Jhon muttered in disbelief, his voice barely above a whisper. "Time magic…"
The words hung in the air, heavy with impossible meaning. The Prophet's grin widened, his teeth crooked and yellowed, a sight that sent a shiver down Jhon's spine.
Then—A sudden gust of wind erupted from the sarcophagus, howling like a living thing. The torches flickered violently, shadows dancing across the tomb's walls. Dust and ancient air swirled around them, charged with raw energy.
And then, before their eyes—A gate appeared. It was not of stone, nor of wood. It was a tear in reality itself, an archway formed from wind and light, spiraling and twisting like a living storm.
The edges shimmered, flickering between existence and void, as if the universe itself struggled to hold it in place. Through the gate, glimpses of a forgotten world flickered—castles of obsidian, skies torn by endless storms, and a city lost to time.
Khaltar staggered back, his instincts screaming that this was not natural. "What… is this?"
The Prophet turned to him, his eerie gaze locked onto Khaltar's very soul. "The last gift of the Stormborn."
The wind grew stronger, howling through the tomb, lifting dust and stone into the air. The gate widened, its energy crackling like a thunderstorm.
The Prophet's voice came low and commanding. "Go, Khaltar. Step through the storm."
Khaltar's breath came fast. His body screamed in protest, but something deep inside him—a part he had never known—called him forward.
"Inside that gate, you will find your father."
Khaltar's eyes widened. "Khazir?"
The Prophet nodded. "Only in the past can you seek the knowledge lost to time. Ask him for the Guardians' map. He alone holds it."
Khaltar turned to Jhon, searching for reassurance, but Jhon's face was twisted in shock. "This is madness."
The Prophet chuckled. "It is fate."
The gate rippled, the wind pulling at Khaltar's cloak, urging him forward. He swallowed hard, his mind racing. If this was a trap, he would never return.
But if it was true… If his father truly waited on the other side—Then everything he had ever known was a lie. His fists clenched. "Fine."
He stepped forward. "Then I'll find him."
With a deep breath, Khaltar stepped into the gate.
The moment his foot crossed the threshold. The world collapsed into wind and light. Khaltar felt his body stretch and shrink, tossed like a leaf in a hurricane as he was pulled through the swirling tunnel of time. The world around him was a blur of light and shadow, shifting through countless epochs and forgotten ages.
The wind whispered ancient names in his ears—names he did not know, yet somehow recognized. Time itself breathed around him, carrying the scent of storms, war, and old blood.
Then, suddenly—The ground reappeared beneath his feet. The howling winds faded. The tunnel of time collapsed behind him, vanishing like a dying storm.
And before Khaltar's eyes—A battlefield. The land stretched endless and broken—a vast plain of cracked earth and rolling dust storms, where two mighty armies clashed with fury.
On one side—The Windborn. They were awe-inspiring to behold, their armor flowing like woven sky, layered in sapphire and silver, embroidered with swirling patterns like moving clouds. Their warriors wore helmets adorned with feathers, their capes billowed unnaturally, even when there was no wind.
Some hovered above the ground, gliding across the battlefield like phantoms, their blades humming with unseen currents. Others wielded bows that shot arrows of compressed air, sharp as any steel. Their war cries were like thunderclaps, their movements as fast as storms.
And against them—The Earthforged. A force just as terrifying but rooted in unshakable power.
They towered over men, their bodies clad in jagged stone and hardened bronze. Their weapons were massive, forged from black iron, shaped like the very mountains themselves.
Their faces were painted with ochre and clay, some wore helmets with great horns, their eyes glowing like embers buried in the depths of the earth.
They moved slowly but with terrifying force, each footstep shaking the battlefield, sending cracks sprawling like veins in the dust.
Some summoned walls of stone, raising defenses in mere moments. Others slammed their hammers into the ground, sending shockwaves that swallowed entire squads.
Wind clashed against stone. Lightning against soil. The battlefield howled and quaked, storms and earthquakes fusing into chaos.
Khaltar's breath caught in his throat. His hands curled into fists, his heart pounding in his chest. Then, instinct took over.
His blood sang with the call of the storm. The Windborn. His feet moved before his mind decided. His choice was made.
Khaltar lunged into battle, his twin axes flashing like silver lightning. The first Earthforged never saw him coming—his heavy armor split like cracked earth as Khaltar's blade bit deep into his shoulder, severing muscle and bone. Blood and dust sprayed into the air.
The surrounding Earthforged warriors staggered in shock, their eyes widening beneath their stone-forged helmets. Who was this warrior? He was not of the Windborn, yet he moved like a tempest, struck like a hurricane. Khaltar did not give them time to react.
He spun his axes, the edges singing through the air, severing a second warrior's throat before they could even raise their hammer.
The battlefield shifted. The Windborn, seeing the ferocity of this stranger, rallied behind him.
And then—A deep, commanding voice boomed above the battlefield. "You fight like the storm itself, stranger!"
Khaltar barely turned before he saw him—Khazir. The man was a force of nature, clad in ornate blue-and-silver armor, his cloak of wind-silk billowing unnaturally in the storm he commanded. His long, storm-gray hair flowed like clouds, and his eyes crackled with barely contained lightning.
In his hand, a spear carved from the bones of sky-dragons. Khazir smirked. Then, without hesitation, he stepped beside Khaltar. Side by side, the storm roared.
With a flick of his hand, Khazir called the winds to his command—sending Earthforged warriors hurling backward, their heavy bodies lifted like leaves in a hurricane.
Khaltar dove through the storm, his axes a blur, cleaving through stone and flesh alike. The battlefield shook with thunder and blood. And in that moment, Khazir knew.
This man—this warrior from nowhere—was no ordinary fighter. And for the first time in years, he felt something stir in his heart. A sense of recognition.
The battlefield erupted in chaos—steel clashing against stone, screams of agony lost beneath the roaring winds. Khaltar gritted his teeth, feeling the strain in his muscles. The Earthforged were relentless.
His twin axes dripped with blood, but it wasn't enough. He needed more. Mana. He forced himself to focus, pushing past the haze of battle, past the weight of exhaustion. Deep within him, something stirred.
A storm waiting to break. Khaltar closed his eyes, tuning out the chaos, feeling the energy coil inside his core like a gathering cyclone. The air around him shifted, charged with raw power. And then—He unleashed it.
A shockwave of pure mana exploded from his fists, crackling with blue lightning, warping the very air around him.
The Earthforged ranks shattered. The force of the blast tore through their formation like a hurricane through brittle trees—warriors flung into the air, their stone-like armor cracking apart like dried mud.
For a brief moment, everything went silent. The dust settled. The Windborn warriors stared in disbelief.
Even Khazir, the great Stormborn chieftain, stood motionless, his sharp eyes scanning Khaltar with a mix of awe and suspicion.
And then, Khaltar fell to one knee, breathing heavily. His vision blurred, his body trembling from the raw surge of energy he had just unleashed.
Khazir stepped forward. "Where did you come from?" His voice was steady, yet there was something else there—curiosity, caution… perhaps even recognition.
Khaltar slowly raised his gaze. Then, without hesitation, he bowed his head and kissed his palm—the ancient gesture of a son honoring his father in Sol-Minora's culture.
A hush fell over the Windborn warriors. Khazir's expression shifted—shock, confusion… and something deeper.
Khazir stood in silence, staring at Khaltar. Something unspoken lingered in the air. The other warriors, still gripping their weapons, waited for their chieftain's word. Then, finally—"Fall back to camp."
The Windborn warriors lowered their weapons, nodding in silent obedience.
Khazir turned to Khaltar. "You fight like one of us," he said, his gaze unreadable. "Come. Ride with us."
Khaltar exhaled, finally allowing himself to breathe. Without hesitation, he followed the Windborn warriors as they approached their steeds.
And they were unlike anything Khaltar had ever seen. The creatures were massive, their elongated bodies covered in smooth, metallic feathers that shimmered in hues of silver and deep blue. Their wings, though tucked at their sides, twitched with the restless energy of a storm. Instead of hooves, they had clawed talons, crackling with faint arcs of lightning that discharged into the earth as they moved.
Their heads resembled a cross between a serpent and a raptor, with elongated snouts, curved fangs, and eyes that glowed like thunderclouds before a storm. Along their spines, jagged fins of charged crystal pulsed with bioelectricity, acting as natural lightning rods that absorbed energy from the air. These were the Tempest Drakes—legendary steeds of the Stormborn.
Khaltar watched as the warriors effortlessly mounted their beasts, the creatures responding with almost instinctive understanding. The bond between rider and mount was undeniable.
Khazir approached the largest of them all. Its wingspan alone could shadow an entire battlefield. Its silver-and-indigo feathers pulsed as it breathed, and as Khazir laid his hand upon its snout, the drake let out a soft, electric purr—a sound like distant thunder.
Khaltar hesitated for only a moment before stepping toward one of the Tempest Drakes. The beast snapped its head toward him, its glowing eyes locking onto his. For a moment, the air was thick with tension. Then, without warning—the drake lowered itself.
An unspoken acceptance. Khaltar reached out, placing a hand against the creature's feathered hide. A static shock ran up his arm.
The moment he mounted, he felt the power beneath him. The drake shifted its weight, muscles coiling like a storm about to break.
Khazir looked over, smirking. "Hold tight."
With a single shouted command, the Tempest Drakes launched into the sky—And Khaltar was riding the storm.
The Tempest Drakes descended in spirals, their crackling wings slicing through the wind as they approached a hidden valley nestled between jagged cliffs. The air here was charged with an unnatural stillness—as if even the storm dared not tread too loudly.
As the warriors landed and dismounted, the Tempest Drakes folded their wings, their electric hum fading into the background. The Windborn warriors dispersed, tending to their mounts and preparing their camp.
Khazir turned to Khaltar, his piercing gaze scanning him from head to toe.
"You're not one of my men," Khazir said, arms crossed. "And yet, you fight like us. You know our ways." He narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
Khaltar took a breath. He knew this moment would come. "I am Khaltar, son of Khazir," he said firmly.
The camp fell into silence. The warriors who overheard stopped their tasks, their eyes darting between Khaltar and their leader.
Khazir stood frozen, his expression unreadable. The storm in his eyes flickered—not with rage, but with something else. Realization.
"Time magic," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Damn that cursed power. I should've known."
Despite the shock, there was no disbelief in his tone. As if, deep down, he had always known something like this was possible. "Why are you here?" Khazir finally asked.
Khaltar met his father's gaze, unwavering. "I need the map of the Guardians."
Khazir blinked, then let out a low chuckle—not of amusement, but of disbelief. He rubbed his chin, studying Khaltar with renewed intensity. "You crossed time itself... for that?" His expression hardened. "Do you even know what you ask for?"
Khaltar stood firm. "I do. The Fallen have risen. The world needs the Guardians once more."
Khazir's jaw clenched. The weight of those words settled like thunder before a storm. And then, after a long silence—"...Come with me."