"A name isn't just something you're called. It's something you become."
The sky bled gold.
Dawn cracked through the clouds like an omen, and the fields around Aethar glistened beneath the early sun, soft and untouched. It should've been peaceful.
But Kael hadn't slept. Not even a second.
He sat in his room, unmoving, his fingers twitching every so often like they remembered something his mind couldn't explain. The sword—that sword—lay beside him on the bed. Still sheathed. Still humming… softly, like it was dreaming.
The events of last night—if he could even call them that—felt unreal. Like a half-remembered myth clawing its way into the waking world. The cloaked figure, the cryptic words, the pulsing blade in his palm. His mother's revelation. The name: Guardian.
And through it all, the question that wouldn't stop whispering:
Why him?
His home hadn't changed. The same stone walls, same cracked window frame, same table where he used to draw maps of places he'd never been. But it all felt wrong now. Like he didn't belong here anymore.
And then—
Knock.
Kael froze.
The tension hit him like a blade at his throat. His hand moved instinctively, hovering near the hilt.
"Kael?"
The voice broke the fear like light through mist.
Soft. Human. Real.
He opened the door.
And there she was.
Wrapped in a traveler's cloak, boots scuffed from the road, hair windswept and eyes sharper than he remembered—Elara Virel.
She wasn't just a girl from the village. She was his Elara. The one who sparred with him under the oak trees. The one who once stole apples with him during festival season. The one who used to say, "One day, we'll escape this place together."
But something was different now. In her voice. In her eyes.
"Do you have any idea what happened?" she asked, skipping greetings entirely.
Kael stepped aside. "No. Do you?"
Elara moved past him into the room like she didn't need permission. "Only that something stirred in the eastern glades. Something old. Magic that hasn't breathed in decades."
Kael's breath caught. "You felt it too?"
She nodded. "I saw it. In my dreams. Your sword. You. And something... watching. Something that doesn't blink."
His heart dropped a beat.
"You dreamt of the sword?"
"I did. And I wasn't the only one. Half the village woke up screaming last night."
Kael sank into the edge of the bed. "This can't be a coincidence."
"It's not," Elara replied. "Something's waking up. And it's tied to you."
Then came the question that changed everything.
"Do you even know what that sword is, Kael?"
He looked at the blade beside him. For years it was just a thing—steel and memory. But now?
"I thought it was my father's sword. Just a relic."
Elara stepped forward, her voice dropping. "That's no relic. That's the Whisperblade."
The name hit like thunder behind his ribs.
He blinked. "What?"
She unrolled something from her satchel—a scroll, yellowed with age. Ink faded, but the symbols still burned like echoes. In the center, a drawing.
His sword. Exactly.
"Where did you get this?"
"My uncle kept it locked in the forge," she said. "Told me to find you if the blade ever started humming."
Kael stared. "So it's real."
"The legends weren't lies," she said. "They were warnings."
He wanted to speak. He didn't get the chance.
A tremor cracked the silence beneath their feet.
The ground shook, like the earth itself gasped.
Kael rushed to the window—and saw it.
Smoke.
Black and rising.
From the north.
And then—
Screams.
He didn't wait.
Sword in hand, he burst from the house with Elara right behind him. Every footstep toward the village square sounded like a drumbeat leading to war.
And then he saw it.
A monster from nightmare.
Larger than a warhorse, skin rippling with shadow, fangs like bone, and eyes—glowing gold like fire trapped in ice. Its breath chilled the air. Its presence choked it.
A villager screamed: "Voidspawn!"
Kael stopped breathing.
He had only heard stories. Creatures born from the sins of the old world—entities that should've died with the last age.
But this one was real. Real and hungry.
"Kael, wait—!"
Too late.
The Whisperblade flew from its sheath.
And this time, it sang.
Not hum. Not pulse.
Song.
Low. Resonant. Like a chorus of voices from across time, calling him forward. The air vibrated around him. The shadows themselves ran from the blade's light.
Kael moved without thinking.
One breath.
Then—motion.
Each strike flowed into the next. The sword knew the rhythm. Knew the pattern. He was just following the music.
One slash.
A dodge.
A spin.
The beast lunged. Claws slashing.
But Kael moved like water.
The blade cut through shadow like it was slicing silk.
A second hit. A third.
And then—silence.
The Voidspawn collapsed into mist. Gone.
The village stared.
Kael stood panting, knees buckling beneath him. The sword's song faded, but the echo stayed—lodged somewhere in his spine.
Elara ran to his side. "You just… you fought that thing."
Kael didn't answer. His voice was caught in his throat.
"I didn't," he finally whispered. "The blade did."
Elara's gaze lingered on the sword. "Then it's started. The Awakening."
She paused.
"And you, Kael Solhart…"
"…You're the one they've been waiting for."
Kael closed his eyes.
The blade that should not be drawn…
Was already singing his name.