Somewhere far-reaching:
The road stretched endlessly ahead, a winding path lost in mist and shadow. Beside him, Theo moved in silence, the weight of the journey settling heavy on them both.
Kaleon paused for a moment, lifting his gaze to the heavens.
The sky was a deep gray, the first threads of dawn weaving through the clouds. A cold wind stirred his cloak, and for a heartbeat, everything else — the road, the trees, even Theo's quiet steps — fell away.
He felt it.
A tug at his heart, faint but undeniable.
A sorrow not his own.
Tears, somewhere far behind him, falling for him.
Mother, he thought.
Lysera.
Even Malric and Elryn.
Though he had left them, though the path ahead demanded he stay firm, their grief clung to him like a chain — unseen but unbroken.
For a moment, Kaleon closed his eyes against the rising sting behind them, breathing in the cold, biting air as if it might steady him.
"I'm sorry," he whispered under his breath, voice lost to the winds.
"But I have to do this."
And without another word, he lowered his head and pressed on, leaving the ghosts of home behind him.
Theo glanced sideways, catching the shadow that passed over Kaleon's face.
He said nothing — no words were needed.
Just a small nudge of his shoulder against Kaleon's, a silent promise:
I'm with you.
Together, they kept walking, two boys against the world.
Far beyond the stone walls of Vaeloria, across wild valleys and whispering woods, two figures stood at the edge of the world.
The storm had found them too.
Wind tore at their cloaks, rain lashed their faces, but they did not turn back.
Kaleon Skarn pulled the hood tighter over his brow, his face set against the fury of the skies.
Beside him, Theo Leveros shifted uneasily, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
"Still time to turn back," Theo said, though there was no conviction in the words.
Kaleon only smiled — a hard, knowing smile.
"There is no back," he said simply. "Only forward."
Thunder cracked the heavens open, and lightning split the sky, painting the path ahead in silver fire.
Without another word, they stepped into the darkness.
Toward the unknown.
Toward the making of legends.
The Jungle of Sarthal had fallen behind them like a fading nightmare.
Now, only the wild unknown stretched before them.
It had been two days since they left Skarnhold. Fifty miles from home, the air smelled different—sharper, cleaner, but lonelier too. The mountains they'd grown up beneath were distant shadows now, lost in the mist.
Kaleon tugged his cloak tighter around his shoulders, glancing at Theo with a faint, mischievous grin.
"Come on, Leveros," he said, his voice hoarse from the cold wind. "Sing something before I lose my wits."
Theo chuckled dryly, brushing damp hair from his brow.
"You'll regret asking," he muttered, before launching into an old, half-forgotten song — a rowdy ballad the soldiers used to sing after a night of drink and victory.
Kaleon joined in before long, his voice rough but warm, and for a time, the road didn't seem so endless. Their laughter echoed across the hills, defying the vast silence of the world around them.
By nightfall, they found shelter beneath a towering, ancient tree — gnarled and thick, its roots twisting into strange patterns across the ground. Its bark was blackened by time, and its hollow trunk could easily fit five men standing. It smelled of old earth and something else — something almost magical.
"This'll do," Kaleon said, throwing down his pack.
Theo grunted his agreement, already gathering dry branches for a fire.
The flames crackled to life, casting long shadows that danced along the roots. They ate simply — hard bread, salted meat, and dried fruits from their endless pouch — sharing stories of boyhood mischief and dreams of what lay beyond the horizon.
But as the night wore on, the laughter faded.
Theo poked the fire, staring into the embers. "We're really alone now, aren't we?" he said, voice low.
Kaleon didn't answer at first. He leaned back against the rough bark of the ancient tree, watching the stars blink coldly overhead.
No guards.
No family.
No Skarnhold.
Only the two of them, a world away from everything they'd ever known.
Finally, Kaleon spoke, his voice steady. "Aye. We are."
And though he tried to hide it, there was a tremor beneath his words — not of fear, but of knowing. Knowing that this path they had chosen would change them forever.
They slept lightly that night, blades at their sides, with dreams full of storm and fire.
The road to Ashenreach had truly begun.
The night wore on, heavy with unseen eyes and whispering winds.
As dawn threatened beyond the black horizon, Kaleon and Theo pressed forward, their boots heavy with mud and exhaustion.
The path they found was barely a road at all — more a scar across the earth than a traveled way. Wet and silent, it stretched ahead like the tongue of a waiting serpent, winding through the dense, breathless woods. Every step was a squelch in the muck, and the mist coiled low around their knees.
Neither spoke. Some instinct — ancient, primal — warned them.
It was Theo who spotted it first.
He stopped so suddenly that Kaleon bumped into him.
There, suspended from a twisted, blackened tree, hung three bodies.
Rotting. Swinging gently in the misty breeze.
Their faces were gaunt, mouths open in eternal screams, their clothes torn and bloody. Symbols carved crudely into their chests, as if mocked in death.
A shiver cut through Kaleon's spine.
Before either could move, there came a rustling — soft at first, then sharper, nearer — until the underbrush on either side of the path erupted.
Six figures emerged.
Ragged men with hungry eyes and rusty blades, faces half-hidden by scarves and grime. Bandits. Looters. Wolves dressed as men.
They did not shout.
They only smiled — a dozen broken, yellowed teeth flashing in the mist — and drew their weapons.
Theo's heart hammered in his chest.
Kaleon reached for his sword, Ironheart, but his fingers were clumsy, slick with fear.
The bandits rushed them.
The first blow came like lightning.
Kaleon barely twisted aside as a chipped axe hissed past his face. He parried clumsily, the shock vibrating down his arm. Theo swung low, cutting into one bandit's thigh, but another immediately slammed into him, knocking him backward into the mud.
The world turned chaotic.
Steel rang against steel.
Boots churned through wet earth.
Every breath was a roar in their ears.
Kaleon ducked, slashed upward, felt the bite of his blade meet flesh. A man screamed, falling to his knees.
Another bandit crashed into Kaleon's side, grappling him, fists hammering into his ribs, trying to bring him down.
Theo was faring no better — pinned between two looters, one brandishing a jagged spear, the other a length of chain.
Blood ran freely down Theo's temple where a blow had glanced his head.
"KALEON!" he shouted hoarsely.
Kaleon wrenched free, driving his sword hilt into the bandit's jaw — but too slow, too tired.
Another blade tore through his shoulder.
He cried out, stumbling back.
His sword dropped into the mud with a sickening thunk.
A boot slammed into his chest. He hit the ground hard, gasping, stars bursting in his vision.
Theo roared — a desperate, wordless cry — and tackled one of the men off his feet, fists flying wildly.
But it wasn't enough.
The world narrowed — pain, cold, mud.
The bandits closed in, grinning, raising weapons high.
It was over.
The bandits closed in, weapons raised high.
It was over.
And then —
Something shifted.
A pulse inside Kaleon — low, deep, resonating in his very bones.
Something ancient. Something forgotten.
Beneath the layers of fear and flesh, something opened.
Stage 0: Aether Core — the Bleak Core — stirred.
A raw, unrefined surge of life flared inside him, wild and consuming.
At the same moment, another gate — hidden, slumbering deep in his soul — cracked open just enough to breathe.
Stage 0: Soul Gate — Dormant.
Though it would close again after, he could use it.
Just once.
The world around him slowed to a crawl.
Colors sharpened — the flicker of flames in the mist, the gleam of blood on steel, the movement of muscles readying to strike.
Kaleon rose.
His hand found his sword, though he had no memory of moving.
Power bled from him — untamed, primal — but enough.
With a roar that shook the trees, he drove forward.
The first bandit he met barely had time to raise his weapon before Kaleon cleaved through him — blade and body both parting in a spray of blood and mist.
At that instant —
Theo felt it too.
A violent shudder tore through him — not from fear, but from something awakening deep within.
A pulse.
A breath.
Stage 0: Aether Core — Bleak Core — stirred inside Theo.
Dormant, waiting — now erupting in raw, chaotic life.
And within his spirit, another barrier cracked apart:
Stage 0: Soul Gate — Dormant.
The seal broke for a heartbeat —
Granting him a single, fleeting grasp at something more.
His muscles tensed with newfound strength. His heartbeat steadied to an unnatural calm.
Theo's eyes snapped wide open, sharper, colder.
The world slowed for him as well —
Every bandit's movement clear as glass.
Theo moved faster than thought — slipping under a bandit's blade, driving his dagger deep into a man's throat, twisting, pulling free in one brutal motion.
They fought now as if possessed.
Kaleon and Theo moved together — back to back — like a single creature of fire and fury.
Strike. Parry. Kill.
A bandit screamed — his arm severed by Kaleon's sword.
Another gurgled — his throat opened by Theo's dagger.
The final man turned to flee — but Theo hurled a knife with unerring speed, burying it deep between the man's shoulder blades.
He fell face-first into the mud, dead.
Silence.
Only the soft patter of blood mixing with the wet earth remained.
The boys stood there, heaving, trembling, steam rising from their battered bodies in the cold morning air.
Their Bleak Cores — once awakened — now dimmed, fading back into dormancy.
Their Soul Gates — once open — sealed themselves once more.
The strength left them.
Only exhaustion, bone-deep and soul-heavy, remained.
Kaleon staggered to the side of the road and collapsed to one knee.
Theo wasn't far behind.
Fumbling at his belt, Theo retrieved two small vials from the satchel — the stolen potions from the Archmaester's forbidden stores.
One blue. One green.
No words were exchanged.
They drank.
Warmth flooded their veins, stitching torn flesh, dulling the pain enough to stand again.
But the scars — inside and out — would linger.
Kaleon wiped his mouth, grimacing as he stared down at the bloodied corpses littering the path.
Theo simply nodded, his expression grim, hollowed by what they had just endured.
They gathered their scattered belongings with slow, pained movements.
Checked their weapons.
Theo staggered to his feet, wiping blood from his face. "Did you see that?" He half-laughed, half-coughed, looking at Kaleon. "Something seriously awakened in us back there. I think we might've just turned into legends or... something."
Kaleon, still catching his breath, shot him a tired grin. "Yeah, legends. In one fight. I've got no idea what happened, but I feel like I could take on a dragon now."
Theo raised an eyebrow. "Dragon? Nah, we'll start with not getting killed by another band of bandits first, alright?"
Kaleon chuckled, despite the blood on his hands. "I mean, if I could summon a dragon, that'd definitely make this whole journey easier."
Theo snorted. "Yeah, sure, right after we stop the next bear from stealing our food."
They both laughed, the tension of the fight melting away for a brief moment.
Kaleon wiped his mouth, feeling the ache in his muscles but grinning. "Well, we made it through, didn't we? Alive and kicking... for now."
Theo gave a mock salute. "Aye, and no one even had to die twice this time."
Kaleon snorted. "True. But if we keep this up, I'm calling dibs on not being the one who dies."
"Deal," Theo said, grinning. "As long as I get to ride the dragon."
They both laughed, the sound echoing through the empty, still air.
And without another word, they turned away from the bloodstained road — disappearing into the endless woods ahead.
The road to Ashenreach was long.
And they had only just begun to walk it.