The rain came in spears that night, driven sideways by a howling wind that smelled of wet earth and lightning.
It was the kind of storm that stripped the warmth from the air and left the land bare, raw, and trembling. The clouds above churned like the sea in a tempest, swallowing the moon whole, and every crack of thunder rolled through the valley like the growl of some ancient titan.
On the winding dirt road cutting through the black hills, two travelers walked as if the storm were nothing more than an idle breeze. Their cloaks did not whip in the wind, nor did the rain cling to their shoulders. The water slid off them without soaking their clothes, as though the very weather hesitated to touch them.
The man was broad-shouldered, with hair like molten gold tied at the nape of his neck. His presence seemed carved from the same stone as the mountains themselves — solid, unyielding, with the quiet weight of power long mastered.
The woman beside him walked with the grace of drifting snow, each step as measured as if she had rehearsed it a thousand times. Her eyes, a pale and striking gold, seemed to see through the night as if it were daylight.
They were known, in the few places that still whispered their names, as the Twin Pillars — Kael Draven and Serenya.
Legends claimed they had saved a dying king centuries ago, shaped the outcome of a continental war, and then vanished into myth. Some stories painted them as divine guardians. Others as meddling demons.
The truth? Neither had cared to explain, and fewer still were alive to ask.
They had not come to this dirt road for heroics.
The outside world had ceased to hold their interest long ago. The mortal realm was a place of greed and short memories; it always had been. But rare herbs grew only during certain seasons, and tonight the moon's hidden cycle had coaxed one such plant to bloom along this very route.
Kael glanced sideways at Serenya, his voice a deep rumble that carried even over the wind.
"You're quiet."
Her lips curved faintly, though her hood shadowed her face. "This weather makes me think of old nights. Ones we swore we'd never repeat."
Kael's gaze shifted back to the road. "And yet, here we are."
They walked on.
The storm roared on, but Kael slowed.
His boots sank half an inch into the mud with each step, yet he left no splatter behind him. The wind was fierce here, the rain sharper — and beneath it all, faint but certain, was a smell that did not belong.
Blood.
Serenya noticed it, too. Her head tilted, nostrils flaring slightly. "Fresh," she said. "Even in this storm."
Kael's golden eyes narrowed. "More than one source."
They followed the curve of the road where the trees began to thin. Wheel ruts appeared in the mud ahead, deep grooves cut by something heavy and hurried. A shattered wheel half-buried in the muck marked the first sign of wreckage.
Then the scene unfolded before them like the turning of a grim page.
A carriage lay on its side, one wheel spinning lazily, creaking against the wind. The polished wood was split, the gilded trim splintered and scattered. Two armored men lay nearby, their breastplates punched inward by a force that had caved steel like clay. Their helms were gone, their eyes staring at nothing as the rain washed blood from their faces.
Farther ahead, another carriage was overturned completely, its canopy torn open. More bodies lay strewn in the mud — knights in the same livery, their cloaks darkened with water and gore.
Serenya moved with the silence of a cat, stepping between bodies, her hand brushing over a broken spear haft still warm from the fight. "Not long ago," she murmured.
Kael crouched by one of the corpses, turning it with two fingers. "Clean kill. Whoever struck them knew exactly where to hit. This wasn't a raid. It was an execution."
Then Serenya's voice sharpened. "Kael."
She stood near the largest of the carriages — or what was left of it. The front axle was split, the team of horses long gone, their harnesses ripped apart. In the mud just before her feet lay two figures in royal garb.
The man was tall, even in death, his crown dented, robes soaked through. The woman's gown was a masterpiece of silk and gold thread, now torn and stained dark. She was slumped forward over something.
Lightning flashed. In that split second, Kael saw the shape beneath her — small, wrapped in soaked silk.
They moved at the same time.
Kael reached them first, his arm sliding under the queen's still form, lifting it with the care of one who had done this before. The bundle beneath stirred weakly, and a cry — soft, wet, desperate — broke through the pounding rain.
A child.
Serenya's breath caught. Her hands moved to the bundle, parting the soaked cloth just enough to see a small face, flushed from crying. The baby's tiny fingers curled reflexively around the air.
And there — on the back of that tiny hand — light flared.
It was not the glow of the storm's lightning, but something older, deeper. A crest formed in pure gold light, intricate lines and curves that spoke of bloodlines and legacies.
Serenya's eyes widened in recognition. "Kael… that's—"
Before she could finish, the mark faded, the skin bare once more.
Kael looked up, meeting her gaze. His voice was quiet, but absolute. "We take him."
Serenya hesitated only a heartbeat before nodding.
Kael rose, cradling the child against his chest — and with that movement, he lifted one hand.
The world froze.
The rain halted midair, droplets suspended like a web of crystal beads. The wind died. The distant rumble of thunder was silenced. Even the steam from the bodies in the mud hung unmoving.
Kael turned without hurry, stepping back the way they had come. Serenya followed, her boots leaving no imprint in the softened earth.
At the bend in the road, she paused. Looking back at the carnage, she lifted her hand. Power gathered at her fingertips, and with a small, deliberate twist of her wrist — it was gone.
Not the bodies. Not the carriages. The entire scene.
The mud was smooth. The road unbroken. There was no blood, no wreckage, no sign that royalty had died here. Only an empty stretch of road under a stormy sky, as though it had always been so.
When Serenya turned back, Kael was already stepping between worlds. The air rippled, folding in on itself like water swallowing a stone — and they were gone.
Twelve Years Later...
The sun in the Sanctum Vale did not rise like it did in the mortal world.
Here, dawn poured in slowly, like gold spilling into the sky. The clouds shifted in lazy spirals of pink and lavender, their movements guided by unseen patterns. The air was always clean, carrying the scent of wildflowers no matter the season.
A boy stood barefoot on a grassy ridge, bow in hand, staring down at the valley below. His black hair fell just past his brows, and his eyes — bright and restless — tracked the movements of a herd of silverhorn elk grazing by a stream.
Kanzi had never seen a mortal city. He had never set foot in a marketplace, nor heard the gossip of taverns, nor felt the press of strangers in a crowd. His world had always been this — lakes that mirrored the sky, mountains carved with glowing veins of crystal, and forests so deep that sunlight turned green before it touched the ground.
And it was enough… for a time.
A sharp whistle carried across the valley.
Kanzi turned to see Serenya, hands on her hips, standing beside a willow whose long branches swayed despite the still air.
"You're late," she called, though her tone held more amusement than scolding.
Kanzi jogged down the slope to meet her. "The silverhorns moved farther east. I was tracking them."
She raised a brow. "And did you think they'd wait for you to catch up?"
He grinned. "No. But I wanted to see if I could predict where they'd go next."
Her expression softened. "And?"
"They always go upstream before the heat of the day."
"Good." She adjusted the bowstring at his wrist. "You're learning to read more than tracks. That will keep you alive."
Kanzi glanced past her to the small camp they had made by the stream. Kael was there, seated cross-legged on a flat stone, eyes closed. Around him, six small stones hovered in the air, turning in slow, perfect circles.
Kanzi had asked him once why he did that. Kael's only answer had been: "Balance."
Serenya followed his gaze. "Don't bother him. He's been cycling mana since before dawn."
"Does he ever stop?" Kanzi asked.
"Not when he's teaching you by example."
Life in the Sanctum Vale was… different. The place itself felt alive. The rivers sang in strange harmonies when the moons aligned. The grass sometimes glowed faintly at night. The creatures here were unlike anything in the mortal world — beasts with hide like polished stone, birds that left trails of sparks in their wake, and fish that swam through the air when the mood took them.
From the day he could walk, Kanzi had been made to study them. Serenya taught him to stalk without sound, to blend into the wind's rhythm, to note not just a beast's claws and teeth but the way it moved, the way it breathed. Kael taught him how to feel the pulse of mana inside a living thing — the source of its strength — and where that core might be hidden.
Some days were long, exhausting, and filled with failure. But Kanzi never complained.
In the Vale, failure meant nothing except more training. In the mortal world — if it was as dangerous as Kael and Serenya sometimes hinted — failure meant death.
That night, the three of them sat by a fire that didn't burn wood but a pale blue flame conjured from the air. It gave off no smoke, only warmth and a faint scent of rosemary.
Kanzi leaned back on his elbows, staring at the twin moons overhead. "Serenya… what's outside the Vale?"
Kael's eyes opened a fraction. Serenya looked into the fire for a moment before answering. "A world full of people, cities, and nations. Seas wider than this valley. Mountains you could climb for days and never reach the top."
Kanzi's heart stirred. "And beasts?"
Her lips curved faintly. "Oh, yes. Beasts far more dangerous than anything here. Wars, too. Greed. Secrets. And wonders you can't imagine."
He sat up straighter. "Then… I want to see it. All of it."
Kael's gaze sharpened. "And if you walk into that world tomorrow, do you think you would survive?"
Kanzi hesitated. "…I'd try."
"Trying is what the dead say they were doing before they fell," Kael said evenly. "Strength, skill, and wit — you will need all three. And you have only begun to touch them."
Serenya's tone was softer. "If you wish to go, you'll have to prove you can stand on your own. That means training beyond what you've done so far."
Kanzi clenched his fists. "Then I'll train. Whatever it takes."
Kael rose, his shadow stretching long in the blue light. "Good. At dawn, we begin."
The next morning broke in soft gold and silver. The air was crisp, the kind that made each breath feel sharper in the lungs. Kanzi woke before the sun touched the mountains — partly from excitement, partly from the fact that Kael had rapped the end of his staff against Kanzi's bedroll and said, "Up."
Breakfast was nothing more than a strip of dried meat and a handful of tart, crimson berries Serenya pressed into his palm.
"Eat fast," she said. "You'll need your focus."
They traveled northeast, leaving the familiar meadows and shimmering lakes behind. The ground began to change — from the soft greens of the Vale's heart to a cracked, slate-gray earth veined with faint blue light. The air felt… heavier, as though unseen eyes watched from the shadows between the rocks.
Kanzi slowed. "This part feels different."
"It is," Serenya said. She moved with an ease that made her seem part of the shifting landscape. "The edge of the Vale is where the oldest things live. Mana is wild here. The beasts born from it are not like the ones you've studied."
Kael glanced back at him. "This is where you'll learn the difference between watching a beast… and facing one."
They crested a ridge. Below, a glade stretched wide — ringed by gnarled trees with leaves the color of molten copper. At its center, a shallow pool reflected the broken sky above.
Kanzi's eyes caught movement near the far treeline. A shape detached itself from the shadows.
At first, it seemed almost like a wolf — if wolves were the size of draft horses. Its fur rippled as though shadows were crawling across its body, and its eyes burned with a deep ember glow. When it stepped forward, the ground beneath its paws hissed faintly, as if scorched.
Kanzi's breath caught. "…What is that?"
"An Ashfang," Kael said. "Born of fire and night. Fast. Cunning. If it closes the gap, you won't have time to draw breath before it ends you."
Serenya rested a hand on his shoulder. "You've studied cores for years. You know where to strike."
Kanzi nodded, though his stomach felt tight. "You want me to hunt that?"
"Not today," Kael said. "Today, you watch. You feel. You learn what it means to stand where it can see you."
As if hearing the words, the Ashfang's head turned.
Its eyes locked onto Kanzi's.
Something primal stirred in his chest — not fear exactly, but a sharp, electric awareness. The beast didn't move, but in that stillness, Kanzi felt the same sensation he'd once felt when Kael's training staff had hovered just a breath from his throat: the quiet promise of sudden, unstoppable violence.
The beast took a single step forward. The pool's surface quivered.
Kael's voice was low. "When you can look at it and know you are not prey… then you'll be ready to loose your first arrow."
The Ashfang's gaze didn't break. Neither did Kanzi's.
And so they stood, on the very edge of the Vale, where the air was sharp and the earth hummed with old power — hunter and hunted, neither yet certain which was which.