The wind howled like a starving beast outside the shutters—gnawing, scratching, like it wanted to get in. Wooden slats rattled in place as if echoing the screams of something long forgotten.
Kael Solhart was already awake.
Again.
His eyes stayed locked on the ceiling's splintered lines, as if he could find answers there. But they gave him none. Just silence. Just the hollow ache of another night without sleep.
Not because of the cold.
Because of that dream.
No... not a dream. Not anymore.
It clung to his mind like damp fog—each time he blinked, it shifted in the shadows behind his thoughts. Burning skies. A voice calling his name. A blade singing in the dark.
He exhaled, ran a hand through his hair, and sat up slowly. The chill didn't bother him anymore. It never really did. His eyes drifted toward the far wall—toward the thing that haunted him more than the dream ever could.
His father's sword.
It leaned quietly against the wooden beam, unmoved, untouched. The leather grip was cracked with age. The steel looked darker than it should. But tonight… the moonlight kissed its edge in a way that felt wrong.
It glowed.
Faintly. Barely.
But enough.
Kael's body moved before his mind caught up. Slow steps. Bare feet against cold wooden floorboards. He stood before it now, breathing shallow, hand reaching out but not quite touching.
The sword didn't just look different.
It felt like it was waiting.
Like it had known this night would come.
Before his fingertips could graze the hilt, a knock crashed into the silence.
Bang. Bang.
"Kael! It's Jorin. Open up."
Kael blinked. The voice yanked him back to reality. Jorin? At this hour?
That was never good.
He threw on his cloak, boots half-laced, and cracked open the door.
Jorin's face was pale. And not just from the cold. His breath came out in short, visible bursts.
"You need to come. Now."
Kael's heart dropped. "What happened?"
The watchman hesitated. Glanced over his shoulder. Eyes sharp. Nervous.
"There's something by the forest. You… need to see it."
Kael grabbed the sword.
Not just because he felt like he should.
Because suddenly, it wanted to come with him.
Aethar was silent.
Too silent.
The kind of quiet that comes before a storm you can't see yet. Frost glazed the rooftops. Torches flickered in the wind, but the shadows seemed to stretch longer than they should.
Kael had lived in this village his whole life.
So why did it feel like a place he didn't recognize?
At the forest's edge, villagers had gathered—faces pale, voices low. Some were praying. Others just stared.
Then he saw it.
A scar.
No—a brand. Burnt into the earth like the mark of something ancient and deliberate.
A perfect circular pattern. Charred soil. Glowing runes crawling through the dirt like veins of fire.
Kael's breath caught. His fingers brushed the sword at his side.
The symbols—
"They're the same," he muttered, barely a whisper.
Jorin turned. "Same as what?"
Kael didn't answer.
Because deep down, he already knew.
The sword responded. Hummed softly. Like it recognized the runes too.
A pulse of energy surged through him. It raced from the sword's hilt, up his arm, into his chest—sharp and cold.
And then… the whispers started.
Not from the crowd.
From within.
"Not just a weapon," the voice said. "A warning."
Kael froze.
The voice wasn't loud. It was ancient.
Inside his mind, threading through his thoughts like a forgotten memory that never belonged to him.
He staggered.
Jorin caught him. "Kael? What's wrong?"
But Kael couldn't answer. His eyes were locked on the runes. His mind still caught in the echoes.
And that's when it happened.
The crowd gasped.
From the treeline, a figure stepped out.
Cloaked. Hooded. Silent.
No sound of footsteps. No crunch of frost. Just… there.
"You should not be here," the man said.
His voice was smooth. Unnatural.
Kael stepped forward instinctively. His hand already on the hilt. "Who are you?"
The figure tilted his head. "The question isn't who I am. It's who you are."
Kael's blood ran cold.
How did he know his name?
"You think steel will protect you from fate?" the man asked, amused.
The whispers in Kael's head surged.
Draw me.
He hesitated. The weight of the blade tugged at his soul. His father's voice flashed in memory. His hand tightened.
The hooded man raised his hand. The runes blazed. Energy cracked the air.
"The world is shifting, Kael Solhart," he said. "And you… you stand at its turning point."
Kael stepped forward.
One breath.
One heartbeat.
And nothing would ever be the same again.