Dawn broke over the rolling fields of Stonevale, turning dew-laden grass into a sea of glittering emerald. Bram trudged beside his plow ox, the rich earth giving under the blade as he guided the furrow in patient strokes. Farming had always been his world—sunrise to sunset spent coaxing life from the soil, row by row. Yet today, each breath he drew tasted of destiny, heavy with unspoken promise.
Midmorning, he paused to rest beneath the ancient oaks that lined the field's edge. Their gnarled roots twisted through the ground like buried serpents, and moss clung to their trunks in vibrant tapestries. Bram leaned on his wooden staff, wiping sweat from his brow, when his boot struck something hard. He knelt and brushed aside loose dirt—and uncovered a smooth, obsidian-black stone veined with earthen green.
Curious, he pried it free. The moment his fingers closed around it, a low rumble trembled through the earth, and the ground beneath him pulsed, as though the world itself had taken a breath. The stone glowed with a deep, earthen hue, faint at first, then growing steadily warmer and brighter against the palm of his hand.
Visions surged in his mind: towering mountains cracking under titanic forces, roots bursting through stone in a cataclysmic embrace, and a hulking warrior wreathed in living rock. He heard a deep, resonant voice echoing:
"Stand firm where the pillars rise,
And let the mountain's heart arise."
Startled, Bram dropped the stone. It clattered against the plow's blade, then lay still, its glow dim but insistent. He stared at it, heart hammering, and realized this was no ordinary rock.
A rustle from the underbrush drew his gaze upward. Stepping into the dappled light was Tarin, the earth-sage who lived beside the old quarry. His robes were woven of bark and lichen, and in his hand he carried a staff crowned with a jagged crystal. Time had carved wrinkles into his weathered face, but his eyes shone with the quiet power of the earth itself.
"You've found it," Tarin intoned, voice as solid as bedrock. "A shard of the Earth Crystal."
Bram swallowed. "How… how do you know?"
Tarin bent to pick up the fallen fragment, cradling it like a newborn sprout. "Few can sense its call, fewer still bear its weight." He studied Bram with solemn intensity. "You have the steadiness of stone in your heart. This shard chose you."
Bram's knees threatened to buckle. "What must I do?"
Tarin stood, extending his staff. Tendrils of moss seemed to quiver along its length. "Take this earthroot staff—it will guide you and attune you to the land's rhythms. Tonight, when the moon crowned high above the Stone Circle, come to the Quarry of Echoes. There you will learn to awaken the shard's power: to bend stone, to command roots, and to stand unshaken against any force."
He pressed a simple, gnarled staff into Bram's hands. The wood pulsed under his palm, alive with hidden energy. "After your trial, you must seek out the others: the flame that blazes in Elderglen, the wind that sings above Galehaven, and the tide that whispers in Coral Bay. Only with all four united can the balance be restored—or doom us all."
A distant crow's call sounded like an answering drum. Bram nodded, resolve kindling in his chest. "I will be there."
As Tarin melted back into the shadowy forest, Bram shouldered the staff and hefted the shard. The field around him seemed alive, each blade of grass bowing in greeting. For a moment, the world held its breath—and Bram knew life as he had known it was over. Tomorrow, he would walk a path of stone and root. Tonight, he would stand at the center of an ancient circle, claim his birthright, and answer the Earth's call.
And so the final guardian awakened—and the journey to reunite Aetherion's heartstones pressed on.