Chapter 11 – The First Shadow
The days in Breya passed quietly after Lysera's departure, but the silence felt brittle, like glass ready to shatter. Eryndor tried to live normally—helping his foster father repair fences, laughing with his mother at the hearth, sneaking away at night to train with Aethros under starlight.
Yet the dream of wings and fire haunted him.
And then, one night, the dream walked into reality.
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The Omen
The village dogs began to howl, their voices sharp with terror. The air grew heavy, pressing against every chest like unseen chains. The moon vanished behind black clouds, though no storm brewed.
Aethros' staff flared with warning. His face turned grim.
"They've sent someone."
Before Eryndor could ask, the ground split at the village's edge. From the rift crawled a figure cloaked in obsidian flame, eyes glowing like embers. His presence was suffocating, every step crushing grass into ash.
The villagers screamed and scattered, but his gaze never wavered. It locked onto Eryndor.
"I am Kaelith, Blade of War," the being declared, voice like clashing steel. "By order of the Pantheon, you are to be erased."
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The Clash
Kaelith moved faster than mortal eyes could follow. His blade, forged from the core of a dead star, streaked toward Eryndor's chest.
But instinct surged. Silver light burst from Eryndor's palms, forming a barrier that split the air with thunder. The clash shook the village, roofs splintering, windows shattering.
Kaelith snarled. "So the spark awakens."
Eryndor gritted his teeth, forcing the barrier to hold. Behind him, he heard his mother's cry, his father's shout. He could not falter—not here, not with them watching.
He pushed forward, light and shadow weaving in his veins. Fire clashed with silver, steel met radiance, until the night itself seemed to burn.
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The Breaking Point
But Kaelith was no mortal foe. Each strike carried the weight of divine wrath. Eryndor staggered, blood in his mouth, his body screaming in protest.
Aethros shouted from the sidelines. "Eryndor! Do not fight like a mortal—remember who you are!"
And in that moment, Eryndor let go of fear. He reached deeper—not into light, not into dark, but into the space between. A silver radiance exploded outward, not destructive but balancing. Kaelith's flames faltered, his blade slowed, as though the world itself resisted him.
The god of war's assassin stumbled, eyes wide with shock. "Impossible…"
Eryndor's voice rang clear, calm despite the chaos. "I am Balance. And I will not let you take this from me."
With one final surge, the silver light blasted Kaelith backward into the rift. The ground sealed shut, leaving only silence and scorched earth.
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Aftermath
The villagers stared at Eryndor with wide, fearful eyes. Some bowed their heads in awe. Others whispered, voices trembling with both reverence and terror.
His foster mother ran forward, clutching him despite the burning silver still flickering on his skin. "You're alive… thank the heavens…"
But Eryndor knew the truth. The heavens had no intention of saving him.
This was only the first shadow. More would come. Stronger. Relentless.
And if he faltered, not just his family—but both worlds—would burn.