Lys Arven woke with his heart pounding, his breath ragged, and cold sweat clinging to his temples. He had just dreamed of something strange, wings of light stretching across the sky, vast and blinding, as though they covered the entire world. In that dream, he stood in the middle of a field drowned in white fire, and the winged figure looked at him without eyes yet somehow, he knew the being was staring straight into his soul. When those wings beat, the ground beneath him trembled, and all that light turned into a wave of fire that devoured everything. Then, darkness. When Lys opened his eyes again, the night sky outside his window had already turned pale caught between dawn and the remnants of a dream that refused to fade.
He rubbed his face with both hands, trying to calm himself. The morning air felt damp, carrying the scent of soil and dew from the valley. Outside, the soft bleating of sheep called to him, as if reminding him that the day would not wait. With reluctant steps, Lys rose, grabbed the worn wool cloak hanging from a chair, and stepped outside his small wooden hut. The air bit at his skin sharp and cold enough to make him shiver. The Verdan Valley was still wrapped in a thin veil of mist, and the newborn sunlight pierced through it like fragile golden threads.
Lys looked around. Life in this valley meant living in long silences. There weren't many people here just a few families of farmers and shepherds scattered among the fields and hills. The rest was only open meadow, a narrow river, and the dark outline of forests in the distance. He knew every stone and path in this land he had been born and raised here. Yet even after seventeen years, he had never truly felt like he belonged. There was always something missing something hollow that he could never name.
He walked down a small slope toward the pen. His sheep were already restless, kicking at the wooden fence. Lys opened the gate and let them out. The sound of their hooves mixed with the valley wind, forming a rhythm that was strangely soothing. As he led the flock toward the northern pasture, his thoughts returned to the dream. He was not the kind who easily believed in strange things, but that dream had felt different too real, too heavy. He could still feel the heat of that light on his skin and hear a trembling voice echoing in his mind, saying words he could not understand.
By the time he reached the top of a hill, the sun had climbed a little higher, burning away the mist below. The Verdan Valley spread wide before him like a green cloth embroidered with a silver river. Lys took a deep breath, trying to shake off the memory of the dream. Yet beneath the calm, a quiet unease lingered. He felt as though something watched him from behind the tranquil sky, waiting for the right moment to descend.
The day passed slowly, as it always did. Lys grazed his sheep across the meadow, sitting on a large rock and spending hours watching the clouds drift by. Sometimes he scribbled notes in a tattered notebook he carried everywhere about wind directions, cloud shapes, or the number of lambs born this season. He never knew why he did it. Perhaps it was because observing the world was the only thing that made him feel alive. But today, something was different. The air felt heavier. The sunlight seemed paler. Even the birds had gone quiet.
By late afternoon, as the sun dipped behind the western hills, Lys felt uneasy. His sheep, too, seemed agitated they stopped grazing, lifting their heads toward the sky, bleating softly. He looked up, trying to see what they sensed. The sky seemed normal at first, but slowly, the clouds above the valley began to twist, pulling toward a single point in the northern sky. There, a thin line of light appeared like a crack forming in the air itself.
Lys squinted. The crack brightened, stretching and slicing through the clouds. He rose to his feet without realizing it, eyes widening. That light it wasn't a shooting star. It was too large. Too close. And it was falling faster with every passing second.
A low rumble began to roll through the air, growing louder until the ground trembled beneath his boots. His sheep panicked, scattering in all directions. Lys tried to calm them, but his voice was drowned out by a thunderous explosion that tore across the heavens. A blinding flash split the horizon, and an instant later, a shockwave hit flattening the grass and shaking the trees. Lys was thrown to the ground, his knee striking a rock.
He turned. The light had crashed at the far end of the valley, slamming into the earth with a deafening roar. Birds scattered from the trees. The ground quaked, and from the impact site, white smoke billowed into the sky. Lys froze, staring. His breath came short and fast caught between fear and disbelief.
For a long moment, the world seemed to stop. Only the whisper of the wind and the distant echo of the explosion remained. Slowly, Lys stood, his body trembling. He knew he should run go home but something deep inside urged him forward. Curiosity burned within him, stronger than fear, as though some part of him recognized that falling light.
Cautiously, he made his way down the hill toward the crash site. The mist thickened again, now laced with the scent of scorched earth and metal. The air was warm not like fire, but like static clinging to the skin. Ahead, the ground was torn open, forming a wide crater that hissed with steam.
When he finally reached the edge of the crater, Lys stopped. The sight before him stole his breath. At the center, amid melted stone and blackened soil, something glowed soft and blue. Not stone. Not metal. The light pulsed faintly, like the heartbeat of a living thing.
He stepped closer, knees weak, curiosity pulling him onward. From within the glow came a faint sound a whisper too distant to understand, yet close enough to feel real. He swallowed hard, leaning in for a better look. Then, the surface of the light rippled, and something began to emerge.
The figure was large and beautiful. A winged being, its body made of silver-blue radiance, like living crystal. Its wings were fractured, parts of its form steaming gently, each crack bleeding motes of light that floated into the air. Lys stood frozen. He had never seen anything like it.
The creature stirred, lifting its head slightly before stopping. Though it had no eyes, Lys knew it was watching him. There was something in that unseen gaze something that made him feel small, and yet... connected.
The air vibrated, and a voice filled his mind. It wasn't heard through his ears it spoke directly into his consciousness. Deep, calm, and powerful enough to make his heart race.
"You heard the call," the voice said.
Lys swallowed. "Was it you... calling me?"
"I am Aetherion," the voice replied. "The first wing of the seven lights that guard the skies. I have fallen, and the world calls me to life once more."
Lys stumbled back. "I don't understand," he stammered. "Why me? I'm just a shepherd. I don't even know what's happening."
"You carry the echo of light within your blood," said the voice, gentle yet firm. "And that is enough. This world has long lost its balance. I did not come to burn it, but to restore it. Yet I cannot endure alone."
The being lifted its broken wings slightly. Shards of light scattered like glass but instead of fading, they drifted toward Lys. He tried to shield himself, but the lights passed through his skin, entering his body. He screamed.
Heat flared through him, spreading from his chest like a living fire. Strange images flooded his mind burning skies, oceans of shimmering light, winged figures standing atop silver towers, and stars falling one by one. He saw it all in an instant then darkness swallowed everything.
When he hit the ground, his breath came in sharp gasps. On his chest, a glowing mark appeared a circle surrounded by seven faint, winglike lines. The light pulsed, then dimmed.
The voice spoke again, softer now.
"You are my vessel, Lys Arven. You and I are bound by light. Sleep... when dawn comes, we shall speak again."
His strength left him. The world faded. The last thing he saw was the night sky spinning above him then, nothing.
Lys woke with a heavy head and blurred vision. The air was colder than before, yet his body felt warm, as though fire burned within his chest. Slowly, he sat up, leaning against a rock, trying to make sense of what had happened. The crater was still there, but the light at its center was gone only scorched earth and the scent of ozone remained.
He touched his chest. The mark was still there, faint but alive, pulsing beneath the skin. A whisper brushed his thoughts soft as breath.
"I am here, Lys."
He stared at the ground. "So... it wasn't a dream."
"No. The world is changing. You must be ready."
Lys rose on trembling legs. His body felt light, yet strange as if part of him no longer belonged to himself. He looked out across the valley. Everything looked the same, yet he sensed that something vast had shifted beneath the surface of the world.
Then came the sound of horses. He turned and saw riders approaching from the far ridge soldiers bearing black banners marked with winged chains: the sigil of the Order of Skybinders. They were moving fast, heading straight for the crater.
"They can sense my presence," Aetherion's voice warned. "You must go now."
"Where?" Lys asked, panic rising.
"South. The Senra Forest. They cannot follow my trace there."
Lys didn't think. He turned and ran down the valley slope. The thunder of hooves grew louder, shaking the ground. His breath came in ragged bursts, but whenever he stumbled, an unseen force seemed to steady him guiding his steps.
When he crossed the stream, faint blue light appeared around his feet, helping him leap across the slick stones. He glanced down in shock but didn't stop running. Aetherion's voice returned, calm yet resolute.
"Do not fear me. I do not wish to rule you. I wish to survive. And through you, I can."
The wind howled across the valley. Behind him, the soldiers descended the hill, their torches flickering through the fog. Lys cast one last look toward his distant home the small hut that had been his world. He knew, after this night, he would never see it again.
He ran through the meadows, leapt over stones, pushed through tangled branches until the trees rose before him like black towers. The edge of the Senra Forest. Dark. Deep. Waiting. To Lys, it felt like a refuge calling his name.
He paused at the treeline, catching his breath. "What happens to me now?" he whispered.
"You are bound to the light, Lys Arven. Your fate has just begun."
Lys looked up once more. In the sky above, the faint scar of light still lingered a wound that refused to heal. He knew his life would never be the same. He didn't know who that being truly was, or why he had been chosen. But deep inside, he felt something powerful an undeniable sense that none of this was by chance.
With heavy steps, he entered the forest. The mist closed behind him, swallowing the Verdan Valley and all the memories it held. The old world ended there.And within the silence of the woods, something new began to breathe.
Above the valley, the sky dimmed, while deep beneath the trees, a shepherd boy walked toward a destiny even the gods had long forgotten to write.