"Light reveals the path, but shadows remember where it leads."
The next morning began not with birdsong, but with the faint ringing of the village bell. It was rare to hear it outside of festivals or warnings. Lior hurried out of his small cabin, heart pounding, and saw villagers gathering near the square.
Elder Thane stood at the front, his expression grave. "Last night," he began, "a merchant caravan was attacked near the northern road. Only one survivor remains."
Murmurs filled the crowd. Lior's thoughts went immediately to Nyra. He felt his stomach twist as the elder continued.
"The man claims the assailant was not beast nor bandit, but something that moved like mist and spoke in voices not its own. Whatever it was, it took everything; goods, horses, and lives."
Thane raised his staff and the murmuring quieted. "This is no common danger. Those who must travel, do so only by daylight."
The crowd slowly dispersed, their faces pale. Lior lingered, unease gnawing at him. He turned to Thane. "Do you think it's connected to the mana?"
Thane's eyes met his, old and knowing. "All things are connected, Lior. But this-this feels older than mana itself. Like something that was never meant to wake."
He placed a hand on Lior's shoulder. "For now, continue your training. The world does not wait for fear to pass."
Lior nodded, though the weight of the elder's words settled heavily in his chest.
By midday, he found himself once again at the stream, practicing the stillness Thane had taught him. He tried to listen for the flow of mana, to hear the pulse beneath the earth. But this time, there was something else. A faint hum, like a whisper on the edge of hearing.
"Lior…"
He opened his eyes sharply. The voice had been soft, almost tender. He glanced around, but there was no one there. The forest stood still, the wind absent.
"Lior," it came again, clearer now, from the water itself.
The stream rippled though no wind touched it. He leaned closer, heart hammering. Beneath the surface, for just a moment, he thought he saw a reflection — not his own, but of a woman with pale eyes and hair like silver mist.
Then the image shattered, and the stream was calm again.
He stumbled back, gasping. The mark on his hand burned faintly. He clenched his fist, trembling. "What was that?"
Later that evening, he told Thane what had happened. The elder listened in silence, his brow furrowed.
"The spirits of the stream are usually harmless," Thane said finally. "But if one speaks to you directly, it means it has recognized something within you. Did it ask for anything?"
"No," Lior said. "It just said my name."
"That alone is reason to be cautious," Thane murmured. "Names hold power, Lior. Never give yours to something you do not understand."
Before Lior could respond, Kael appeared at the doorway, carrying two wooden swords. "If you're done whispering to water, perhaps you'll spar with someone who can actually hit back."
Lior managed a small smile. "You're persistent."
Kael grinned. "You're improving. I like breaking a sweat before dinner."
They moved to the clearing near the edge of the village. The air was thick with the scent of pine and smoke. Kael took his stance while Lior mirrored him, recalling the lessons Thane had shared — balance, rhythm, focus.
Their wooden blades clashed with sharp, ringing sounds. Kael pressed hard, his strikes fast and heavy, but Lior had learned to flow with the motion rather than resist it. He deflected, sidestepped, and let Kael's strength turn against him.
For a moment, he felt it again. That pulse of mana beneath his skin, guiding his movements. His strike came faster than his thought, and Kael's sword went flying from his hand.
Kael stared in disbelief. "You're getting dangerous, aren't you?"
Lior laughed, breathless. "Or maybe you're getting slow."
Kael smirked and retrieved his sword. "Next time, I'll use steel."
As the two of them walked back toward the village, the sun dipped below the horizon, bathing Elyndra in amber light. Lior felt lighter, the tension of the morning fading with every step.
But that peace shattered the moment they reached the square.
The bell was ringing again.
Villagers ran in panic, shouting. Smoke rose from the northern path, and through the haze came a figure cloaked in black, dragging a wounded man behind him.
Lior froze. The man's eyes were wide with terror, his mouth moving soundlessly before he collapsed.
The cloaked figure lifted his head, revealing a face pale as bone, eyes like molten gold. When he spoke, his voice was both human and not.
"The child of two worlds has awakened," the being said softly. "And the balance will break."
The mark on Lior's hand flared in pain. The air around him shimmered, and for an instant, he felt the same pull he had when he first arrived in Elyndra. That tearing sensation between two realities.
Thane appeared beside him, his staff glowing. "You will not touch him!"
The being tilted his head, amused. "You cannot protect him forever, old one. The threads of fate are already fraying."
Then, before anyone could move, the creature dissolved into mist and vanished.
Silence fell, broken only by the ragged breathing of the villagers. Lior looked at Thane, who seemed older than ever.
"What did he mean?" Lior asked quietly.
Thane's eyes were full of sorrow. "It means the past has found you, Lior. And it will not let go."
That night, as the moon rose high above the trembling village, Lior sat alone outside his cabin. The mark still glowed faintly under his skin, and no matter how tightly he closed his hand, it would not fade.
He looked toward the northern woods, where the mist hung heavy, and thought of the voice in the stream, the reflection that wasn't his, and the words of the golden-eyed being.
Something was coming.
And he knew deep down, it had come for him.