Dawn rose over the ruins of the Temple of Aeryndor. Between weathered columns, light streamed in golden shafts, illuminating ancient carvings and the scars of a forgotten age. Time had carved its mark into the stone, yet the temple remained the heart of the Order of Aeryndor, a sisterhood of spellweavers and scholars devoted to preserving the old knowledge.

  At its center, the great tower stood defiantly among the ruins, a beacon of memory. From its highest chamber, the Oracle watched the threads of fate glide across the waters.

  But not everyone in the temple shared that serenity.

  Through the corridors, a young woman hurried, clutching a basket wrapped in cloth to her chest. The sweet scent of honey and spices drifted from between the folds, betraying her. Behind her, two apprentices chased after her, their voices sharp with irritation.

  “Lyanna! Those were meant for the senior guardians!” one of them shouted.

  Lyanna turned a corner without looking back. Her dark curls bounced around her shoulders, and her green eyes gleamed with a mix of mischief and determination.

  “I know, I know,” she called as she kept moving, “but if the guardians insist on leaving the tray exactly where anyone can reach it… it’s practically an invitation.”

  She attempted to hide behind a half-collapsed archway, but as she stepped back, her elbow struck a shelf laden with old relics. A glass vial toppled and shattered on the floor in a flash of blue light. The glow lifted for a brief moment before fading like a breath.

  Silence fell instantly.

  Lyanna froze. The apprentices stopped as well; one of them raised both hands to her mouth.

  “That was…” she whispered, not daring to finish.

  Two guardians appeared at once. One of them took Lyanna gently but firmly by the arm.

  “The Oracle wishes to see you,” she said in a neutral tone.

  Lyanna’s shoulders dropped, accepting a fate she had clearly anticipated.

  “I suppose she expected this,” she muttered.

  ***

  The great hall of the Oracle was vast and solemn. White marble pillars supported a vaulted ceiling engraved with ancient symbols. At its center stood a woman waiting in silence. With long black hair and serene blue eyes, Selenya commanded respect without raising her voice. Before her, a mirror of water shifted constantly, reflecting fleeting images that dissolved before they could be understood.

  Lyanna bowed respectfully, still holding the half-open basket.

  “I didn’t mean to cause any harm, Selenya. They just… smelled too good.”

  The Oracle allowed a faint smile.

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  “What you seek and what you take rarely align, child. But you are not here because of the vial.”

  Lyanna lifted her gaze, confused.

  “I’m not?”

  “No.”

  Selenya placed her hand atop the water. Ripples formed shapes—distant fire, a forest cast in shadow, a young man marked by light.

  “I found you years ago among the remains of a razed caravan. I saw in you a strength you could not yet understand. Today, that strength stirs again. Time moves, Lyanna… and with it, the fate of the world shifts around you.”

  Lyanna pressed her lips together. Doubt flickered in her eyes, yet she did not step back.

  “I know your visions are never wrong… but I have never left the temple. I don’t see how my path could lead anywhere beyond these walls.”

  “Your path does not end here. Soon someone will arrive whose destiny is bound to yours: the Bearer of the Mark. When you see him, you will know.”

  Her voice softened to a whisper.

  “There is something within you that he will need… even if you do not yet understand what it is.”

  Before Lyanna could reply, the water trembled. An image surfaced: fire, screams, and three figures fleeing beneath the shadowed boughs.

  Selenya looked up.

  “The time draws near,” she murmured.

  ***

  The sunlight barely filtered through the canopy as Kaelor walked along a narrow forest trail. Alden followed a few paces behind, with Kael closing the group. For a long while, the only sound was the crunch of leaves beneath their boots. At last Kael spoke:

  “Alden…” He gave him a light nudge. “How are you holding up?”

  The young man looked up, weary.

  “I don’t know. We lost our home, Elena, everyone… and Uncle Kaelor won’t tell us anything. Just ‘patience’ and ‘keep moving.’”

  His voice trembled between frustration and grief.

  “None of this makes sense.”

  Kael was silent for a moment.

  “Uncle always took care of us like his own sons. If he’s keeping something from us, he must have a reason. Trust him, like always.”

  Alden nodded. Kael moved ahead while Alden drew closer to Kaelor.

  They walked in silence for a few minutes before Kaelor finally spoke:

  “Your father was my brother-in-arms… and your mother, one of the noblest souls I ever knew.”His deep voice carried a quiet, aching nostalgia.

  “That Mark on your chest is no curse, Alden. It is an inheritance.”

  Alden looked at him in disbelief.

  “Inheritance?”

  Kaelor nodded.

  “The Mark is tied to an ancient prophecy. It speaks of a bearer destined to gather the Relics of Dawn—fragments of the primordial fire that shaped Myranthel.”

  “And Galathor…?” Alden whispered.

  “He fears that prophecy.”

  Kaelor’s expression hardened.

  “He already possesses one of the relics, twisted by dark magic. If he were to claim them all, his power would know no bounds. Your father knew this—and he died protecting you.”

  Alden stopped. The air caught painfully in his throat. He lowered his gaze, overwhelmed.

  “So… everything that happened in the village was because of me.”

  Kaelor walked two steps ahead before answering without turning:

  “No.” His tone was firm.

  “It was because of him. But within you lies the strength to stop him. That is your destiny, Alden. Not a burden… but a choice.”

  The young man nodded slowly. Kaelor removed the sword slung across his back and handed it to him.

  “It belonged to your father. Carry it with honor.”

  Alden accepted it with reverence. The blade, clean and finely forged, bore a wolf’s head engraved on the hilt. He ran his thumb over the cold metal, as though he could feel his father’s presence lingering there.

  “Tell me more about them…” he whispered.

  Before Kaelor could answer, Kael’s voice cut through the forest:

  “Uncle! Alden! Come quickly—you need to see this!”

  The three hurried to where Kael stood. Ahead, the forest opened into a gentle decline. In the distance lay a valley crossed by the great River Thalor. On its bank rose a city of stone towers and boats swaying upon the water.

  “Nareth,” Kaelor said with a weary but steady smile. “Our first stop on the road to Aeryndor.”

  Beyond it, the Thalen Peaks rose like a wall of jagged stone, dividing kingdoms and destinies.

  Alden gazed in silence as the wind stirred the leaves around him. For a moment, he thought he heard a distant echo… a soft feminine voice whispering his name through the murmurs of the forest. His hand moved to his chest.

  The Mark pulsed once—warm, as if something within it had just awakened.

  ***

  In Aeryndor, Lyanna made the very same gesture without knowing why.

  The wind carried that echo across the temple’s towers, where the Oracle closed her eyes beside her mirror of water.

  “He is on his way,” she whispered to herself.

  Thank you for reading this chapter.As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and impressions.

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