The village of Kurovina buzzed with excitement like a beehive under the summer sun. Word had spread quickly: the boy who arrived under mysterious light was the Hero. Not just any hero—but the one foretold by the Prophecies of Drosmira, said to unite the Sivalons and bring peace to the fractured land.
Nikola wasn't so sure.
He had spent a week in the village now, and while his language skills were improving fast—probably thanks to a divine boost—he still wasn't used to the way people bowed, offered him bread and salt, or whispered prayers when he walked past.
Kurovina itself was a small settlement surrounded by forest and simple farms. It had wooden houses with steep straw roofs, clay ovens outside, and animal pens built from sticks and rope. At the heart of the village stood a shrine of stacked stones and carved wooden totems—dedicated to gods whose names he was only just learning.
He had made friends—sort of. The village head's son, Miroslav, was a year older and took to him quickly. Miroslav was bold, strong, and a little too curious about Nikola's "strange" clothing and words.
One evening, sitting near the fire pit, Miroslav leaned in.
"You're not from this world, are you?" he asked in a whisper, eyes wide with wonder.
Nikola blinked. "What makes you say that?"
"Because your soul smells different," he said seriously. "The old druid says the gods only summon souls from other realms in times of great need. And they always smell like burning pinewood and snow."
Nikola just stared. This world kept throwing surprises.
The day of the Hero's Calling came quickly.
A Royal Envoy arrived on horseback from the north, bearing a banner with a two-headed falcon—Dravand's symbol. With him came ten guards, a priestess of Vereja, and an old druid draped in furs and vines.
"The King of Dravand, High Lord of the Aibres Sivalons, bids you to appear at Drosmira within the fortnight," the envoy announced. "By sacred right, the Hero must be blessed at the Stone Circle and received before the King."
And so it began.
Nikola was given a horse (a stubborn brown thing named Duska) and a small escort. Miroslav joined him, eager to see the capital, and the journey north began.
Drosmira, the capital, stood on the shores of Lake Sevrin, its wooden walls rising like teeth against the sky. Smoke rose from hundreds of chimneys, and the bells of the Great Temple of Vereja echoed across the water.
The palace was modest by modern standards, but it was still grand: dark timber halls, towering iron-banded doors, and guards in fur-lined mail.
There, Nikola finally met King Dragomir II Aibranović—a weary man in his forties, broad-shouldered, with eyes like carved granite. Next to him stood his only child, Princess Jelena. She was beautiful, of course—long black hair, violet eyes—but there was something cold in her smile. Still, she bowed to Nikola with a grace that made his heart flutter.
That night, at the Hero Ceremony, the gods were called.
Inside the Stone Circle of Vernaya, under a sky filled with stars, the old druid began to chant in High Sivalon. The language rang out like thunder and whispered wind. Nikola stood in the center, uncertain.
"O gods of old," the druid cried, "we summon thee: Vereja, mother of the fields; Perunir, storm-lord of the sky; Dresmir, keeper of the black gate. If this boy be worthy, bless him now!"
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the air split. A wave of divine pressure knocked everyone off their feet. Light fell from the heavens, three pillars—green, blue, and black. They merged into Nikola's chest.
Visions came.
A warm meadow—Vereja's smile. A storm breaking mountains—Perunir's laugh. And a cold voice that cut to the bone:
"Nikola of Niš… your blood is now mine. Through you, your line shall not end. Live. Die. Return."
And then silence.
Nikola collapsed.
When he awoke, the world felt sharper—clearer. He could feel the magic in his veins: fire in his fingertips, strength in his limbs, and whispers of Dresmir at the edge of his thoughts.
The ceremony was over. The people cheered.
But Nikola knew—this was only the beginning.