The first lights of morning filtered through the strange sky of Eterra, emanating from two distinct sources dancing overhead. The orange orb in the east and the silver celestial body in the west hung suspended simultaneously, leaving the world in a perpetual twilight that was never fully dark nor fully bright. Despite the hard bark of the tree against his back, Finis had slept soundly. For the first time in years, he hadn't woken up with back pain in the early hours.
The campfire was already burning. Torin was boiling a dark, sharp-smelling liquid resembling coffee in a small pot. Liriel moved silently among the trees, apparently scouting the surroundings. Kael sat examining a map he had taken from his leather bag.
"Good morning, Ferrum," said Kael without looking up. "You seem well-rested."
Finis stretched. The feeling of lightness in his body was still surprising. As if gravity had been halved. "Good morning. It'll take time to get used to this... this feeling."
Torin grunted and handed him a metal cup filled with hot liquid. "Drink this. Mountain goat herb and roasted root mixture. Warms your stomach, clears your head."
Finis took the cup and sniffed it cautiously. It had a sharp, earthy smell. He grimaced at the first sip—it was bitter, but it gave a strange energy that warmed his insides. He nodded in thanks.
Liriel returned silently to the camp. In her hand was a plant with bright purple leaves. "The path looks clear. But there's something odd in the air. The wind carries the scent of the ancient forest from the east. And in that scent... there is unease."
Kael rolled up the map. "We're approaching Serinorman. Though that region is under elf clan control, border breaches have increased lately. Goblin packs, even worse things..."
"Like what?" asked Finis.
Torin set aside the stone he'd been sharpening his axe with. "Orcs, for instance. Not mountain orcs—they have some honor. I'm talking about swamp orcs. Rotten-toothed, stinking of carrion, hunting in packs despite being barely three spans tall. Filthy creatures that wouldn't hesitate to eat a traveler alive."
Finis's stomach churned slightly. The fantastical stories he'd heard last night felt far more real and unsettling in the daylight.
When they set out, they began moving deeper into the forest. The path grew narrower, the branches of the trees interlocking to form a natural tunnel above them. The vegetation here was unlike anything Finis had ever seen. Trees with silver-glinting trunks, bushes whose leaves emitted a faint glow, roots that crawled across the ground... Everything was magical and unsettling at once.
Finis took out the leather-bound journal Kael had given him and started taking notes as he walked. Descriptions of the silver trees, the strange energy in the air, the feeling of unease Liriel had mentioned... He recorded everything carefully. Writing gave him a peace he had never experienced on Earth. Perhaps this was a way to pour out everything he had bottled up for years but never told anyone.
"What are you writing?" asked Liriel, approaching him.
"What I see. What I hear. I'm trying to understand this world."
A rare smile appeared on Liriel's lips. "There's a saying among elves: 'He who observes lives; he who records becomes immortal.' Perhaps this is your path, Finis Ferrum."
Toward noon, a strange sound rose from the depths of the forest. At first they thought it was the howl of the wind, but then it became distinct: a deep, rhythmic pounding. As if a giant heart were beating.
Torin raised his hand, stopping the group. "That sound... they call it the heart of the ancient forest. Actually, it's a vibration emanating from the roots of the trees. But be careful—this sound also attracts other things."
Just then, a shrill scream came from the bushes. Immediately after, three small figures appeared ahead on the path. Creatures barely a meter tall, with greenish skin, pointed ears, and ugly faces. Goblins. They carried rusty daggers and bone spears. Their eyes gleamed with hunger.
"Goblin pack!" shouted Torin, gripping his axe. "Stay behind me!"
But instead of attacking, the goblins stared at something with fearful eyes. From the other end of the path, a much larger threat appeared. An orc, over two meters tall, with thick green skin, curved tusks protruding from his lower jaw, and wielding a massive, notched battle axe. But this was not one of the swamp orcs Torin had mentioned—this was a mountain orc. In his eyes gleamed not savagery but cold intelligence. His armor was crude yet functional, made by melting and combining different metals.
The goblins, upon seeing the orc, shrieked and fled into the depths of the forest. The orc didn't even glance after them. His eyes were fixed on Finis and the group.
"Humans. A dwarf. And an elf," said the orc in a hoarse but understandable Common Tongue. "These lands are the hunting grounds of the Broken Tooth Tribe. What business do you have here?"
Kael answered in a calm voice. "We are merely travelers. On the trade route to Silver Harbor. We have no intention of disrespecting your hunting grounds."
The orc was silent for a moment. Then his eyes locked onto Finis. He examined his snow-white hair, pale skin, and blue eyes. His nostrils flared as if smelling the air.
"This one... is not human," said the orc. "His skin like death, his hair like snow. But his scent... his scent is strange. Neither alive nor dead. What is he?"
Finis's heart raced. Liriel stepped forward protectively. "He is our friend. Our traveling companion. His race and origin are none of our concern."
The orc struck the ground with his axe handle. He let out a hollow laugh. "An elf, a dwarf, a human, and... this strange being. An interesting group. I am Korgath, border guard of the Broken Tooth Tribe. Usually, we either loot or turn back strangers passing through our lands. But today... today I will be generous."
"Why?" asked Torin suspiciously.
Korgath pointed his axe at Finis. "Because in his scent, I catch a trace of an ancient prophecy. Deep in the mountains, by the shamans' fire, there is a tale. A stranger with white hair and pale skin... Immortal... Walking between worlds... If he is the one from the prophecy, stopping him or harming him would bring misfortune to my tribe."
Finis stared at Korgath in astonishment. A prophecy? Just last night, Kael had spoken of legends. Now an orc spoke of a prophecy. In this world, what things were circulating about him that even he didn't yet know?
"What prophecy?" asked Finis, his voice calmer than expected.
Korgath shook his head. "I don't know the exact words. Only the shamans know. But the essence is this: Where time is broken, the child of two worlds is born. Neither living nor dead. The paths he walks, he turns into words, and what he writes will be read for ages."
Liriel and Kael exchanged a meaningful glance. Torin scratched his beard and grumbled. "Prophecies are usually trouble. But if this orc isn't bothering us, I'm not complaining."
Korgath slapped his axe against his shoulder. "I grant you passage. But remember, there are creatures deeper in this forest far less... understanding than me. Especially at night. Be quick."
And without another word, he silently disappeared into the trees, as silently as he had come.
The group stood in astonishment for a while. Torin was the first to speak: "Released by an orc because of a prophecy. I wouldn't believe it if I saw it in a dream."
Kael turned to Finis. "It seems there's much we don't know about you, Finis Ferrum. And this world might already know you."
Finis looked down at his journal. Should he write down what had just happened? Yes, he should. Because this was part of his story. He ran his finger over the word "Ferrum" carved into the cover.
"Let's keep walking," he said. "I feel like this forest still has many more whispers for me."
And the journey continued, deeper into Serinorman. Finis's journal grew fuller with each step. Among the ancient trees, the first lines of the story of the Immortal Wanderer were being written.