The midday meal was as usual. peaceful, warm, yet filled with a silence I never dared break.
"After you eat, you can go to the market," my aunt said.
"I need a few extra spices for tonight. And don't forget to stop by that old bookshop at the end of the road," she continued, clearing her plate.
"The owner said there's something there that might interest you," she added.
That old bookshop, Østberg had been there often, more to avoid chores at home than because he was actually looking for anything in particular.
But this time, my aunt's words felt different, as if something was waiting for me there. When we finished lunch, Østberg helped clear the table, then took a seat on the wooden chair by the window overlooking the back garden.
Uncle Arvid followed, carrying two steaming cups of tea. He handed one to me before sitting opposite.
"Thank you," Østberg isaid, accepting the cup.
Uncle only nodded. There was no sound for a moment except leaves rustling in the breeze and the faint clink of a teaspoon against porcelain.
The stillness between us felt almost heavy. Then Uncle spoke softly, almost as a murmur, "You're thinking about something."
Østberg stared at the curling steam. "Just… dreams. Lately they've been strange, like… something's off."
Uncle didn't look surprised. "You've mentioned dreams before, but these feel deeper, right?"
Østberg nodded. "Maybe it's just fatigue, so… I haven't paid much attention."
He leaned back in his chair and exhaled slowly. "Dreams can reflect the past. Or the future. Or simply fragments of thoughts you haven't yet processed."
"So… do you think dreams can be a kind of destiny?" I asked.
"Destiny?" Uncle let out a small laugh, not mocking, but amused by life's complexity. "Think of destiny as a thread. You can pull it, cut it, tie it again. But not everyone is given the same thread."
I fell silent.
He relaxed into his seat and continued more casually, "You have thoughts too deep for someone your age. That's not bad. But don't forget your life is here, in this day."
I smiled and sipped my tea. It was warm. Comforting.
"You know…" Uncle's voice trailed off before he said, "your father used to talk about strange dreams too. Even before he left."
Østberg looked up quickly. Uncle rarely spoke of my father. "What do you mean?'
He gazed out the window. "He spoke of invisible gates, voices from the sky, nights more real than days. At the time, I thought he'd been reading too many books."
Østberg stared at my cup, throat suddenly dry. "Did he… believe in something beyond this world?"
"I don't know… But he always said, if this world has an end, then something must be waiting beyond it," Uncle replied softly.
His words planted themselves in my mind, echoing with a subtle pulse I couldn't explain.
"Østberg," he called gently.
"Yes?"
"If you truly feel this world holds something for you, don't be afraid to seek it. But… don't rush. Your path is still long."
Østbetg nodded. He knew he didn't have all the answers. But his simple words gave me courage. Silence settled again, not long before my aunt's voice from the kitchen broke it.
"Østberg, are you ready? The sky's turning cloudy. Don't stay out too long!"
Østberg stood, placed my cup on the table, pulled on my thin brown jacket, and grabbed my canvas bag from the hook.
"Before you go, you remember the shortcut to the bookshop, right?" Uncle asked.
Østberg nodded. "Through the back, crossing the little stream by the fields."
"Good." He stood and laid a hand on my shoulder. "And one more thing."
Østberg asked, "What's that?"
He gave me a knowing smile. "If the shopkeeper gives you anything… listen carefully. He's no ordinary man."
Østberg raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"Just ask him later. You'll understand."
His words hung in the air like a faint omen. Østberg only nodded, swallowing my growing curiosity. He stepped outside into the crisp remnants of autumn air.
The sky was filling with gray clouds, though it hadn't yet started to rain. Østberg's footsteps pressed into the damp earth road as he descended the small hill separating our home from the village center.
He didn't look back, but I could feel Uncle's eyes following me from the window. A gentle breeze carried whispers of the changing season.
And somehow, he sensed today would be different.
---
That old bookshop, Østberg had visited often, more to shirk chores than out of genuine curiosity. But this time her words felt different, as if something awaited him there.
After a short rest, Østberg donned my jacket and headed for the market. His life moved along predictably, almost boring. Yet, someone caught his eye and stirred something inside.
Midway, I spotted my friend Elara Vyn sitting beneath a large tree. I hurried over.
"Elara!"
"Østberg?"
Østberg reached her and, catching my breath, began, "Have you ever felt… there's something inside you you can't explain?"
"Always," she replied. "Sometimes I feel we're part of something greater, but for some reason we're not allowed to know it."
Østberg nodded. "Yes… I feel the same."
"You're not entirely wrong," Elara said. Her words made me think, though didn't fully trust her strange theories, something in them felt true. That day the air in Audhild turned unexpectedly cold.
Østberg bid her goodbye and continued on. The usually bustling shops seemed quieter than ever. Cobblestone streets teemed with villagers busy with their errands. The scent of fresh-baked bread and spices filled the air.
When he finished aunt's shopping list before making my way to the bookshop. Passing the old clockmaker's shop, Østberg felt time slow, an inside clock in the display case stalled, and for a moment he heard a rhythmic pulse like a heartbeat.
He paused, staring at the clocks, struck by a feeling of déjà vu... like his dream city in waking life.
A narrow lane led him to Audhild's small square. At the corner stood the old bookshop, its weathered façade creaking under the weight of countless seasons. A crooked sign read 'Audhild Bookshop.'
Østberg pushed open the heavy wooden door, which groaned in protest. Inside was cool and damp, redolent of ancient paper. Shelves soared to the ceiling, laden with fading tomes, some so old they scared you to touch them.
At a massive desk in the center sat an elderly man reading a thick leather-bound volume. His hair was snowy white, his beard neatly trimmed. When he looked up, his eyes gleamed with a piercing intensity.
"Østberg," he said before I could introduce myself.
Østberg froze. "How do you know my name?"
He only smiled faintly, as though privy to secrets I was not. "I didn't learn it. Fate brought you here. You're here seeking something, aren't you?"
Østberg didn't know how to answer, his words felt like they cut straight to my restless core. "I was merely passing through."
He chuckled, the sound echoing in the cramped shop. "Nothing is ever just 'passing through' here. Choose a book, and you may find more than mere words."
Østberg fingers drifted over dust-covered spines until one caught his eye a small black volume titled 'Code Arkhavel'.
Østberg pulled it free, dust motes rose and I sneezed.
"That one, yeah?" the old man asked, as if he'd expected it.
"You know," he said, leaning closer, "the book you hold isn't ordinary. Code Arkhavel is a secret codex of the Rovers."
"Rovers?" Østberg frowned.
He nodded. "Rovers are chosen humans who pierce the veils of existence, dimensions, timelines, alternate realities. Imagine a vast web binding all destinies. Rovers can see, sometimes alter, its threads. Their Fate Marks are unique, and it is those marks that call them to every world."
Østbergswallowed, resisting another question.
"To manifest their power, Rovers invoke what is called the Line Absolute… the Ultimate Thread of Destiny. Once activated, it crystallizes into pure light, sword, bow, spear, whatever the summoner wills."
He paused, looking at the shelves. "But remember, each time you carve reality with the Line Absolute, you nick the universe's structure. Use it too often, and the crack widens into an Eclipse, a calamity even the strongest Rover cannot withstand."
Østberg pictured a luminous blade cleaving dimensions, and the fabric of existence tearing. The old man smiled thinly and extended a gnarled hand.
"So, if you truly choose this path, know the cost. This book may guide you, but only your own steps will decide if you save the world… or destroy it."
Østberg nodded and opened to the first page. Instead of words, when he saw a strange symbol, a circle etched with intricate patterns, as though alive.
"What is this?" Østberg whispered.
The old man's eyes narrowed with mystery. "The beginning of something vast, beyond anything you can imagine, Østberg."
Suddenly dizzy, Østberg felt the shop spin. He said, "Take it. You will need it."
Clutching the black book, Østberg stepped back into Audhild's cool afternoon light, knowing he's tranquil morning had become something entirely different.
Flipping deeper into the book, a name appeared:
Aevum'Nahr.
"Huh? What is this?"
Below it was an entry:
[Aevum'Nahr, The Mysterious One]
[Age: 10,000]
[Title: Eternal Chaos God]
The old shopkeeper, noticing my shock, stepped out from behind the desk and tapped my shoulder, nearly startling me.
"Hey there, what are you reading?" he asked.
Østberg. "It… it has strange notes. Look."
But he choose to closed the book anyway.
---
On the main thoroughfare, paved with ancient stones, Østberg spotted a lone traveler in a tattered brown cloak walking the opposite way. He moved unhurriedly, leaving only faint footprints. Something about him drew my curiosity.
I couldn't put it into words.
I just... dont know.
He stopped midstreet and turned to me. His gaze pierced me, as though he saw every hidden thing within.
I felt I was looking into profound darkness full of untold secrets.
Without a word, he raised his right hand. Østberg frowned, bewildered, as a man and gentle glow flickered from his palm. A small luminous circle spun in the air, tracing with his finger.
The light expanded into fluid, living lines. Østberg's sensed warmth emanating from it, though there was no real fire. With one swift motion, he drew his hand back and the light solidified into a branching tree-like symbol, a meaningful sign, utterly foreign to him.
What is that?
The Man smiled faintly and replied in a deep, quiet voice, "Magic, boy. A current that links all things in this world, an ancient power older than time itself."
He continued, "But it's more than what you see. There's something deeper behind it, something that will lead you down an irreversible path."
Østberg body trembled slightly, his words felt like directions toward something bigger, something long beyond my reach.
Østberg remained frozen, watching the glowing patterns fade.
"Who are you..." Østberg asked.
The Man nooded, "Who am i? Yeah, i'm just... a traveler'
Østberg feels strange about this, but in his mind, just imagine the Magic.
Magic… was it mere wonder, or something more?
Was it the answer to my confusion?
As he stepped away, he noticed the book in my hand. "Is that Code Arkhavel?" The Man asked.
"I'm not even sure," Østberg confessed.
The Man smirked. "Seems the old man did give you the Code Arkhavel book, didn't he?"
"Huh?" Østberg asked.
The Man continue. "Don't worry too much about what you'll face, boy. We all walk our fates… even me," he added, his voice drifting as if from afar.
"What do you mean? I don't understand,"
The man continued, "Trust me, your journey will be harder than you imagine, but you will face it. I know that."
Østberg nodded slowly, still uncertain.
"This world is older than you think," The Man went on. "But time isn't just a sequence of days. It holds memories that won't fade."
Østberg stared at him, confused, but the curiosity in my eyes was clear.
"Have you ever felt something's missing?" he asked. "Like a shadow glimpsed but never grasped. Trust me, you're not merely lost here. Something awaits you… or perhaps you're chasing something you've never seen."
His words seemed to resonate inside me...
Stirring something I'd never felt before.
"Don't seek answers outside," The Man cautioned. "The answers you need lie within. But be careful… not all that's locked up is meant to be opened."
The Man smiled mysteriously before fading from sight, leaving Østberg with strange, unanswered questions.
With his head full of wonder, Østberg continued my walk. The winding road around the village felt eerily quiet, as if the world awaited something from him.
This encounter wasn't just an odd event on a cold morning, it was a message from a broader, secret world.
Østberg had never truly pondered the meaning in his own my life. The quiet days in Audhild with Uncle and Aunt were all he's knew. Yet now, an unshakable urge called me to uncover mysteries beyond normal understanding.
Behind, The Man paused once more and watched me go, smiling softly before murmuring,
"Prevent Lorentz's death. Don't repeat your past mistakes. Everything rests on you… our last hope."
---
Evening approached and the sun dipped behind the mountains. Østberg stood at the edge of a small cliff overlooking the town. The cool air brushed his face, carrying the fresh, peaceful scent of the forest. Yet beneath that tranquility, unease gnawed at him, as if the world around harbored answers yet unrevealed.
"I don't understand… Who was that man… What actually happened?"
In the distance, the traveler's figure flickered in his mind, alongside the memory of the morning's magic. Østberg closed his eyes, replaying the scene, 'the warm glow, the spinning circle, the man's words about power older than time.'
In that silence, Østberg realized something profound, perhaps the tranquil life he'd always known was only the beginning of a journey he'd yet to comprehend. Something was calling him from beyond the world's edge.
Something demanding the courage to explore it. And though he didn't know what lay ahead, he felt he could no longer turn back.
Standing alone on the cliff's brink, gazing at the first emerging stars, he drew in a deep breath and felt night's chill wrap him.
One question circled in his mind, now part of his very being, was this the start of a destiny far greater than his own?