Chapter 4 — "Echoes of the Fallen"
Erik's heart still raced, but he didn't stop. The beast he'd slain was only the first, and the Ashen Plains seemed endless, stretching on for miles. The air had thickened with an eerie hum as he moved forward, as if the land itself was watching him, waiting.
His breath was ragged, his arm still stinging from the slash. The Aether had healed the wound, but his energy reserves were low. His hands shook slightly as he moved, the Glyph still glowing faintly in his palm. It felt like a strange weight—both a gift and a burden. The power coursing through him was enormous, but it was volatile. Unstable.
Erik's eyes scanned the horizon as he moved, every shadow now a potential threat. He needed to make it to the Academy, but that felt like an impossible task when every step seemed to push him deeper into danger.
The landscape around him was desolate. There were scattered ruins—once grand structures now reduced to half-buried skeletons of stone and metal. Some had strange markings etched into them, glowing faintly, as if the ruins themselves were trying to communicate with the Aether.
Suddenly, a distant sound broke through the stillness. A low, mournful wail, echoing across the plain. It sent a chill down Erik's spine, and his steps faltered. He froze, straining to listen.
The sound came again, this time clearer—closer.
It was followed by the unmistakable rustling of movement.
Something was out there.
Erik's pulse quickened, and instinctively, his hand went to the hilt of a weapon he didn't have. His body was still adapting to the surge of power, but it wasn't enough. His vision sharpened, and he glanced around, trying to find a way out, but there was nowhere to run. The plains were too vast, the terrain too open.
Then, from behind a crumbling structure, a figure emerged.
At first, Erik thought it might be another beast, but the figure was… human. Or at least, it resembled a person. A man, tall and gaunt, wearing a tattered cloak that fluttered in the wind. His face was hidden beneath a hood, but Erik could see the faint glow of runic tattoos etched across his exposed skin, pulsing with an ominous light.
The man's eyes, when they locked with Erik's, were empty—hollow, yet glowing faintly with a strange Aetheric energy. He said nothing as he approached, his movements unnaturally smooth, almost spectral.
Erik instinctively took a step back, his body on alert. Was this another enemy? Or something else?
The man didn't stop. He drew closer, his steps slow, deliberate. And then, with a voice that sent a cold shiver through Erik's body, he spoke.
"So... another one. Another Transmigrant…"
The words hit Erik like a punch. Another Transmigrant? How did this man know?
Erik's hand instinctively clenched into a fist, the Aether still swirling faintly within him. "Who are you?" Erik demanded, though his voice trembled slightly. He couldn't afford to show weakness now, not in this place.
The man stopped a few feet away, his hollow eyes never leaving Erik's. Then, he spoke again, his voice low and rasping, as though it came from deep within a tomb.
"I… was like you once. A foreigner in this land. But I've long since lost my way." He raised a hand, tracing a slow, circular motion through the air. Strange Aetheric sigils appeared in his wake, glowing briefly before fading. "I have seen the truth of this world. The Aether flows through all things, and yet, it binds us in chains. We are nothing more than puppets in a game of gods and titans."
Erik didn't understand half of what the man said, but there was something unsettling about him—something not entirely human. His voice, his eyes, they all felt wrong.
"I'm not interested in your philosophy. I just want to get to the Academy," Erik said, trying to take control of the situation. This man could be dangerous, and Erik didn't have the luxury of playing games.
The man's lips curled into a slight, sorrowful smile, as if he already knew Erik's response.
"The Academy," the man repeated, his voice heavy with irony. "You think it will give you answers? It is a place of power, yes. But power alone will not save you. Not here. Not in the Ashen Plains."
Erik's patience was running thin, but before he could speak again, the man raised a hand. A thin, glowing thread of Aether stretched out between them, connecting the two. Erik instinctively reached for his own Aether but couldn't break the connection.
"I am not your enemy," the man said. "At least, not yet. But if you are to survive this world, you must first understand the truth behind the Aether—and the forces that control it."
Erik could feel the weight of the man's words pressing down on him. This world, Velhraz, was more than he had imagined. And the Aether, this mysterious energy, was at the heart of everything. But what was the man's true intent?
The man's voice shifted, his tone almost pitying.
"You are too young to understand the weight of this power. But it will come for you, as it came for me." He lowered his hand, and the connection between them severed, leaving Erik with a strange sense of emptiness. "Take my advice, Transmigrant—the Academy will not be your salvation. The real power lies in the darkness."
The man turned and began to walk away, his form blending with the shadows of the ruins as he vanished, leaving Erik with more questions than answers.
The wail from earlier returned, echoing across the plains.
Erik stood alone, once again, the hum of the Aether filling the air. He didn't know what the man's warning meant, or if it was even worth considering. But one thing was clear: his journey had only just begun. And the deeper he ventured into this world, the more he would have to face its harsh realities.
With a grim resolve, Erik turned back toward the vast expanse of the Ashen Plains, his destination still ahead. He couldn't afford to get distracted. He had to reach the Academy. But the true test of his strength—both of body and of spirit—was just beginning.
End of Chapter 4