formed, which expanded as it encompassed the entire village within an impenetrable barrier.
Not able to contain his curiosity, George leaned forward toward the centaur that was walking along with the cart. "Even with the shield, won't Trevor's shadow armies find the village at night? Might they still find their way through?"
The centaur smiled, his eyes on George with a relaxed confident air. "No need to worry, young one. To the world outside, all anyone shall ever see is a mountain. The village is hidden from the sight of those who would do us harm."
Hearing this, George felt his mind relax for the first time since he arrived in AlbëToryl. The ominous dread of Trevor's army appeared to fade away, at least temporarily. As the cart rode along slowly, the village fell silent and twilight descended over the land.
At last, the cart came to a halt in front of a small cabin nestled among trees. The centaur gestured toward it with a gentle nod. "This will be your resting place for the night. Take your rest, young one—you'll need it for what's to come."
The cabin was simple but cozy. In the fireplace, a warm fire spat, and on the table lay a simple meal of fresh bread, fruit, and a bowl of thick stew. George and Jeremy exchanged a look of silent gratitude, both exhausted after the long day.
Following a quick dinner, George barely managed to keep his eyes open. The soft bed beckoned, and the instant his head fell onto the pillow, he slept, pulled into its abyss. His last thoughts were about Zephyros' words, and the strange but fascinating world of AlbëToryl, but before he knew it, the quietness of the village had settled around him, giving him a first respite from the unrest.