The sky was dark, filled with thick, black clouds. Even the sun was hidden, its light swallowed by the storm.
Thunder crashed. The wind howled wildly. The earth trembled underfoot. Rain poured down with all its strength. Strange cries echoed from the forest—beastly, haunting. Creatures flew across the sky, their shapes unclear in the storm.
People nearby watched in fear. Some thought the end had come. They dropped to their knees, praying. Monks rang bells in the temples. All asked for forgiveness. Many whispered the names of their ancestors, begging for help.
Then a golden light from the dark sky shone through, falling on a certain part of the forest like a spotlight.
Then, the golden beam shone brighter just for a few minutes and suddenly vanished.
As quickly as it came, the storm began to calm. The wind softened. The rain slowed. The sky slowly cleared.
And then, everything was still.
20 years later
The rhythmic sound of wood being carved echoed through the open-air workshop, the scent of fresh timber mixing with the cool morning breeze. Zehron wiped the sweat from his brow as he steadied a wooden beam, his grip firm yet effortless. His father, Vaedros, a man of sturdy build and weary eyes, stood beside him, hammering joints into place with practiced ease.
"Hold it steady, boy," Vaedros muttered, his voice rough but not unkind.
Zehron obeyed without a word. He had done this for as long as he could remember—helping with the carpentry, lifting heavy logs, smoothing out rough edges. It was honest work, and though it left his muscles aching at the end of the day, there was a quiet satisfaction in it.
Just as he finished securing the beam, the sound of hurried footsteps approached.
"Vaedros!" A woman's voice rang out.
Zehron turned to see his mother, Naevira, striding toward them, her brows furrowed in frustration. She was a slender woman with tired eyes, the weight of worry etched onto her face.
"We're running out of supplies," she huffed, crossing her arms. "The market prices have risen again. If this continues, we won't have enough to last through the season."
Vaedros set down his hammer with a sigh. "I'll find a way," he said, but his voice lacked certainty.
"You say that every time." Naevira's voice softened, but the concern in her eyes only deepened.
Zehron remained silent, watching the exchange. He had heard this conversation before, too many times to count. It always ended the same—his father promising a solution, his mother retreating with lingering doubt, and the weight of their struggles settling onto their shoulders like an unshakable burden.
Naevira let out a weary sigh and turned away, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
Zehron focused on his task, letting the weight of their words settle in the back of his mind.
---
That night, sleep came easily—but it did not stay gentle.
Zehron found himself trapped in a world of swirling darkness, his body heavy, his mind restless. Shapes twisted in the shadows, shifting like whispers on the wind. He could hear something—distant voices, an eerie hum, a rhythm that made his pulse race.
Then—fire.
A glimpse of something vast, something ancient. A golden glow that flickered like a dying star. He tried to move, to see it clearer, but his body wouldn't obey. He was drowning in it, in the heat, in the light, in the pounding beat of something unseen.
He struggled. He tried to wake up.
But his body wouldn't move.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, his breath shallow. His eyelids felt impossibly heavy, his limbs frozen in place. He tried to scream, but no sound came.
Then—
A sharp gasp.
Zehron bolted upright, his chest heaving. His skin was slick with sweat, his heartbeat hammering against his ribs like a war drum. The dream—what was it? He tried to grasp the fragments left in his mind, but the more he reached for them, the sharper the pain behind his eyes became.
He winced, pressing his fingers to his temples. The dream was slipping away, leaving only an unbearable ache in its place.
Unable to stay in bed, he swung his legs over the side and stood. His feet carried him outside without thought, his breath still uneven as he stepped into the cool night air.
And then he saw it.
The full moon.
Large, luminous, watching.
Zehron stared at it, unmoving. The world felt distant, the cool wind barely registering against his skin. A feeling swelled within him—one he couldn't name. A pull, a weight, a silent whisper pressing against his soul.
A sense of responsibility. Of purpose.
But why?
He didn't know.
And that was the part that terrified him the most.
The next morning...
Zehron walked through the village path, carrying the heavy logs with ease. The scent of fresh wood mixed with the morning breeze, but another familiar presence lingered—eyes on him.
Women whispered and giggled behind their hands, admiration clear in their voices.
"He's so strong…" one sighed.
"Look at his face," another murmured, blushing.
Zehron remained indifferent, used to their stares. Meanwhile, some men scoffed, crossing their arms.
"What's so special about him?" one muttered.
"Hmph. Just because he looks a little different…" another grumbled.
But Zehron didn't care. He had more important things to think about.
As Zehron walked, a bold woman stepped forward, smiling sweetly. "Zehron?"
Zehron blinked, then looked away, uninterested.
The nearby men clenched their jaws.
"Tch. What's so great about him?" one scoffed.
Another huffed. "He's not even that handsome."
A third grumbled, "He's literally glowing in the sunlight."
The group fell silent.
"…That's just sweat," one quickly added.
Just as the women got closer, Zehron's mother stormed in.
"Shoo! Go chase a cow or something!" she scolded, waving them off.
The women groaned but backed away. Zehron sighed, adjusting the logs.
His mother smacked his arm. "Walk faster next time! You're too easy to catch!"
The jealous men snickered. "Hah, saved by his mother."
Her sharp glare had them scattering like startled chickens.
For a week, the dreams wouldn't stop. Every night, he woke up drenched in sweat, his heart pounding, his head aching whenever he tried to remember. He told no one. Maybe he was just losing his mind.
That day, unable to shake the unease, he did what he always did—escaped to the forest.
The towering trees, the gentle streams, the distant hum of life—this was where he felt most at peace. He sat near the water, watching the ripples dance under the sunlight.
Then, from the underbrush, a tiny Fivri emerged.
The small creature had velvety indigo fur, large silver eyes that shimmered like the moon, and a pair of translucent, petal-like ears that twitched with every sound. It tilted its head, staring at Zehron in silent wonder.
Zehron smiled.
The Fivri stiffened, its silver eyes widening in shock. It stood frozen, as if caught under some unspoken enchantment.
Zehron chuckled and gently picked it up, patting its tiny forehead. "Hi," he said softly.
The Fivri blinked rapidly, shaking its head as if snapping out of a spell. It squeaked in surprise, then covered its face with its tiny paws, as if embarrassed.
Suddenly—BAM!
The Fivri was sent flying back, tumbling into the grass with a startled squeak.
Zehron's body tensed. His sharp eyes scanned the area, his senses on high alert. Something wasn't right.
He cautiously stepped forward, his breath steady, his muscles ready for anything. Pushing through the thick foliage, he followed the tension in the air—the shift in energy that made his skin prickle.
Then he saw them.
Two massive, majestic beasts locked in battle.
Their bodies shimmered with an otherworldly glow, their fur and scales laced with ancient power. One had piercing crimson eyes, its deep obsidian body crackling with streaks of goldlike mist, blending into the forest around it. Both bore scars—marks of countless battles, of a history Zehron could not yet understand.
Zehron held his breath, hidden behind a bush, mesmerized.
Then—crack.
His foot landed on the wrong spot. The ground crumbled beneath him.
Before he could react, he tumbled down the hill—not too high, but high enough. The impact sent a sharp sting across his arm, the rough earth scraping his skin. He groaned as a burning sensation spread across his hand and cheekbone, blood seeping from the fresh wounds.
Silence.
He looked up.
The two beasts had stopped fighting.
And now—they were looking directly at him.