Chapter One: The Forgotten Village
The village of Elaria lay hidden between silver mountains and an endless forest that stretched like an ocean of green. To most of the outside world, it did not even exist. Travelers who wandered too close would lose their way, their memories fogging until they turned back, never realizing a place of warmth and magic rested just beyond the mist.
Aurora had lived there all her life. She was known for her healing hands—gentle, steady, and touched with something more than simple skill. When she placed her palms upon a wound, a quiet glow would ripple beneath her skin, like moonlight trapped in her veins. The villagers whispered about her gift. Some said she was blessed by the stars themselves; others believed she carried the blood of something ancient. Aurora herself never knew.
Though loved by her people, Aurora often felt a weight pressing upon her heart. Each morning she woke before dawn, watching the mist roll through the valley, and felt the forest call to her. The elders had always warned against wandering too deep, speaking of shadows that thrived where sunlight could not reach. But Aurora sensed something different—something waiting.
Her life was simple: tending the sick, gathering herbs, listening to the laughter of children chasing fireflies at dusk. Yet in her quiet moments, she dreamed of a world beyond the mist, of towers that reached the sky and seas that glittered under strange stars.
On the night of her twentieth birthday, the village gathered to celebrate. Lanterns floated into the sky, and music carried through the warm air. Aurora smiled and danced with her friends, her long auburn hair catching the firelight. But when the music faded, she slipped away, drawn once again to the forest's edge.
The trees loomed tall and silent. She felt her heart race as she stepped closer, the shadows seeming to bend around her. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure between the trees—a flash of silver, the glint of armor. But when she blinked, the vision was gone.
"Aurora," a voice called behind her. It was the village elder, her wrinkled face kind yet burdened with knowledge. "You must be careful. The forest remembers what we have forgotten. And it has not forgiven."
Aurora turned to ask what she meant, but the elder's eyes clouded, as though she had already said too much. With a sigh, the woman led her back to the lanterns and laughter. Yet Aurora's thoughts lingered on the forest, on the shape she thought she had seen, and on the strange flutter in her chest that whispered her life was about to change forever.
That night, under a sky dusted with stars, Aurora dreamed. She stood in a ruined castle bathed in moonlight, her hands stained with silver fire. A man's voice called her name, filled with desperation and longing. And when she turned, she saw eyes as dark as midnight gazing into her soul.
She woke with her heart pounding, the dream too vivid to forget. Outside her window, the forest swayed as though alive, waiting for her.
And far away, deep within the shadows of those very woods, a young man in a torn cloak stumbled through the trees, blood staining his arm. The crest of a royal house gleamed faintly on the sword strapped to his back. He was running from death itself—straight toward Aurora's forgotten village.
Chapter One: The Forgotten Village
The village of Elaria lay hidden between silver mountains and an endless forest that stretched like an ocean of green. To most of the outside world, it did not even exist. Travelers who wandered too close would lose their way, their memories fogging until they turned back, never realizing a place of warmth and magic rested just beyond the mist.
Aurora had lived there all her life. She was known for her healing hands—gentle, steady, and touched with something more than simple skill. When she placed her palms upon a wound, a quiet glow would ripple beneath her skin, like moonlight trapped in her veins. The villagers whispered about her gift. Some said she was blessed by the stars themselves; others believed she carried the blood of something ancient. Aurora herself never knew.
Though loved by her people, Aurora often felt a weight pressing upon her heart. Each morning she woke before dawn, watching the mist roll through the valley, and felt the forest call to her. The elders had always warned against wandering too deep, speaking of shadows that thrived where sunlight could not reach. But Aurora sensed something different—something waiting.
Her life was simple: tending the sick, gathering herbs, listening to the laughter of children chasing fireflies at dusk. Yet in her quiet moments, she dreamed of a world beyond the mist, of towers that reached the sky and seas that glittered under strange stars.
On the night of her twentieth birthday, the village gathered to celebrate. Lanterns floated into the sky, and music carried through the warm air. Aurora smiled and danced with her friends, her long auburn hair catching the firelight. But when the music faded, she slipped away, drawn once again to the forest's edge.
The trees loomed tall and silent. She felt her heart race as she stepped closer, the shadows seeming to bend around her. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure between the trees—a flash of silver, the glint of armor. But when she blinked, the vision was gone.
"Aurora," a voice called behind her. It was the village elder, her wrinkled face kind yet burdened with knowledge. "You must be careful. The forest remembers what we have forgotten. And it has not forgiven."
Aurora turned to ask what she meant, but the elder's eyes clouded, as though she had already said too much. With a sigh, the woman led her back to the lanterns and laughter. Yet Aurora's thoughts lingered on the forest, on the shape she thought she had seen, and on the strange flutter in her chest that whispered her life was about to change forever.
That night, under a sky dusted with stars, Aurora dreamed. She stood in a ruined castle bathed in moonlight, her hands stained with silver fire. A man's voice called her name, filled with desperation and longing. And when she turned, she saw eyes as dark as midnight gazing into her soul.
She woke with her heart pounding, the dream too vivid to forget. Outside her window, the forest swayed as though alive, waiting for her.
And far away, deep within the shadows of those very woods, a young man in a torn cloak stumbled through the trees, blood staining his arm. The crest of a royal house gleamed faintly on the sword strapped to his back. He was running from death itself—straight toward Aurora's forgotten village.
Chapter One: The Forgotten Village
The village of Elaria lay hidden between silver mountains and an endless forest that stretched like an ocean of green. To most of the outside world, it did not even exist. Travelers who wandered too close would lose their way, their memories fogging until they turned back, never realizing a place of warmth and magic rested just beyond the mist.
Aurora had lived there all her life. She was known for her healing hands—gentle, steady, and touched with something more than simple skill. When she placed her palms upon a wound, a quiet glow would ripple beneath her skin, like moonlight trapped in her veins. The villagers whispered about her gift. Some said she was blessed by the stars themselves; others believed she carried the blood of something ancient. Aurora herself never knew.
Though loved by her people, Aurora often felt a weight pressing upon her heart. Each morning she woke before dawn, watching the mist roll through the valley, and felt the forest call to her. The elders had always warned against wandering too deep, speaking of shadows that thrived where sunlight could not reach. But Aurora sensed something different—something waiting.
Her life was simple: tending the sick, gathering herbs, listening to the laughter of children chasing fireflies at dusk. Yet in her quiet moments, she dreamed of a world beyond the mist, of towers that reached the sky and seas that glittered under strange stars.
On the night of her twentieth birthday, the village gathered to celebrate. Lanterns floated into the sky, and music carried through the warm air. Aurora smiled and danced with her friends, her long auburn hair catching the firelight. But when the music faded, she slipped away, drawn once again to the forest's edge.
The trees loomed tall and silent. She felt her heart race as she stepped closer, the shadows seeming to bend around her. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure between the trees—a flash of silver, the glint of armor. But when she blinked, the vision was gone.
"Aurora," a voice called behind her. It was the village elder, her wrinkled face kind yet burdened with knowledge. "You must be careful. The forest remembers what we have forgotten. And it has not forgiven."
Aurora turned to ask what she meant, but the elder's eyes clouded, as though she had already said too much. With a sigh, the woman led her back to the lanterns and laughter. Yet Aurora's thoughts lingered on the forest, on the shape she thought she had seen, and on the strange flutter in her chest that whispered her life was about to change forever.
That night, under a sky dusted with stars, Aurora dreamed. She stood in a ruined castle bathed in moonlight, her hands stained with silver fire. A man's voice called her name, filled with desperation and longing. And when she turned, she saw eyes as dark as midnight gazing into her soul.
She woke with her heart pounding, the dream too vivid to forget. Outside her window, the forest swayed as though alive, waiting for her.
And far away, deep within the shadows of those very woods, a young man in a torn cloak stumbled through the trees, blood staining his arm. The crest of a royal house gleamed faintly on the sword strapped to his back. He was running from death itself—straight toward Aurora's forgotten village.
Chapter One: The Forgotten Village
The village of Elaria lay hidden between silver mountains and an endless forest that stretched like an ocean of green. To most of the outside world, it did not even exist. Travelers who wandered too close would lose their way, their memories fogging until they turned back, never realizing a place of warmth and magic rested just beyond the mist.
Aurora had lived there all her life. She was known for her healing hands—gentle, steady, and touched with something more than simple skill. When she placed her palms upon a wound, a quiet glow would ripple beneath her skin, like moonlight trapped in her veins. The villagers whispered about her gift. Some said she was blessed by the stars themselves; others believed she carried the blood of something ancient. Aurora herself never knew.
Though loved by her people, Aurora often felt a weight pressing upon her heart. Each morning she woke before dawn, watching the mist roll through the valley, and felt the forest call to her. The elders had always warned against wandering too deep, speaking of shadows that thrived where sunlight could not reach. But Aurora sensed something different—something waiting.
Her life was simple: tending the sick, gathering herbs, listening to the laughter of children chasing fireflies at dusk. Yet in her quiet moments, she dreamed of a world beyond the mist, of towers that reached the sky and seas that glittered under strange stars.
On the night of her twentieth birthday, the village gathered to celebrate. Lanterns floated into the sky, and music carried through the warm air. Aurora smiled and danced with her friends, her long auburn hair catching the firelight. But when the music faded, she slipped away, drawn once again to the forest's edge.
The trees loomed tall and silent. She felt her heart race as she stepped closer, the shadows seeming to bend around her. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure between the trees—a flash of silver, the glint of armor. But when she blinked, the vision was gone.
"Aurora," a voice called behind her. It was the village elder, her wrinkled face kind yet burdened with knowledge. "You must be careful. The forest remembers what we have forgotten. And it has not forgiven."
Aurora turned to ask what she meant, but the elder's eyes clouded, as though she had already said too much. With a sigh, the woman led her back to the lanterns and laughter. Yet Aurora's thoughts lingered on the forest, on the shape she thought she had seen, and on the strange flutter in her chest that whispered her life was about to change forever.
That night, under a sky dusted with stars, Aurora dreamed. She stood in a ruined castle bathed in moonlight, her hands stained with silver fire. A man's voice called her name, filled with desperation and longing. And when she turned, she saw eyes as dark as midnight gazing into her soul.
She woke with her heart pounding, the dream too vivid to forget. Outside her window, the forest swayed as though alive, waiting for her.
And far away, deep within the shadows of those very woods, a young man in a torn cloak stumbled through the trees, blood staining his arm. The crest of a royal house gleamed faintly on the sword strapped to his back. He was running from death itself—straight toward Aurora's forgotten village.
Chapter One: The Forgotten Village
The village of Elaria lay hidden between silver mountains and an endless forest that stretched like an ocean of green. To most of the outside world, it did not even exist. Travelers who wandered too close would lose their way, their memories fogging until they turned back, never realizing a place of warmth and magic rested just beyond the mist.
Aurora had lived there all her life. She was known for her healing hands—gentle, steady, and touched with something more than simple skill. When she placed her palms upon a wound, a quiet glow would ripple beneath her skin, like moonlight trapped in her veins. The villagers whispered about her gift. Some said she was blessed by the stars themselves; others believed she carried the blood of something ancient. Aurora herself never knew.
Though loved by her people, Aurora often felt a weight pressing upon her heart. Each morning she woke before dawn, watching the mist roll through the valley, and felt the forest call to her. The elders had always warned against wandering too deep, speaking of shadows that thrived where sunlight could not reach. But Aurora sensed something different—something waiting.
Her life was simple: tending the sick, gathering herbs, listening to the laughter of children chasing fireflies at dusk. Yet in her quiet moments, she dreamed of a world beyond the mist, of towers that reached the sky and seas that glittered under strange stars.
On the night of her twentieth birthday, the village gathered to celebrate. Lanterns floated into the sky, and music carried through the warm air. Aurora smiled and danced with her friends, her long auburn hair catching the firelight. But when the music faded, she slipped away, drawn once again to the forest's edge.
The trees loomed tall and silent. She felt her heart race as she stepped closer, the shadows seeming to bend around her. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure between the trees—a flash of silver, the glint of armor. But when she blinked, the vision was gone.
"Aurora," a voice called behind her. It was the village elder, her wrinkled face kind yet burdened with knowledge. "You must be careful. The forest remembers what we have forgotten. And it has not forgiven."
Aurora turned to ask what she meant, but the elder's eyes clouded, as though she had already said too much. With a sigh, the woman led her back to the lanterns and laughter. Yet Aurora's thoughts lingered on the forest, on the shape she thought she had seen, and on the strange flutter in her chest that whispered her life was about to change forever.
That night, under a sky dusted with stars, Aurora dreamed. She stood in a ruined castle bathed in moonlight, her hands stained with silver fire. A man's voice called her name, filled with desperation and longing. And when she turned, she saw eyes as dark as midnight gazing into her soul.
She woke with her heart pounding, the dream too vivid to forget. Outside her window, the forest swayed as though alive, waiting for her.
And far away, deep within the shadows of those very woods, a young man in a torn cloak stumbled through the trees, blood staining his arm. The crest of a royal house gleamed faintly on the sword strapped to his back. He was running from death itself—straight toward Aurora's forgotten village.
Chapter One: The Forgotten Village
The village of Elaria lay hidden between silver mountains and an endless forest that stretched like an ocean of green. To most of the outside world, it did not even exist. Travelers who wandered too close would lose their way, their memories fogging until they turned back, never realizing a place of warmth and magic rested just beyond the mist.
Aurora had lived there all her life. She was known for her healing hands—gentle, steady, and touched with something more than simple skill. When she placed her palms upon a wound, a quiet glow would ripple beneath her skin, like moonlight trapped in her veins. The villagers whispered about her gift. Some said she was blessed by the stars themselves; others believed she carried the blood of something ancient. Aurora herself never knew.
Though loved by her people, Aurora often felt a weight pressing upon her heart. Each morning she woke before dawn, watching the mist roll through the valley, and felt the forest call to her. The elders had always warned against wandering too deep, speaking of shadows that thrived where sunlight could not reach. But Aurora sensed something different—something waiting.
Her life was simple: tending the sick, gathering herbs, listening to the laughter of children chasing fireflies at dusk. Yet in her quiet moments, she dreamed of a world beyond the mist, of towers that reached the sky and seas that glittered under strange stars.
On the night of her twentieth birthday, the village gathered to celebrate. Lanterns floated into the sky, and music carried through the warm air. Aurora smiled and danced with her friends, her long auburn hair catching the firelight. But when the music faded, she slipped away, drawn once again to the forest's edge.
The trees loomed tall and silent. She felt her heart race as she stepped closer, the shadows seeming to bend around her. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure between the trees—a flash of silver, the glint of armor. But when she blinked, the vision was gone.
"Aurora," a voice called behind her. It was the village elder, her wrinkled face kind yet burdened with knowledge. "You must be careful. The forest remembers what we have forgotten. And it has not forgiven."
Aurora turned to ask what she meant, but the elder's eyes clouded, as though she had already said too much. With a sigh, the woman led her back to the lanterns and laughter. Yet Aurora's thoughts lingered on the forest, on the shape she thought she had seen, and on the strange flutter in her chest that whispered her life was about to change forever.
That night, under a sky dusted with stars, Aurora dreamed. She stood in a ruined castle bathed in moonlight, her hands stained with silver fire. A man's voice called her name, filled with desperation and longing. And when she turned, she saw eyes as dark as midnight gazing into her soul.
She woke with her heart pounding, the dream too vivid to forget. Outside her window, the forest swayed as though alive, waiting for her.
And far away, deep within the shadows of those very woods, a young man in a torn cloak stumbled through the trees, blood staining his arm. The crest of a royal house gleamed faintly on the sword strapped to his back. He was running from death itself—straight toward Aurora's forgotten village.
Chapter One: The Forgotten Village
The village of Elaria lay hidden between silver mountains and an endless forest that stretched like an ocean of green. To most of the outside world, it did not even exist. Travelers who wandered too close would lose their way, their memories fogging until they turned back, never realizing a place of warmth and magic rested just beyond the mist.
Aurora had lived there all her life. She was known for her healing hands—gentle, steady, and touched with something more than simple skill. When she placed her palms upon a wound, a quiet glow would ripple beneath her skin, like moonlight trapped in her veins. The villagers whispered about her gift. Some said she was blessed by the stars themselves; others believed she carried the blood of something ancient. Aurora herself never knew.
Though loved by her people, Aurora often felt a weight pressing upon her heart. Each morning she woke before dawn, watching the mist roll through the valley, and felt the forest call to her. The elders had always warned against wandering too deep, speaking of shadows that thrived where sunlight could not reach. But Aurora sensed something different—something waiting.
Her life was simple: tending the sick, gathering herbs, listening to the laughter of children chasing fireflies at dusk. Yet in her quiet moments, she dreamed of a world beyond the mist, of towers that reached the sky and seas that glittered under strange stars.
On the night of her twentieth birthday, the village gathered to celebrate. Lanterns floated into the sky, and music carried through the warm air. Aurora smiled and danced with her friends, her long auburn hair catching the firelight. But when the music faded, she slipped away, drawn once again to the forest's edge.
The trees loomed tall and silent. She felt her heart race as she stepped closer, the shadows seeming to bend around her. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure between the trees—a flash of silver, the glint of armor. But when she blinked, the vision was gone.
"Aurora," a voice called behind her. It was the village elder, her wrinkled face kind yet burdened with knowledge. "You must be careful. The forest remembers what we have forgotten. And it has not forgiven."
Aurora turned to ask what she meant, but the elder's eyes clouded, as though she had already said too much. With a sigh, the woman led her back to the lanterns and laughter. Yet Aurora's thoughts lingered on the forest, on the shape she thought she had seen, and on the strange flutter in her chest that whispered her life was about to change forever.
That night, under a sky dusted with stars, Aurora dreamed. She stood in a ruined castle bathed in moonlight, her hands stained with silver fire. A man's voice called her name, filled with desperation and longing. And when she turned, she saw eyes as dark as midnight gazing into her soul.
She woke with her heart pounding, the dream too vivid to forget. Outside her window, the forest swayed as though alive, waiting for her.
And far away, deep within the shadows of those very woods, a young man in a torn cloak stumbled through the trees, blood staining his arm. The crest of a royal house gleamed faintly on the sword strapped to his back. He was running from death itself—straight toward Aurora's forgotten village.
Chapter One: The Forgotten Village
The village of Elaria lay hidden between silver mountains and an endless forest that stretched like an ocean of green. To most of the outside world, it did not even exist. Travelers who wandered too close would lose their way, their memories fogging until they turned back, never realizing a place of warmth and magic rested just beyond the mist.
Aurora had lived there all her life. She was known for her healing hands—gentle, steady, and touched with something more than simple skill. When she placed her palms upon a wound, a quiet glow would ripple beneath her skin, like moonlight trapped in her veins. The villagers whispered about her gift. Some said she was blessed by the stars themselves; others believed she carried the blood of something ancient. Aurora herself never knew.
Though loved by her people, Aurora often felt a weight pressing upon her heart. Each morning she woke before dawn, watching the mist roll through the valley, and felt the forest call to her. The elders had always warned against wandering too deep, speaking of shadows that thrived where sunlight could not reach. But Aurora sensed something different—something waiting.
Her life was simple: tending the sick, gathering herbs, listening to the laughter of children chasing fireflies at dusk. Yet in her quiet moments, she dreamed of a world beyond the mist, of towers that reached the sky and seas that glittered under strange stars.
On the night of her twentieth birthday, the village gathered to celebrate. Lanterns floated into the sky, and music carried through the warm air. Aurora smiled and danced with her friends, her long auburn hair catching the firelight. But when the music faded, she slipped away, drawn once again to the forest's edge.
The trees loomed tall and silent. She felt her heart race as she stepped closer, the shadows seeming to bend around her. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure between the trees—a flash of silver, the glint of armor. But when she blinked, the vision was gone.
"Aurora," a voice called behind her. It was the village elder, her wrinkled face kind yet burdened with knowledge. "You must be careful. The forest remembers what we have forgotten. And it has not forgiven."
Aurora turned to ask what she meant, but the elder's eyes clouded, as though she had already said too much. With a sigh, the woman led her back to the lanterns and laughter. Yet Aurora's thoughts lingered on the forest, on the shape she thought she had seen, and on the strange flutter in her chest that whispered her life was about to change forever.
That night, under a sky dusted with stars, Aurora dreamed. She stood in a ruined castle bathed in moonlight, her hands stained with silver fire. A man's voice called her name, filled with desperation and longing. And when she turned, she saw eyes as dark as midnight gazing into her soul.
She woke with her heart pounding, the dream too vivid to forget. Outside her window, the forest swayed as though alive, waiting for her.
And far away, deep within the shadows of those very woods, a young man in a torn cloak stumbled through the trees, blood staining his arm. The crest of a royal house gleamed faintly on the sword strapped to his back. He was running from death itself—straight toward Aurora's forgotten village.
Chapter One: The Forgotten Village
The village of Elaria lay hidden between silver mountains and an endless forest that stretched like an ocean of green. To most of the outside world, it did not even exist. Travelers who wandered too close would lose their way, their memories fogging until they turned back, never realizing a place of warmth and magic rested just beyond the mist.
Aurora had lived there all her life. She was known for her healing hands—gentle, steady, and touched with something more than simple skill. When she placed her palms upon a wound, a quiet glow would ripple beneath her skin, like moonlight trapped in her veins. The villagers whispered about her gift. Some said she was blessed by the stars themselves; others believed she carried the blood of something ancient. Aurora herself never knew.
Though loved by her people, Aurora often felt a weight pressing upon her heart. Each morning she woke before dawn, watching the mist roll through the valley, and felt the forest call to her. The elders had always warned against wandering too deep, speaking of shadows that thrived where sunlight could not reach. But Aurora sensed something different—something waiting.
Her life was simple: tending the sick, gathering herbs, listening to the laughter of children chasing fireflies at dusk. Yet in her quiet moments, she dreamed of a world beyond the mist, of towers that reached the sky and seas that glittered under strange stars.
On the night of her twentieth birthday, the village gathered to celebrate. Lanterns floated into the sky, and music carried through the warm air. Aurora smiled and danced with her friends, her long auburn hair catching the firelight. But when the music faded, she slipped away, drawn once again to the forest's edge.
The trees loomed tall and silent. She felt her heart race as she stepped closer, the shadows seeming to bend around her. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure between the trees—a flash of silver, the glint of armor. But when she blinked, the vision was gone.
"Aurora," a voice called behind her. It was the village elder, her wrinkled face kind yet burdened with knowledge. "You must be careful. The forest remembers what we have forgotten. And it has not forgiven."
Aurora turned to ask what she meant, but the elder's eyes clouded, as though she had already said too much. With a sigh, the woman led her back to the lanterns and laughter. Yet Aurora's thoughts lingered on the forest, on the shape she thought she had seen, and on the strange flutter in her chest that whispered her life was about to change forever.
That night, under a sky dusted with stars, Aurora dreamed. She stood in a ruined castle bathed in moonlight, her hands stained with silver fire. A man's voice called her name, filled with desperation and longing. And when she turned, she saw eyes as dark as midnight gazing into her soul.
She woke with her heart pounding, the dream too vivid to forget. Outside her window, the forest swayed as though alive, waiting for her.
And far away, deep within the shadows of those very woods, a young man in a torn cloak stumbled through the trees, blood staining his arm. The crest of a royal house gleamed faintly on the sword strapped to his back. He was running from death itself—straight toward Aurora's forgotten village.
Chapter One: The Forgotten Village
The village of Elaria lay hidden between silver mountains and an endless forest that stretched like an ocean of green. To most of the outside world, it did not even exist. Travelers who wandered too close would lose their way, their memories fogging until they turned back, never realizing a place of warmth and magic rested just beyond the mist.
Aurora had lived there all her life. She was known for her healing hands—gentle, steady, and touched with something more than simple skill. When she placed her palms upon a wound, a quiet glow would ripple beneath her skin, like moonlight trapped in her veins. The villagers whispered about her gift. Some said she was blessed by the stars themselves; others believed she carried the blood of something ancient. Aurora herself never knew.
Though loved by her people, Aurora often felt a weight pressing upon her heart. Each morning she woke before dawn, watching the mist roll through the valley, and felt the forest call to her. The elders had always warned against wandering too deep, speaking of shadows that thrived where sunlight could not reach. But Aurora sensed something different—something waiting.
Her life was simple: tending the sick, gathering herbs, listening to the laughter of children chasing fireflies at dusk. Yet in her quiet moments, she dreamed of a world beyond the mist, of towers that reached the sky and seas that glittered under strange stars.
On the night of her twentieth birthday, the village gathered to celebrate. Lanterns floated into the sky, and music carried through the warm air. Aurora smiled and danced with her friends, her long auburn hair catching the firelight. But when the music faded, she slipped away, drawn once again to the forest's edge.
The trees loomed tall and silent. She felt her heart race as she stepped closer, the shadows seeming to bend around her. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure between the trees—a flash of silver, the glint of armor. But when she blinked, the vision was gone.
"Aurora," a voice called behind her. It was the village elder, her wrinkled face kind yet burdened with knowledge. "You must be careful. The forest remembers what we have forgotten. And it has not forgiven."
Aurora turned to ask what she meant, but the elder's eyes clouded, as though she had already said too much. With a sigh, the woman led her back to the lanterns and laughter. Yet Aurora's thoughts lingered on the forest, on the shape she thought she had seen, and on the strange flutter in her chest that whispered her life was about to change forever.
That night, under a sky dusted with stars, Aurora dreamed. She stood in a ruined castle bathed in moonlight, her hands stained with silver fire. A man's voice called her name, filled with desperation and longing. And when she turned, she saw eyes as dark as midnight gazing into her soul.
She woke with her heart pounding, the dream too vivid to forget. Outside her window, the forest swayed as though alive, waiting for her.
And far away, deep within the shadows of those very woods, a young man in a torn cloak stumbled through the trees, blood staining his arm. The crest of a royal house gleamed faintly on the sword strapped to his back. He was running from death itself—straight toward Aurora's forgotten village.
Chapter One: The Forgotten Village
The village of Elaria lay hidden between silver mountains and an endless forest that stretched like an ocean of green. To most of the outside world, it did not even exist. Travelers who wandered too close would lose their way, their memories fogging until they turned back, never realizing a place of warmth and magic rested just beyond the mist.
Aurora had lived there all her life. She was known for her healing hands—gentle, steady, and touched with something more than simple skill. When she placed her palms upon a wound, a quiet glow would ripple beneath her skin, like moonlight trapped in her veins. The villagers whispered about her gift. Some said she was blessed by the stars themselves; others believed she carried the blood of something ancient. Aurora herself never knew.
Though loved by her people, Aurora often felt a weight pressing upon her heart. Each morning she woke before dawn, watching the mist roll through the valley, and felt the forest call to her. The elders had always warned against wandering too deep, speaking of shadows that thrived where sunlight could not reach. But Aurora sensed something different—something waiting.
Her life was simple: tending the sick, gathering herbs, listening to the laughter of children chasing fireflies at dusk. Yet in her quiet moments, she dreamed of a world beyond the mist, of towers that reached the sky and seas that glittered under strange stars.
On the night of her twentieth birthday, the village gathered to celebrate. Lanterns floated into the sky, and music carried through the warm air. Aurora smiled and danced with her friends, her long auburn hair catching the firelight. But when the music faded, she slipped away, drawn once again to the forest's edge.
The trees loomed tall and silent. She felt her heart race as she stepped closer, the shadows seeming to bend around her. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure between the trees—a flash of silver, the glint of armor. But when she blinked, the vision was gone.
"Aurora," a voice called behind her. It was the village elder, her wrinkled face kind yet burdened with knowledge. "You must be careful. The forest remembers what we have forgotten. And it has not forgiven."
Aurora turned to ask what she meant, but the elder's eyes clouded, as though she had already said too much. With a sigh, the woman led her back to the lanterns and laughter. Yet Aurora's thoughts lingered on the forest, on the shape she thought she had seen, and on the strange flutter in her chest that whispered her life was about to change forever.
That night, under a sky dusted with stars, Aurora dreamed. She stood in a ruined castle bathed in moonlight, her hands stained with silver fire. A man's voice called her name, filled with desperation and longing. And when she turned, she saw eyes as dark as midnight gazing into her soul.
She woke with her heart pounding, the dream too vivid to forget. Outside her window, the forest swayed as though alive, waiting for her.
And far away, deep within the shadows of those very woods, a young man in a torn cloak stumbled through the trees, blood staining his arm. The crest of a royal house gleamed faintly on the sword strapped to his back. He was running from death itself—straight toward Aurora's forgotten village.
Chapter One: The Forgotten Village
The village of Elaria lay hidden between silver mountains and an endless forest that stretched like an ocean of green. To most of the outside world, it did not even exist. Travelers who wandered too close would lose their way, their memories fogging until they turned back, never realizing a place of warmth and magic rested just beyond the mist.
Aurora had lived there all her life. She was known for her healing hands—gentle, steady, and touched with something more than simple skill. When she placed her palms upon a wound, a quiet glow would ripple beneath her skin, like moonlight trapped in her veins. The villagers whispered about her gift. Some said she was blessed by the stars themselves; others believed she carried the blood of something ancient. Aurora herself never knew.
Though loved by her people, Aurora often felt a weight pressing upon her heart. Each morning she woke before dawn, watching the mist roll through the valley, and felt the forest call to her. The elders had always warned against wandering too deep, speaking of shadows that thrived where sunlight could not reach. But Aurora sensed something different—something waiting.
Her life was simple: tending the sick, gathering herbs, listening to the laughter of children chasing fireflies at dusk. Yet in her quiet moments, she dreamed of a world beyond the mist, of towers that reached the sky and seas that glittered under strange stars.
On the night of her twentieth birthday, the village gathered to celebrate. Lanterns floated into the sky, and music carried through the warm air. Aurora smiled and danced with her friends, her long auburn hair catching the firelight. But when the music faded, she slipped away, drawn once again to the forest's edge.
The trees loomed tall and silent. She felt her heart race as she stepped closer, the shadows seeming to bend around her. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure between the trees—a flash of silver, the glint of armor. But when she blinked, the vision was gone.
"Aurora," a voice called behind her. It was the village elder, her wrinkled face kind yet burdened with knowledge. "You must be careful. The forest remembers what we have forgotten. And it has not forgiven."
Aurora turned to ask what she meant, but the elder's eyes clouded, as though she had already said too much. With a sigh, the woman led her back to the lanterns and laughter. Yet Aurora's thoughts lingered on the forest, on the shape she thought she had seen, and on the strange flutter in her chest that whispered her life was about to change forever.
That night, under a sky dusted with stars, Aurora dreamed. She stood in a ruined castle bathed in moonlight, her hands stained with silver fire. A man's voice called her name, filled with desperation and longing. And when she turned, she saw eyes as dark as midnight gazing into her soul.
She woke with her heart pounding, the dream too vivid to forget. Outside her window, the forest swayed as though alive, waiting for her.
And far away, deep within the shadows of those very woods, a young man in a torn cloak stumbled through the trees, blood staining his arm. The crest of a royal house gleamed faintly on the sword strapped to his back. He was running from death itself—straight toward Aurora's forgotten village.
Chapter One: The Forgotten Village
The village of Elaria lay hidden between silver mountains and an endless forest that stretched like an ocean of green. To most of the outside world, it did not even exist. Travelers who wandered too close would lose their way, their memories fogging until they turned back, never realizing a place of warmth and magic rested just beyond the mist.
Aurora had lived there all her life. She was known for her healing hands—gentle, steady, and touched with something more than simple skill. When she placed her palms upon a wound, a quiet glow would ripple beneath her skin, like moonlight trapped in her veins. The villagers whispered about her gift. Some said she was blessed by the stars themselves; others believed she carried the blood of something ancient. Aurora herself never knew.
Though loved by her people, Aurora often felt a weight pressing upon her heart. Each morning she woke before dawn, watching the mist roll through the valley, and felt the forest call to her. The elders had always warned against wandering too deep, speaking of shadows that thrived where sunlight could not reach. But Aurora sensed something different—something waiting.
Her life was simple: tending the sick, gathering herbs, listening to the laughter of children chasing fireflies at dusk. Yet in her quiet moments, she dreamed of a world beyond the mist, of towers that reached the sky and seas that glittered under strange stars.
On the night of her twentieth birthday, the village gathered to celebrate. Lanterns floated into the sky, and music carried through the warm air. Aurora smiled and danced with her friends, her long auburn hair catching the firelight. But when the music faded, she slipped away, drawn once again to the forest's edge.
The trees loomed tall and silent. She felt her heart race as she stepped closer, the shadows seeming to bend around her. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure between the trees—a flash of silver, the glint of armor. But when she blinked, the vision was gone.
"Aurora," a voice called behind her. It was the village elder, her wrinkled face kind yet burdened with knowledge. "You must be careful. The forest remembers what we have forgotten. And it has not forgiven."
Aurora turned to ask what she meant, but the elder's eyes clouded, as though she had already said too much. With a sigh, the woman led her back to the lanterns and laughter. Yet Aurora's thoughts lingered on the forest, on the shape she thought she had seen, and on the strange flutter in her chest that whispered her life was about to change forever.
That night, under a sky dusted with stars, Aurora dreamed. She stood in a ruined castle bathed in moonlight, her hands stained with silver fire. A man's voice called her name, filled with desperation and longing. And when she turned, she saw eyes as dark as midnight gazing into her soul.
She woke with her heart pounding, the dream too vivid to forget. Outside her window, the forest swayed as though alive, waiting for her.
And far away, deep within the shadows of those very woods, a young man in a torn cloak stumbled through the trees, blood staining his arm. The crest of a royal house gleamed faintly on the sword strapped to his back. He was running from death itself—straight toward Aurora's forgotten village.
Chapter One: The Forgotten Village
The village of Elaria lay hidden between silver mountains and an endless forest that stretched like an ocean of green. To most of the outside world, it did not even exist. Travelers who wandered too close would lose their way, their memories fogging until they turned back, never realizing a place of warmth and magic rested just beyond the mist.
Aurora had lived there all her life. She was known for her healing hands—gentle, steady, and touched with something more than simple skill. When she placed her palms upon a wound, a quiet glow would ripple beneath her skin, like moonlight trapped in her veins. The villagers whispered about her gift. Some said she was blessed by the stars themselves; others believed she carried the blood of something ancient. Aurora herself never knew.
Though loved by her people, Aurora often felt a weight pressing upon her heart. Each morning she woke before dawn, watching the mist roll through the valley, and felt the forest call to her. The elders had always warned against wandering too deep, speaking of shadows that thrived where sunlight could not reach. But Aurora sensed something different—something waiting.
Her life was simple: tending the sick, gathering herbs, listening to the laughter of children chasing fireflies at dusk. Yet in her quiet moments, she dreamed of a world beyond the mist, of towers that reached the sky and seas that glittered under strange stars.
On the night of her twentieth birthday, the village gathered to celebrate. Lanterns floated into the sky, and music carried through the warm air. Aurora smiled and danced with her friends, her long auburn hair catching the firelight. But when the music faded, she slipped away, drawn once again to the forest's edge.
The trees loomed tall and silent. She felt her heart race as she stepped closer, the shadows seeming to bend around her. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure between the trees—a flash of silver, the glint of armor. But when she blinked, the vision was gone.
"Aurora," a voice called behind her. It was the village elder, her wrinkled face kind yet burdened with knowledge. "You must be careful. The forest remembers what we have forgotten. And it has not forgiven."
Aurora turned to ask what she meant, but the elder's eyes clouded, as though she had already said too much. With a sigh, the woman led her back to the lanterns and laughter. Yet Aurora's thoughts lingered on the forest, on the shape she thought she had seen, and on the strange flutter in her chest that whispered her life was about to change forever.
That night, under a sky dusted with stars, Aurora dreamed. She stood in a ruined castle bathed in moonlight, her hands stained with silver fire. A man's voice called her name, filled with desperation and longing. And when she turned, she saw eyes as dark as midnight gazing into her soul.
She woke with her heart pounding, the dream too vivid to forget. Outside her window, the forest swayed as though alive, waiting for her.
And far away, deep within the shadows of those very woods, a young man in a torn cloak stumbled through the trees, blood staining his arm. The crest of a royal house gleamed faintly on the sword strapped to his back. He was running from death itself—straight toward Aurora's forgotten village.
Chapter One: The Forgotten Village
The village of Elaria lay hidden between silver mountains and an endless forest that stretched like an ocean of green. To most of the outside world, it did not even exist. Travelers who wandered too close would lose their way, their memories fogging until they turned back, never realizing a place of warmth and magic rested just beyond the mist.
Aurora had lived there all her life. She was known for her healing hands—gentle, steady, and touched with something more than simple skill. When she placed her palms upon a wound, a quiet glow would ripple beneath her skin, like moonlight trapped in her veins. The villagers whispered about her gift. Some said she was blessed by the stars themselves; others believed she carried the blood of something ancient. Aurora herself never knew.
Though loved by her people, Aurora often felt a weight pressing upon her heart. Each morning she woke before dawn, watching the mist roll through the valley, and felt the forest call to her. The elders had always warned against wandering too deep, speaking of shadows that thrived where sunlight could not reach. But Aurora sensed something different—something waiting.
Her life was simple: tending the sick, gathering herbs, listening to the laughter of children chasing fireflies at dusk. Yet in her quiet moments, she dreamed of a world beyond the mist, of towers that reached the sky and seas that glittered under strange stars.
On the night of her twentieth birthday, the village gathered to celebrate. Lanterns floated into the sky, and music carried through the warm air. Aurora smiled and danced with her friends, her long auburn hair catching the firelight. But when the music faded, she slipped away, drawn once again to the forest's edge.
The trees loomed tall and silent. She felt her heart race as she stepped closer, the shadows seeming to bend around her. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure between the trees—a flash of silver, the glint of armor. But when she blinked, the vision was gone.
"Aurora," a voice called behind her. It was the village elder, her wrinkled face kind yet burdened with knowledge. "You must be careful. The forest remembers what we have forgotten. And it has not forgiven."
Aurora turned to ask what she meant, but the elder's eyes clouded, as though she had already said too much. With a sigh, the woman led her back to the lanterns and laughter. Yet Aurora's thoughts lingered on the forest, on the shape she thought she had seen, and on the strange flutter in her chest that whispered her life was about to change forever.
That night, under a sky dusted with stars, Aurora dreamed. She stood in a ruined castle bathed in moonlight, her hands stained with silver fire. A man's voice called her name, filled with desperation and longing. And when she turned, she saw eyes as dark as midnight gazing into her soul.
She woke with her heart pounding, the dream too vivid to forget. Outside her window, the forest swayed as though alive, waiting for her.
And far away, deep within the shadows of those very woods, a young man in a torn cloak stumbled through the trees, blood staining his arm. The crest of a royal house gleamed faintly on the sword strapped to his back. He was running from death itself—straight toward Aurora's forgotten village.
Chapter One: The Forgotten Village
The village of Elaria lay hidden between silver mountains and an endless forest that stretched like an ocean of green. To most of the outside world, it did not even exist. Travelers who wandered too close would lose their way, their memories fogging until they turned back, never realizing a place of warmth and magic rested just beyond the mist.
Aurora had lived there all her life. She was known for her healing hands—gentle, steady, and touched with something more than simple skill. When she placed her palms upon a wound, a quiet glow would ripple beneath her skin, like moonlight trapped in her veins. The villagers whispered about her gift. Some said she was blessed by the stars themselves; others believed she carried the blood of something ancient. Aurora herself never knew.
Though loved by her people, Aurora often felt a weight pressing upon her heart. Each morning she woke before dawn, watching the mist roll through the valley, and felt the forest call to her. The elders had always warned against wandering too deep, speaking of shadows that thrived where sunlight could not reach. But Aurora sensed something different—something waiting.
Her life was simple: tending the sick, gathering herbs, listening to the laughter of children chasing fireflies at dusk. Yet in her quiet moments, she dreamed of a world beyond the mist, of towers that reached the sky and seas that glittered under strange stars.
On the night of her twentieth birthday, the village gathered to celebrate. Lanterns floated into the sky, and music carried through the warm air. Aurora smiled and danced with her friends, her long auburn hair catching the firelight. But when the music faded, she slipped away, drawn once again to the forest's edge.
The trees loomed tall and silent. She felt her heart race as she stepped closer, the shadows seeming to bend around her. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure between the trees—a flash of silver, the glint of armor. But when she blinked, the vision was gone.
"Aurora," a voice called behind her. It was the village elder, her wrinkled face kind yet burdened with knowledge. "You must be careful. The forest remembers what we have forgotten. And it has not forgiven."
Aurora turned to ask what she meant, but the elder's eyes clouded, as though she had already said too much. With a sigh, the woman led her back to the lanterns and laughter. Yet Aurora's thoughts lingered on the forest, on the shape she thought she had seen, and on the strange flutter in her chest that whispered her life was about to change forever.
That night, under a sky dusted with stars, Aurora dreamed. She stood in a ruined castle bathed in moonlight, her hands stained with silver fire. A man's voice called her name, filled with desperation and longing. And when she turned, she saw eyes as dark as midnight gazing into her soul.
She woke with her heart pounding, the dream too vivid to forget. Outside her window, the forest swayed as though alive, waiting for her.
And far away, deep within the shadows of those very woods, a young man in a torn cloak stumbled through the trees, blood staining his arm. The crest of a royal house gleamed faintly on the sword strapped to his back. He was running from death itself—straight toward Aurora's forgotten village.
Chapter One: The Forgotten Village
The village of Elaria lay hidden between silver mountains and an endless forest that stretched like an ocean of green. To most of the outside world, it did not even exist. Travelers who wandered too close would lose their way, their memories fogging until they turned back, never realizing a place of warmth and magic rested just beyond the mist.
Aurora had lived there all her life. She was known for her healing hands—gentle, steady, and touched with something more than simple skill. When she placed her palms upon a wound, a quiet glow would ripple beneath her skin, like moonlight trapped in her veins. The villagers whispered about her gift. Some said she was blessed by the stars themselves; others believed she carried the blood of something ancient. Aurora herself never knew.
Though loved by her people, Aurora often felt a weight pressing upon her heart. Each morning she woke before dawn, watching the mist roll through the valley, and felt the forest call to her. The elders had always warned against wandering too deep, speaking of shadows that thrived where sunlight could not reach. But Aurora sensed something different—something waiting.
Her life was simple: tending the sick, gathering herbs, listening to the laughter of children chasing fireflies at dusk. Yet in her quiet moments, she dreamed of a world beyond the mist, of towers that reached the sky and seas that glittered under strange stars.
On the night of her twentieth birthday, the village gathered to celebrate. Lanterns floated into the sky, and music carried through the warm air. Aurora smiled and danced with her friends, her long auburn hair catching the firelight. But when the music faded, she slipped away, drawn once again to the forest's edge.
The trees loomed tall and silent. She felt her heart race as she stepped closer, the shadows seeming to bend around her. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure between the trees—a flash of silver, the glint of armor. But when she blinked, the vision was gone.
"Aurora," a voice called behind her. It was the village elder, her wrinkled face kind yet burdened with knowledge. "You must be careful. The forest remembers what we have forgotten. And it has not forgiven."
Aurora turned to ask what she meant, but the elder's eyes clouded, as though she had already said too much. With a sigh, the woman led her back to the lanterns and laughter. Yet Aurora's thoughts lingered on the forest, on the shape she thought she had seen, and on the strange flutter in her chest that whispered her life was about to change forever.
That night, under a sky dusted with stars, Aurora dreamed. She stood in a ruined castle bathed in moonlight, her hands stained with silver fire. A man's voice called her name, filled with desperation and longing. And when she turned, she saw eyes as dark as midnight gazing into her soul.
She woke with her heart pounding, the dream too vivid to forget. Outside her window, the forest swayed as though alive, waiting for her.
And far away, deep within the shadows of those very woods, a young man in a torn cloak stumbled through the trees, blood staining his arm. The crest of a royal house gleamed faintly on the sword strapped to his back. He was running from death itself—straight toward Aurora's forgotten village.