Chapter 1: The Whispering Forest
The sky over Thornhollow was painted in hues of burnt orange and deep violet as the last light of day faded beyond the forest's edge. A breeze rolled down from the hills, carrying the scent of moss, wildflowers, and something older—something ancient.
Kavin, seventeen, stood alone on the ridge just beyond the village's worn stone path, eyes fixed on the mist-draped forest that bordered their world. The Duskreach Forest. A forbidden place wrapped in legend and fear, where no one entered without leaving part of themselves behind.
His fingers brushed the hilt of the old blade strapped to his waist. The handle was worn smooth, and the runes etched into its steel had faded. A relic from his father, a man whose face Kavin barely remembered. The sword pulsed faintly, warm beneath his touch.
Behind him, the village chimed with evening bells. Smoke rose from chimneys, children were called inside, and lanterns blinked to life along the narrow paths of Velmoria's outermost village. But Kavin was not listening. His gaze was fixed on the shifting shadows among the trees.
They were calling him again.
Inside the modest cottage near the edge of town, Eyla, Kavin's grandmother, stirred a pot of luminous blue herbs over the hearth fire. The room was filled with the scent of mint, lavender, and dragonroot.
"You were watching the forest again," she said without turning. Her voice was gentle but edged with worry.
Kavin stepped in, brushing leaves off his tunic. "It was just a look."
"A look can be the first step toward being lost," she said. "Your father used to say that too, before he vanished into those same trees."
Kavin didn't answer. He sat down at the table, where a bowl of warm stew waited for him. But the hunger in his stomach couldn't compete with the storm in his mind.
"What if there's something in there I'm meant to find?" he finally asked.
Eyla set down the spoon and looked him in the eyes. "Not all things that whisper your name are meant to be followed."
That night, Kavin couldn't sleep.
He lay awake beneath the stars, restless, the forest's hum echoing in his veins. A strange warmth burned beneath his skin.
Sometime past midnight, his dreams twisted into visions—a bird made of flame soaring through a sky of stars. Its cry shattered the darkness. As it circled overhead, fire trailing from its wings, it turned its eyes to Kavin and sang:
"Kavin... Kavin... the time is near..."
He woke gasping, drenched in sweat.
And there, glowing on the back of his hand, was a shimmering star-shaped sigil. It pulsed with faint light before fading into his skin.
He stared in disbelief. "What… was that?"
The next morning, panic gripped Thornhollow.
A rider arrived from the capital—his horse foam-mouthed, his cloak tattered by claw marks. The villagers crowded around as he dismounted, nearly collapsing.
"Velmoria... is under attack!" the man gasped. "Creatures from the Shadowlands... they've crossed the river border... The Queen calls all who can fight."
Gasps and murmurs filled the air. Eyla turned pale beside Kavin. She clutched his arm tightly.
"No," she whispered. "You can't—"
But Kavin couldn't take his eyes off the soldier's trembling hands... and the darkness clawing at the horizon.
He knew then: the whispers, the dreams, the glowing mark—it was all leading to this.
He wasn't meant for silence.
He was meant for battle.
That evening, Kavin stood before the edge of the Duskreach Forest—his father's blade at his side, a satchel of herbs and food on his back.
Eyla had tried to stop him. She had cried. But in the end, she pressed her forehead to his and whispered, "Then go find who you were meant to be. And don't forget where you come from."
The trees loomed before him, vast and silent. The forest pulsed with old magic, alive and listening.
Kavin took a breath. One step. Then another.
With each footfall, the air grew thicker, humming with energy.
Somewhere, deep within the Duskreach, the firebird stirred again.