“Are you sure we can’t stay one more day?” Kael asked as he tightened his horse’s harness, staring at the dawn as though it might answer him.

  Dew still beaded the steps of the Temple of Aeryndor, and the sun had only just begun to rise behind the mountains, too weak to chase away the cold. The morning breeze carried the murmur of nearby springs and stirred the blue cloaks that adorned the temple walls.

  Alden stood in silence before his mount. The Sword of Dawn hung at his side, and though he tried to conceal it, an unease pressed tightly against his chest. It felt like the air before a storm had settled inside him—expectation, tension… and a faint fear of what lay ahead.

  Beside him, the Wolf watched with a solemn stillness, as if she understood that this dawn marked the beginning of a path from which there would be no return.

  Kaelor finished fastening his own horse’s straps and stepped closer.

  “Dawn waits for no one,” he said, though his voice carried a hint that suggested he was not entirely eager to leave so soon.

  Doran grunted as he checked one of the saddlebags.

  “I don’t trust mornings this quiet,” he muttered. “They always mean trouble.”

  Alden did not answer. He had slept little; every time he closed his eyes, the cherry-colored trees from his vision returned with unsettling clarity.

  It was then that Selenya appeared at the temple threshold.

  The Oracle walked toward them at an unhurried pace, and when she stopped before the group, her gaze settled first on Alden. A fleeting spark of compassion—or perhaps pride—crossed her features.

  “You did not sleep well,” she said gently, without needing to ask. “The fire rarely allows rest when it begins to wake.”

  Alden swallowed and nodded.

  Selenya inclined her head slightly.

  “In your visions you saw cherry-colored trees. You must travel north, toward the forests of Larethil. There you will find that which—or whom—you need to continue your path.”

  Alden lowered his eyes to the ground, struggling to steady the emotions that refused to loosen their grip.

  “And remember,” Selenya added, her tone growing heavier, “before your journey ends, you will have to leave things behind, just as you left your home. You will be asked to make sacrifices… some deep enough to break any man. But what you are, Alden—what you have learned—never forget it.”

  He listened with a knot in his throat. Instinctively, he sought Kaelor and Kael with his gaze. Both watched him in silence: Kaelor with steady resolve, Kael with curiosity laced with poorly concealed concern.

  Selenya then turned to Lyanna, already mounted, her posture firm.

  “There is great strength within you, my child,” she said with surprising tenderness. “Use it well. Your role in this journey will be more important than you yet understand.”

  After a brief pause, she added in the maternal tone Lyanna knew all too well,

  “And be patient, please.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Lyanna opened her mouth, ready to protest, but instead let out a resigned sigh. Selenya smiled faintly.

  At last, the Oracle stepped back and offered the group a look that blended hope with melancholy.

  “May the primordial fire guide you.”

  The temple doors closed slowly behind them as they set off, leaving behind the echo of their footsteps… and a silence heavy with omens.

  ***

  Far to the north, near the border between Elyndor and Valdara, a small group of travelers moved along a dusty road with a wagon. The air lay still—almost unnaturally so.

  Then the wind shifted.

  The horses snorted, restless.

  “Did you hear that?” one of the men whispered.

  A distant rumble echoed through the valley… then another, and another. They were not thunderclaps.

  They were footsteps. Heavy footsteps.

  The travelers barely managed to clear the road before the horde emerged from the dust: dozens of massive, dark figures, caked in earth and shadow.

  Ghüls.

  The ground trembled beneath them. A metallic, almost bloodlike stench lingered in the air as the horde vanished toward the south.

  One of the travelers fell to his knees.

  “They’re heading for Valdara…” he murmured, trembling.

  ***

  At dusk on the third day, as the sun began to sink behind the branches, Alden stood in a forest clearing, holding the Sword of Dawn in both hands. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed, his body rigid with the strain of concentration. A short distance away, the Wolf rested atop a raised rock, unmoving and alert, like a living statue.

  A sharp knock jolted him out of his focus.

  “Ow!” he exclaimed, clutching his head.

  Lyanna stood behind him, arms crossed, her expression unimpressed.

  “You’re doing it wrong,” she said bluntly.

  Alden shot her an irritated look.

  “I don’t feel anything. Maybe I don’t have this cursed inner spark of fire. Or maybe you’re just terrible at explaining things.”

  Lyanna closed her eyes for a moment, drawing in a slow breath to keep her patience. When she spoke again, her voice was calmer, but firm.

  “We all have that spark, Alden. Everything in Myranthel does… and so do you. That sword is proof enough. Remember what you felt when you first took it.”

  He tilted his head, thoughtful.

  “I felt something before… a heat in my chest. Like something inside me was trying to break free.”

  “Emotions can open that connection,” Lyanna explained, “but only involuntarily. If you let them take control, you risk losing control yourself.”

  Alden raised an eyebrow.

  “And if that happens?”

  “It would be like a fire burning too fast,” she said, meeting his gaze. “The flames would consume the wood… and in the end, they would die out.”

  “You mean I could die?” he whispered.

  Lyanna did not answer at once. Then she nodded, once.

  She stepped back and raised her arms, palms open.

  “When you learn to master your inner spark, you’ll be able to do extraordinary things. But the fire must serve you—not consume you.”

  A warm breeze began to coil around her. Dry leaves spiraled upward, and Alden watched in growing awe as the light of the setting sun seemed to merge with the air itself. For a brief instant, Lyanna’s green pupils gleamed like crystal. Then the effect faded, and the clearing fell quiet once more.

  They stood in silence… until a voice burst from the edge of the woods.

  “Hey! Are you done with your little magic lesson yet? Dinner’s ready!”

  Lyanna rolled her eyes.

  “It’s not magic—and the idiocy is clearly hereditary,” she shot back, striding ahead.

  “That’s not fair!” Kael protested behind her. “I’m obviously the smartest one! And technically, we’re not even brothers!”

  Alden laughed and gave him a shove on the shoulder.

  “Oh, really?”

  Kael spread his arms, indignant but grinning.

  “What? It’s true!”

  From her rock, the Wolf lifted her head to watch the exchange. Then she lay back down, calm once more, as the sun disappeared among the trees.

  ***

  Later that night, when the moon climbed high beneath a sky stained with fire and shadow, Riven’s troops crossed the atrium of the Temple of Aeryndor. Hooves struck stone in a heavy rhythm that echoed through the sacred walls.

  The women of the Order stood waiting in silence, aligned beneath the pale glow of torches. Not a gesture, not a blink. Their light-blue robes, embroidered in silver, seemed an extension of the temple itself.

  Riven dismounted without taking his eyes off the sanctuary’s interior.

  One of the priestesses stepped forward, her movements smooth and measured.

  “The Oracle awaits you,” she said simply.

  The commander did not reply. He followed her through the silent corridors, where torchlight flickered across ancient carvings. When they reached the great doors etched with arcane symbols, the priestess opened them without ceremony.

  Selenya stood within, beside the circular fountain, as though she had known the exact moment he would arrive. Her calm gaze seemed to pierce the gloom itself.

  Riven stopped before her.

  “We’re searching for a group of men,” he said at once. “One of them is young, and bears a mark upon his chest.”

  “What you seek is not here,” Selenya replied, never averting her eyes.

  Riven narrowed his gaze.

  “From your tone, I’d say you know exactly who I’m talking about.”

  She did not answer. The stillness of her expression was response enough.

  The commander stepped closer, studying her.

  “You don’t fear me,” he murmured. “And you won’t tell me anything.”

  Selenya remained silent.

  Then a black raven flew in through an open window and perched on the edge of the fountain.

  It bore a single white feather on its left wing.

  Riven tilted his head, never taking his eyes from the Oracle.

  “Perhaps you don’t fear me, Oracle…” he whispered. “But I know you’ll speak to someone else.”

  In that instant, an icy shadow spilled from the raven, flooding the chamber like black ink.

  The fountain lost its glow.

  The torches flickered… and went out.

  Darkness claimed the temple, and silence once more ruled Aeryndor.

  ***

  Miles away, in the night camp, the Wolf suddenly lifted her head, scenting the air.

  Far off, almost imperceptible, a raven croaked in the dark.

  Alden opened his eyes.

  The Mark on his chest pulsed once—hot.

  A forest awaited them.

  Thank you for reading this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it and that you’ll continue on to the next one.

  I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments: what did you think of Alden’s training, Selenya’s warning, and the final scene in Aeryndor?

  If you enjoyed this chapter and/or would like to support the project, you can buy me a coffee at:? [Ko-fi link]

  Remember, new chapters are released every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.See you in Myranthel.