The province of Eryndor Vale was the sort of place that seemed forgotten by history. Nestled in a cradle of emerald hills and ringed by ancient forests, the land lived at its own pace. Dawn always arrived gently, spilling over the meadows in ribbons of gold. The cries of hawks echoed from the cliffs, the smell of wildflowers drifted on the wind, and the villagers stirred to their familiar routines.
Eryndor Vale was not marked on most maps. Merchants seldom bothered to pass through its narrow roads, and kingdoms rarely remembered it during their endless wars. To outsiders, it was unremarkable. But for those who lived there, the Vale was home, as constant and steady as the seasons.
For Jayden Arkwell, seventeen years old and restless at heart, the Vale was both a comfort and a cage. He had lived all his life among its fields and streams, raised by his uncle Thom, a broad-shouldered man with kind eyes and a farmer's patience. Jayden owed the man everything—food, shelter, guidance—but still, he often wondered what lay beyond the borders of the Vale.
Each morning, Jayden rose with the first light to help in the fields. His hands were calloused from tilling soil and mending fences, though his mind wandered far beyond crops and harvests. At times, when the wind blew strong through the valley or storms gathered over the hills, Jayden would feel something stir within him— a current thrumming in his veins, like the earth itself whispered his name.
He told no one of these strange sensations. How could he? It sounded mad, even to himself.
That morning began like so many others. Mist hung low over the meadows, and the smell of wet earth filled the air. Jayden left the cottage with a wooden bucket in hand, heading for the village well. Birds called from the hedgerows, and the path was damp beneath his boots. He drew in the cool air, savoring it, though his thoughts already wandered elsewhere.
"Early again?" a voice teased from behind.
Jayden turned to see Mira, his childhood friend, striding toward him. She was his age, dark-haired and quick-tongued, with eyes that missed nothing. She carried a basket of herbs slung over her arm.
"You never sleep, do you?" she said, brushing past him with a grin.
'I sleep," Jayden replied, adjusting his grip on the bucket. "Just not as much as you."
"Maybe because you're always brooding by the river," Mira shot back. "One day the current will drag you away, and then what will I tell your uncle?"
Jayden smirked but said nothing. Mira had long noticed his odd habit of lingering by the water, though she never pressed him too hard about it. Still, her words tugged at the unease he carried. Why did he feel so drawn to the river, to storms, to the elements themselves?
At the well, a few villagers had gathered, drawing water and gossiping in low voices. Old Marwen, the baker's wife, gave Jayden a nod as he passed. Children darted about, chasing each other in circles. Life in Eryndor Vale had a rhythm, predictable as sunrise, and Jayden played his part in it like everyone else. Yet, beneath the surface, something inside him whispered: You don't belong here forever.
By midday, he was back in the fields with Uncle Thom, mending a broken fence. The sun had burned away the mist, and the valley glowed green under its light. Thom hammered a new post into the soil while Jayden steadied it.
"You've been restless again," Thom said suddenly, without looking up. His deep voice carried no accusation, only quiet concern.
Jayden blinked. "Restless? No more than usual."
Thom paused, straightening his back with a groan. His hair, once dark, had gone to silver at the temples. "I see it in you, lad. Your eyes are always looking beyond the hills. You dream of something more"
Jayden hesitated. His uncle had always been perceptive, but he could not reveal the truth of his strange feelings-not yet. "Maybe I just wonder what it's like outside the Vale," he said carefully.
Thom's gaze softened. "The world beyond isn't as kind as this valley. I've seen enough of it to know. Be grateful for the peace we have."
Jayden nodded, but his heart rebelled at the words. Peace was not enough. Something deeper called to him, something he couldn't name.
That evening, when his chores were done, he wandered to the riverbank. The water glistened beneath the fading sun, carrying whispers of light across its rippling surface. Jayden crouched by the edge, trailing his fingers through the current.
As always, a strange calm washed over him, followed by a spark of energy that prickled along his skin.
He closed his eyes, imagining he could feel the river's pulse, steady and alive. For a fleeting moment, it was as if the water responded to his presence - swirling stronger, rushing faster-before settling back into its natural flow.
Jayden jerked his hand back, heart pounding. "What's happening to me?" he whispered.
The only answer was the croak of a frog nearby and the rustling of reeds in the breeze.
He did not see the raven that watched him from the branches above, its eyes gleaming with an unnatural intelligence.