Darkness smothered everything.
Kiran landed hard, air knocked from his lungs and damp stone scraping his palms. When his vision steadied, there was only ruin—stone pillars sundered by time, moss glowing blue beneath cracks in the earth, and the sky overhead wound tight with swirling clouds. Nothing of Arlen. Nothing of home.
He drew shivering breaths, blinking against a pulse of panic. Memory pressed close: his mother's call, the marketplace's laughter, his little sister's hand. Now they were ghosts in the silence.
Footsteps. Ezran, the stranger, appeared beside him, brushing dust from his tattered cloak with an unnecessary flourish. "You landed well. Most people vomit the first time. Congratulations." His smirk was faint but present.
Kiran shot him a glare, brushing grit from his cheek. "Is this how you welcome all your… guests? Or did I win a prize?"
Ezran's eyes gleamed beneath the hood. "Ask fewer questions and you might live long enough to regret them."
But despite the sharp words and the bleak landscape, Ezran's presence was oddly grounding. The man moved like a shadow but spoke with the calm of someone used to storms. Kiran bristled, but couldn't help noticing that even here, in the heart of the unknown, he didn't feel entirely alone.
They began to walk, blue-lit ruins stretching into eerie distance. The stone beneath Kiran's boots was etched with ancient runes; faint lines of magic flickered at the corners of his vision.
"So, are you always this cryptic," Kiran muttered, "or do you save the straight answers for special occasions?"
Ezran gave a dry laugh. "If you wanted an easy adventure, you should have missed supper. Next time, I'll hand you a map and a sword and wish you luck."
Thunder grumbled overhead. A chill wind skittered through the ruins, making the blue flames along the cracks gutter low for a moment.
They reached the rim of a vast chasm. Down below, rivers of magic pulsed and writhed—alive and unpredictable. Kiran stared, heart beating fast.
Ezran gestured at the chasm. "Behold. The Ley's wound. Not so different from your own."
A silence followed, filled only by the howling wind.
Kiran tried to muster a joke but found only worry. "And you expect me to just…fix that?"
Ezran grinned. "In time. Right now, I'd settle for you not falling in."
He knelt, drawing a glyph that glowed gently in the dust. "Sit. This—" he pointed—"is the Ley's memory. Touch it. Listen."
Kiran hesitated, then obeyed. As his palm touched the rune, sensation flashed through him. He saw glimpses of home: his family, laughter, warmth—then the village, now cloaked in fog and fear. But behind those visions, something else pressed forward: a pair of emerald eyes, cold and patient, lurking in the shadows of shattered arches. The presence was not just watching—it was waiting.
He jerked back, shuddering. "There's something here. I saw—eyes."
Ezran's face grew serious. "Some things crawl out when magic breaks. Most only want to feed. A few…want more. Congratulations again. You've been noticed."
Kiran's throat dried. "That's not what I wanted to hear."
"Life rarely is. But facing what frightens you is lesson one."
They trekked along the edge, Kiran peering nervously at every shadow. He tried lightness. "Next time, can my heroic destiny have fewer lurking horrors?"
Ezran grinned, unexpectedly. "You should hope not. The dull ones never pay as much."
As they passed a cluster of toppled stones, a low growl echoed from somewhere below. The blue flame flickered dangerously.
Kiran reflexively stepped closer to Ezran, clutching at his own courage. "Any advice for 'not being eaten by horrors'? Or do I get to improvise?"
Ezran nodded approvingly. "Improvisation is vital. But sometimes, you just run. I recommend the latter, unless you're fond of teeth."
They circled a squat old temple, glyphs burning with warnings. Ezran began to murmur lessons: about Ley flow, how magic could shape minds as well as bodies—that those who opened themselves risked not just power, but loss.
As he listened, Kiran's thoughts wandered: to the memory of family, to his father's stories, his own secret dreams of adventure. A bittersweet ache filled him—hope and grief intertwining, each step taking him further from his old life but somehow closer to something new.
They found shelter beneath a crumbling archway as dusk settled, blue runes painting ghostly shapes on the stones. For the first time, Kiran dared to ask, "Did you ever miss home, when the magic chose you?"
Ezran was quiet a long moment. "Every day. Even now, I think of it. But one day the burden becomes the dream—and you cannot imagine a different life."
A soft, menacing scrape echoed in the dark, emerald eyes flickering at the edge of the shadows for just a moment before vanishing.
Ezran met Kiran's gaze, serious now. "That is your warning. Shadows with a memory of you now walk this place. Stay close tonight. Tomorrow…your real lessons begin."
Kiran managed a small, stubborn smile. "Can't wait. Maybe they'll include breakfast?"
Ezran laughed—a real, rich sound, the first warmth in the cold.
And as the night deepened and the runes glowed brighter, Kiran, exhausted but fiercely alive, realized he was not powerless here—not with fear, not with hope, and not with the memory of everything he'd lost and loved.
For he was chosen, haunted, and changed. But he was still Kiran.
And as the shadows circled, for the first time since Arlen shattered, he refused to look away.