Chapter 1: Under the Rune-Stones
Valedar. A land where daylight is gold and nights hold their breath. In the south, cities of stone sprawl across hills, their towers crowned with banners and the voices of a thousand traders. Farther north, forests swallow old roads and the wind carries scents of river and pine. Everywhere marking villages, crossroads, and even wild fields stand the rune-stones: silent, ancient, and covered in marks no one alive can read.
To live here is to know two truths. First: magic is real, most people can't touch it, and those who do, guard their skills like dragons hoard treasure. Second: never trust anything that walks after midnight, especially in the long shadows of the world.
On a stormy night in Lowen's Reach, the smallest village at the edge of just about everything, a baby is born.
Rain hammers the thatch roof. Mira Wynter, a woman known for healing and stubbornness, works through her pain in a candlelit room. She has no husband by her side, just a gut-deep hope that tomorrow will come, and a swaddled blanket ready for a first and only child. The neighbors are quiet nobody brave enough to visit when the wind brings the wild sound of wolves so close, nobody willing to cross the fields when the rune-stones start to glow.
The baby comes fast a sharp cry, fists flailing, a shock of black hair plastered to a round, serious face.
Mira studies him. She names him Alder, for the sturdy trees that grow along the riverbank. She touches the tiny hand and the strangely calm, bright eyes and says, "We made it, little one." He doesn't wail again, just blinks and stares like he's listening.
The cottage is warm but thin-walled. Outside, thunder's rolling. Mira rocks Alder in her arms and hums a plain lullaby, the same one her mother sang. Around them, the world presses in: the last echoes of the storm, the hiss of the fire, the groan of the old wooden floor as she paces.
For the first few hours, it's just the two of them: a tired woman and a newborn, learning to breathe in the same room.
Alder is quiet, too quiet for a baby. He watches shadows on the ceiling and fingers the edge of the blanket. Mira, exhausted beyond words, places a small, smooth pendant next to him. "A good luck charm," she tells herself, brushing his hair. She stays awake as long as her body allows. Her mind races she worries more about bread and milk than monsters, but she glances at the window each time the wind kicks up.
Soon, she sleeps.
Alder does not, not really. His small fists curl, his eyes drift, and a strange feeling flickers inside. Memories flash in his mind: busy city streets, the taste of burnt coffee, the sound of a phone ringing in the dark, each memory worn but real. He doesn't understand why these thoughts are here, or why he's here at all. Only that this place feels both old and new, and so very different from everything before.
Suddenly, a voice not a person's, but sharp, cold, and alive whispers deep in his head:
[System initializing. Welcome, Alder Wynter.]
For a moment, he's certain he's dreaming. Then, a new message:
[First Task: Survive your first week.]
No explanation, no help, just that line. Alder's lips twitch, and if he could, he would laugh. But he is just a baby, and for now, survival is all instinct.
The rune-stones flicker outside, blue sparks moving over wet stone. In the village, no one sleeps deeply. Wolves howl beyond the trees.
Morning comes pale and slow. Mira is up first, shuffling to the hearth to heat water and bread. Alder blinks at the sunlight edging through the shutters. He senses her warmth, her care, and decides, for reasons he can't name, that he wants to stay. That maybe, this strange new beginning might turn out okay.
Outside in Valedar, life continues. Markets open, horses pull carts, young apprenticed mages argue about charms that will never work. The sun climbs above the towers of distant cities where secrets sleep behind every stone.
In Lowen's Reach, baby Alder listens to the world's heartbeat. He is nobody special yet. Just a child with an old soul, a nervous mother, and a system only he can hear.
But change is in the air. And so, life begins one day, then another.