The wind whispered Elara's name through the silverwood trees.
She stood at the edge of the ancient forest, where light thinned and magic thickened in the air. Every child in Elarion grew up fearing these woods. But Elara was no ordinary child. She had known since her tenth year that magic lived in her bones wild, waiting, dangerous.
She had kept it secret. She had no choice.
Wearing a hooded cloak and carrying a satchel of runes and half-forgotten spells, Elara closed her eyes and reached out with her senses. Beneath her skin, the familiar buzz of power stirred. Something was wrong tonight off balance. The trees were too still. The silence too loud.
That's when she felt it: a pulse. Like a heartbeat. Not hers.
She spun around.
A figure emerged from the shadows—a man cloaked in black and silver, with eyes the color of a storm about to break.
"Elara," he said, his voice low, ragged. "You don't have much time."
Her heart stuttered. "Who are you? How do you know my name?"
"The seal is breaking," he said, stepping closer. "They're coming for you. For your blood."
Elara gripped the satchel tighter. "That's not possible. The seals were locked by the Founders. No one can"
"Someone already has," he interrupted. "Your magic is tied to the gate. If it breaks, you'll either save this world… or destroy it."
The words landed like ice in her veins. She didn't know whether to run or fight.
"Why should I trust you?"
He lowered his hood. "Because I'm the only one who didn't betray your mother."
Elara's breath caught. Her mother had died when she was five—lost to a fire no one ever explained.
Now this stranger with haunted eyes stood in the dark, speaking of her blood and her past.
"Time is unraveling, Elara," he said, backing toward the trees. "You can follow me or wait for the shadows to come."
He turned and vanished into the forest.
Elara hesitated only a moment before following.
And just like that, her quiet, secret life ended with a whisper, and the promise of war.