The smell of smoke stirred him awake.
Amine's eyes fluttered open to the dim flicker of firelight. A wooden ceiling. Rough cloth beneath him. His body ached like he'd been thrown against a wall—and maybe he had.
He blinked. Something moved in his peripheral vision.
A woman with amber eyes and silver-streaked hair sat across from him, reading a scroll. She wore a long coat patched with burn marks and bore an intricate tattoo of a dragon coiled around her left arm.
"You're awake," she said without looking up. Her voice was calm, precise.
"Where... am I?" Amine croaked.
"Outpost Thale," she replied. "You passed out in the Riftwood. You've been asleep for two days. Most people who meet a Drake that size don't survive. You did." She finally met his gaze. "And you summoned something."
Amine sat up too quickly and winced. "The wolf... was that real?"
"Very. And dangerous. A creature like that answers only to strong Arcana."
"Arcana?"
The woman folded the scroll and leaned forward. "Magic. In this world, some are born with it. Some awaken to it. But few can command spirits. You're what we call a Summoner. Rarest of all the Mage types."
Amine stared at his hands. "I don't remember doing anything…"
"You didn't need to. Your Eidolon—your summoned beast—was born from something deep inside you. Pain, rage, grief… they shape what emerges." She stood and walked to the window, pulling aside a curtain.
Amine gasped.
Beyond the outpost walls stretched scorched forest, dotted with carcasses of beasts both winged and horned. In the sky, two moons glowed unnaturally bright against a swirling aurora. And far, far above that—
A crack in the sky itself.
A jagged rift, like a scar across the heavens, pulsed with violet energy. Through it, black shapes slithered slowly. Dragons.
"The Sky Wound," she said softly. "They came through it. Two thousand years ago. From a place we now call Amnesthia."
He swallowed. "You mean... they're not from here?"
"They're not from anywhere we understand. They eat magic. They devour worlds. For centuries, humanity hid, prayed, and died." She turned to him. "That changed a hundred years ago. When the first Mage was born. Since then, we fight. But we lose more than we win."
Amine's heart pounded. "Why me?"
"Why any Mage?" she shrugged. "Maybe the world chooses us. Maybe it just spits us out of the void and laughs."
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Mira. Mira Solen." She tossed him a piece of dried meat. "Eat. You'll need strength. If that Eidolon of yours returns, you better be ready to control it."
He stared at the meat, then out the window again.
A dragon screamed in the distance—low, hollow, and vast.
This world was dying.
And somehow, he'd been thrown into it.
Again