The land of Aeralis slept beneath a veil of ancient peace, unaware that its stillness was borrowed time.
Mist drifted through the low valleys at dawn, curling around towering silverroot trees whose branches braided the sky. These forests had stood longer than memory, their roots gripping secrets older than kingdoms. To most, they were just trees. To the elders, they were watchers.
Kael Thornwake ran through the undergrowth, breath steady, boots light against damp soil. At seventeen, he moved with the instinct of someone raised by the wild rather than the village paths. His ash-brown hair was tied back with twine, his tunic patched and faded, and a simple iron blade rested at his side—not for glory, but for survival.
He was late.
Old Master Rhen hated lateness.
Kael burst through the tree line as the forest gave way to the village of Lunemere, a quiet settlement perched on the edge of the Greenwood Expanse. Wooden homes circled a central well, their roofs glowing amber in the early light. Smoke rose from hearths. Life, simple and fragile, continued as it always had.
Too peacefully, Kael thought.
"Kael!" Rhen's voice cracked through the air like a snapped branch. "If you were any later, the sun would be setting."
Kael skidded to a stop, hands on knees. "I was hunting, Master. The snares near the eastern ridge—"
"—can wait," Rhen interrupted, sharp eyes narrowing beneath a hood of white hair. "When the forest stirs before dawn, you listen."
Kael straightened. "The forest always stirs."
Rhen studied him for a long moment, then turned toward the shrine.
At the heart of Lunemere stood an ancient stone structure half-swallowed by moss and roots. No one remembered who built it. No one dared damage it. The villagers called it the Rootbound Shrine, and children were warned not to play near it—because sometimes, it hummed.
Today, it hummed loudly.
Kael felt it before he heard it. A low vibration thrummed through his bones as he stepped closer, like a distant heartbeat echoing through stone. The air was warmer here, charged.
"You feel it, don't you?" Rhen asked quietly.
Kael nodded. "It's… calling."
Rhen exhaled slowly. "That's what I feared."
They descended the worn steps into the shrine's hollow center. At its core lay a stone dais, cracked with age. Symbols etched into its surface glowed faintly—circles intersecting triangles, spirals wrapped in lines of power. Kael had seen them his whole life, but never like this.
At the center of the dais rested an object that had not been there before.
A relic.
It was small, no larger than Kael's palm, shaped like a fractured crystal bound by bronze rings. Soft blue light pulsed from within, casting ripples across the walls.
Kael's breath caught. "What is it?"
Rhen did not answer immediately. His hands trembled as he reached into his robes and withdrew an old medallion—one Kael had never seen before. Its markings matched the symbols on the dais.
"A long time ago," Rhen said, voice low, "Aeralis was torn apart by a war that nearly unmade the world. Not with armies—but with powers that should never have been claimed."
Kael stepped closer, drawn despite himself. "You mean the old legends? The Shattered Age?"
Rhen nodded. "They weren't just legends. They were warnings."
The relic's light intensified as Kael approached. The humming rose into a resonant tone that made the stone tremble.
"Don't," Rhen said sharply—but it was too late.
The moment Kael's fingers brushed the relic, the world shattered.
Light exploded outward, swallowing the shrine whole. Kael screamed—but no sound came. His body vanished, replaced by falling.
Visions tore through him.
A kingdom crowned in gold, burning beneath a crimson sky.
A woman cloaked in white, standing atop a tower, her eyes filled with sorrow and resolve.
A shadowed figure wreathed in malice, laughter echoing across time.
Swords clashing. Seas rising. The sky breaking.
And beneath it all—a voice.
The cycle begins again.
Kael slammed back into his body, gasping. The shrine was silent. The relic lay dark in his hands.
Rhen was on his knees.
"No," the old man whispered. "It has chosen you."
Kael staggered back. "Chosen me for what?"
Rhen looked up, eyes wet with fear and awe. "To walk the path others failed to end."
Before Kael could respond, the ground shook violently.
A horn sounded from the village edge—long, panicked.
Rhen surged to his feet. "We must go. Now."
They emerged from the shrine to chaos.
Smoke rose near the outer homes. Villagers ran, shouting. And from the forest—where the silverroot trees bent unnaturally—figures emerged.
Not men. Not beasts.
Creatures of twisted stone and shadow, eyes burning with sickly red light.
Kael's hand tightened around his blade.
Rhen placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Whatever you saw—whatever this relic is—it has awakened something long buried."
Kael swallowed hard, heart pounding.
For the first time in his life, the forest was not protecting him.
It was retreating.
And deep beneath the roots of Aeralis, something ancient stirred—smiling as the cycle turned once more.