The sun was just beginning to rise, casting long golden beams across the dew-kissed fields surrounding the village of Aethar. The early morning silence was broken only by the soft rustling of leaves and the occasional chirp of distant birds. Yet, within the silence, Kael Solhart stirred restlessly.
He hadn't slept since the night before.
The encounter in the forest kept replaying in his mind like a forgotten song remembered in fragments. The cloaked figure, the revelation about his bloodline, the strange hum of his blade—all of it coiled within him like a snake waiting to strike.
Kael sat on the edge of his bed, sword still sheathed beside him. He hadn't dared to draw it again. He didn't know what would happen if he did.
His room was modest—stone walls, a wooden table, and a single window overlooking the far hills. His mother had always kept things simple, preferring quiet over excess. She hadn't returned home the night before, and Kael didn't know if that worried or relieved him. There were questions he needed to ask her, but he also feared the answers.
There was a knock at the door.
He tensed instinctively. The forest encounter had left a paranoia lingering in his veins. Slowly, he walked to the door, hand hovering near his sword.
"Kael?"
The voice was familiar. Soft. Human.
He opened the door.
A young woman stood before him, wrapped in a traveler's cloak, hair wind-tousled and eyes sharp with urgency. It was Elara.
Elara Virel.
They had grown up together. She was the blacksmith's niece, raised in Aethar since her parents died in the Blight Wars. She wasn't just a friend—she was one of the few who truly understood him. Or at least, the version of him that existed before last night.
"Do you have any idea what happened?" she asked without greeting.
Kael shook his head. "No. Do you?"
"Only that something stirred in the eastern glades," she said, stepping inside. "Old magic. The kind that hasn't been felt in decades."
Kael's heartbeat quickened. "You felt it too?"
Elara nodded. "I dreamt of the sword. Of you. Of something dark watching from the edge of the trees. And I wasn't the only one—several villagers woke screaming last night."
"Something's beginning," Kael muttered. "And I think I'm at the center of it."
Elara looked at him closely. "Do you know what that sword is, Kael?"
He hesitated. "I thought it was just my father's blade. A family relic."
She stepped closer. "That's no common relic. That's the Whisperblade."
The name hit Kael like a blow.
The Whisperblade.
He had read the name before in old books, but it was always tied to myth—legends of a sword that sang to its wielder and could cut through not only flesh but fate itself. It was said to bind itself to a bloodline, waiting until its destined heir could awaken it.
"Elara," he said slowly, "how do you know this?"
She pulled a scroll from her satchel and unrolled it. The parchment was old, marked with runes and faded ink. In the center was a sketch—his sword. Every curve, every rune etched on the blade—it was a perfect match.
"My uncle had this hidden in his shop," she said. "He told me to find you if the blade ever started humming."
"So, it's real," Kael whispered. "The legends… they weren't lies."
"No. But they were warnings."
Before he could ask more, a deep rumble shook the ground beneath them. Kael rushed to the window and saw it—thick, black smoke rising from the northern edge of the village. Screams followed seconds later.
They raced outside, Kael gripping the sword tightly.
The village square was in chaos. A massive beast—resembling a dire wolf but larger and cloaked in shadow—stalked through the streets. Its eyes glowed like molten gold, and its breath turned the air cold with every snarl.
"Voidspawn!" someone screamed.
Kael had only heard of them. Creatures born from the old world's sins, rarely seen in living memory.
Without thinking, Kael stepped forward.
"Kael, don't—!" Elara shouted, but he was already moving.
He drew the Whisperblade.
This time, it responded.
It didn't just hum. It sang. A long, echoing note that vibrated through his bones, through the ground, through the air. The shadows around the Voidspawn seemed to retreat in fear.
Kael charged, blade glowing faintly, memories not his own flooding his mind—visions of ancient battles, of warriors standing against the night, of kings falling with honor.
He didn't know how he moved with such grace. The sword guided him. Each slash flowed into the next. The beast struck, claws like spears, but Kael ducked and spun, carving through the shadow.
One strike. Two. A third.
And the Voidspawn collapsed into mist, vanishing as if it had never been.
The villagers stared. Silence followed.
Kael dropped to his knees, panting.
Elara ran to him. "You just… you fought it."
"I didn't," he said, shaking. "The blade did."
She looked at the sword. "Then it's begun. The awakening. And you, Kael Solhart… you're the one they've been waiting for."
Kael closed his eyes.
The blade that should not be drawn… is now