The wind carried a strang silence across the city of calmere . It wasn't the kind of silence that brought peace, but one that seemed to whisper secrets no one dared to repeat . the people felt it in their bones , a quiet weight pressing against their souls.
Among them lived kael , A man of thirty-five who never quite belonged. while other built their lives in study rhythms-work, family,he-found himself starting beyond horizon , as though something -or someone was waiting there . his restlessness had become legend among his neighbors, who whispered that kael's soul was too wild to be tamed by ordinary life.
One evening, as the sky burned with shades of crimson, kael heard it for the first time: a voice carried by the wind, soft yet undeniabel.
''Come.
He froze, his heart pounding. It wasn't a trick of the mind; he was sure of it. The voice wasn't human, yet it wasn't entirely foreign either.
That night, dreams came to him. He saw a land where rivers glowed silver under twin moons, and a tower stood tall, reaching into the heavens. At its top, a figure cloaked in shadow beckoned him forward.
The next morning, Kael could not shake the vision. The horizon now seemed alive, as though daring him to step past the world he knew.
When he finally spoke of his dreams to an old traveler he had befriended, the man's eyes grew wide with both sorrow and recognition.
"You've heard the Whispers," the traveler said quietly. "Few do, and fewer still return."
Kael's fate had already been sealed. The Whispers had chosen him, just as they had chosen others long before. And so began his journey, away from Calmere, across lands where myths breathed and shadows remembered names long forgotten.
But what waited beyond the horizon was not only destiny—it was a truth that could either shatter the world or remake it anew.
Kael left Calmere before dawn, carrying little more than a satchel, a dagger, and the weight of questions he could not answer. The streets, usually filled with chatter and trade, were silent in the early light. He paused only once, glancing back at the city he had never truly called home.
The horizon stretched wide before him. Fields gave way to forests, and the familiar cobblestones of Calmere turned to untamed paths. The voice had not returned since that crimson evening, yet its echo lingered in his chest, pulling him forward.
By midday, Kael reached the old road where merchants rarely traveled. It was said to lead into the Wraithwood, a forest that swallowed men whole. Yet his dreams had shown him that very place—the silver glow of rivers cutting through trees darker than night.
As he walked, unease grew. The air felt thick, charged with something unseen. Shadows clung longer than they should, and the wind carried whispers that vanished the moment he strained to hear them.
By nightfall, he reached the edge of the forest. The trees loomed like giants, their branches twisting together as though guarding the world beyond. His steps faltered for the first time.
From the darkness of the Wraithwood came a low murmur. Not a single voice, but many, woven together into something ancient.
*"Welcome, Kael."*
The sound chilled him, yet also confirmed what he already knew: he had crossed a threshold from which there was no return.
He lit a small fire and sat just outside the forest's shadow, the flames dancing as if wary of the trees. Sleep did not come easily. Every rustle, every flicker of the fire seemed alive with intention. More than once, he thought he saw eyes in the undergrowth, glowing faintly before vanishing.
When sleep finally claimed him, it was restless. He dreamed again of the tower, only this time the shadowed figure spoke: *"The path begins with sacrifice."* Kael woke in a cold sweat, his dagger clenched in his hand though he did not remember drawing it.
At dawn, he stepped into the Wraithwood. The air shifted instantly—cooler, heavier, carrying scents of moss and something metallic, like blood. The trees towered above, their leaves blotting out the sun. Every sound was amplified: the crack of twigs beneath his boots, the drip of unseen water, the distant hoot of a creature that did not belong to any world he knew.