The forest east of Rionne was unusually quiet that morning, cloaked in a veil of pale mist. The silence pressed against Elira's ears, so complete that every footstep — every crunch of twigs and brush of leaves — sounded far too loud. The smell of damp earth and pine filled the air, tinged with something faintly metallic, like the echo of a blade unsheathed.
Elira adjusted the strap of her foraging pouch and glanced back over her shoulder. Her silver braid shimmered faintly in the morning light, her blue eyes narrowed in caution.
"Stay close, Rho."
Her little sister gave a mock salute, crimson eyes glinting with playful mischief. She carried a small wicker basket in place of her usual blanket, stepping carefully through the underbrush. "You're acting like we're sneaking into the royal gardens," she teased.
Elira's lips twitched into a faint smile, though her hand lingered near the strap of her pouch as if ready to draw a weapon she didn't have. "Just be careful. People have been saying things feel… strange lately."
The whispers in Rionne had grown sharper these past weeks: livestock disappearing without a trace, claw marks gouged into tree trunks, the acrid smell of smoke drifting through the woods when no fire had been lit. Hunters dismissed it as superstition, but Elira had seen too much to take comfort in their shrugs. The forest she had known since childhood felt changed, unsettled, as though something hidden stirred beneath the surface.
They had come in search of silverleaf, a medicinal herb that grew only near shallow streams. Its pale-green leaves shimmered faintly under the sun, said to glow when the morning dew clung to their edges. The healer had promised them honey in exchange, and that alone had been enough to make Rho's eyes sparkle.
"It's for your sweet tooth, not mine," Elira reminded her as they set out. Rho had only grinned wider, pretending not to hear.
It didn't take long to find the plant. Near a mossy stone, a cluster of silverleaf glimmered in the mist, dew glistening like beads of glass.
"Got it!" Rho exclaimed, crouching to pluck the herb. She held it up triumphantly as if it were a royal treasure. "That's enough, right? Can we go back now? The baker said he'd take out fresh bread by noon."
Elira chuckled, brushing dirt from her hands. She almost answered — then froze.
The forest was silent. Too silent. No sparrows, no rabbits rustling in the brush, not even the stream's song. The air itself felt… muffled, as if the world were holding its breath.
Her body tensed, every instinct screaming. "Rho—"
A low growl rolled from the underbrush, deep enough to vibrate in her chest.
The world erupted in flame and fury.
The beast crashed through the brush, taller than two men, its bulk shaking the ground. Its fur smoldered, streaked with embers that glowed like coal. Its massive back burned as if fire lived beneath its skin. Each exhale sent sparks drifting into the mist.
The Fireback Bear.
Elira's stomach dropped. She had heard tales of hunters torn apart by its claws, of entire caravans destroyed when one wandered too close to the road. She had never imagined seeing one this near to Rionne.
"Run!" Elira shoved Rho aside. The beast's claws tore into the ground where her sister had stood, dirt and leaves exploding into the air.
Elira seized the nearest branch and swung with all her strength. Wood splintered against the monster's shoulder — useless. The bear turned its burning gaze upon her, amber eyes smoldering with hunger.
It inhaled, chest expanding. Heat rippled in the air.
Flames gathered in its throat.
Elira's mind screamed at her to move — but there was no time. Rho lay frozen on the ground, too close, too fragile, crimson eyes wide with terror.
Something inside Elira snapped.
She wasn't thinking. She wasn't calculating. She simply moved.
Planting her feet, she flung out her arms. The words burst from her lips, not learned, not practiced, but torn from somewhere deeper:
"Wind Barrier!"
The world answered.
Air howled, spiraling around her in a furious storm. A translucent wall erupted before them, shimmering like glass. The bear's flames struck head-on.
The explosion seared the clearing, deafening — yet the fire bent, twisted, and vanished into the sky. Smoke curled upward, harmless.
Rho gasped. Elira's chest heaved.
The barrier held.
The beast roared, enraged, and charged. Its claws gouged furrows in the soil, sparks scattering from its burning back.
Elira's blood thundered. Her hands trembled, but not from fear — from power. She thrust her palm forward.
"Gale Strike!"
Wind compressed into a blade, invisible yet sharp, and tore across the bear's snout. Blood and sparks scattered into the mist.
The monster staggered, bellowing. Elira's knees nearly buckled. She had no idea how she had done it — but she had.
The bear lifted its head again. Fury blazed in its ember eyes. It lunged.
And then —
A dark figure descended.
Steel sang.
The glaive's arc split the mist, cleaving into the beast's side with a force that shook the earth. The Fireback Bear reeled, collapsing with a guttural roar.
The woman stood firm as the creature writhed. Her long glaive gleamed with black runes, her black hair tied back from a sharp face, her eyes hard as tempered steel. Cloak snapping in the storm, she looked less like a savior and more like judgment itself.
Five more armored figures emerged from the trees. Their steps were silent, deliberate. Each bore the sigil of a golden triangle with three stars at its points.
The Third Order.
Elira froze. She had heard the name in tavern whispers, in bardic songs. The king's handpicked knights. Elite beyond reckoning. Untouchable. And they were here, in the woods outside Rionne.
One knight drove a blade into the bear's chest, prying free a pulsating crimson shard. The monster's core steamed, still glowing with heat, casting crimson light across the mist.
The black-haired commander's gaze fell on Elira.
"You," she said. Her voice was calm, sharp. "What is your name?"
Elira swallowed, throat dry. "…Elira."
The woman's eyes narrowed, flicking to the faint wisps of wind still swirling around Elira's trembling hands.
"No chant. No catalyst. Yet you shaped barrier and blade. Intermediate-level."
Elira's breath caught. "I… I don't—"
"You're not ordinary." The commander's verdict was cold, absolute, as though a hammer had fallen.
Her gaze shifted. Rho still stood close, clutching a small wooden practice sword she had carried since childhood. Her crimson eyes were fierce, though her body trembled.
The commander's lips curved in something that wasn't quite a smile. "And you—gripping a toy sword as though it could save her. A child obsessed with the blade must learn to face reality."
Rho stiffened, cheeks burning. Elira stepped instinctively in front of her, but the commander's eyes had already moved on.
She raised a hand. "Take them both. The Sanctum will decide."
Two knights approached. Elira's heart raced. "Wait—!"
But Rho seized her arm, refusing to let go. "Where she goes, I go!"
The commander's gaze lingered for a moment, unreadable, before she turned sharply. "Prepare the gryphons."
The knights obeyed without question.
Elira's pulse thundered. Her world was spinning, her thoughts scattered. She wanted to scream, to demand answers, to run — but the memory of the wind in her hands still lingered. Power she couldn't deny.
As the gryphons spread their vast wings, the mist around them scattered. Rho pressed close, whispering fiercely, "I'm not leaving you."
Elira clutched her sister's hand, blue eyes lifting to the sky.
Their quiet life in Rionne was over.
Whatever awaited at the Sanctum, it had already begun.