The first light of dawn crept slowly across the Whispering River, painting its surface in fragile strokes of gold and silver. A soft mist rose from the water, curling around the reeds and low hanging branches of the ancient trees lining the riverbank. The forest was alive in ways most did not notice. Tiny droplets clung to spider webs, reflecting the pale sunlight like scattered stars. Leaves rustled faintly, as if whispering secrets of days long past, and somewhere in the distance, the low murmur of an owl surrendered to the morning chorus of birdsong.
Eldon, the village fisherman, moved carefully along the riverbank. His wooden staff tapped rhythmically against stones and roots, each step deliberate, yet cautious. Age had bent his back and softened his gait, but his eyes remained sharp, alert to the world around him. He carried a simple woven basket in one hand, meant for the morning's catch, though today his thoughts were elsewhere.
The village of Evershade was small and hidden, cradled by towering trees and distant cliffs. Its residents lived simply, their lives intertwined with the forest. Eldon knew every bend in the river, every moss-covered stone along the banks, and every secret whisper of wind through the leaves. Yet this morning, something felt wrong. A strange chill, almost imperceptible, brushed against his skin, making the hair on his arms stand.
And then he saw it.
Near the edge of the river, partially hidden among reeds and mud, lay a small boy. Wet and shivering, he was still and fragile, as though he had been cast aside by the world. His clothes were torn, muddied, and clung to him in dark patches, giving the impression that he had survived a violent storm or battle. His hair, black as raven feathers, plastered to his pale cheeks, and his thin frame shook under the morning chill.
But what made Eldon freeze in place were the markings on the boy's arms.
Faint, yet unmistakable, glowing streaks ran across the skin, like embers beneath ash. They pulsed slightly with each faint breath, fading when Eldon stared too long, almost as if they sensed his gaze and hid. These markings were not the work of nature. They were something ancient. Something alive.
Eldon's heart thumped, and instinct overtook caution. He knelt beside the boy, brushing wet hair from his face. "By the spirits… what has happened to you, child?" he whispered.
The boy did not respond. Not immediately. His chest rose and fell shallowly, a weak but steady pulse beneath pale skin. His fingers twitched. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he opened his eyes.
Eldon froze.
They were not normal eyes.
At first glance, they were a deep, impenetrable shade of black, like the void between stars. But as the boy blinked, a faint glimmer of light shone at the center of each iris a pale, dying star, flickering yet stubborn. The sight was mesmerizing, disorienting, and Eldon felt a shiver crawl up his spine.
"Easy, lad… you're safe," Eldon said softly, keeping his voice calm despite the sudden spike of fear. "Do you… remember anything? Your name? Where you came from?"
The boy shook his head. Not a word escaped his lips. Not a sound. Not even a whimper. Silence clung to him like a shroud.
Eldon's chest tightened. There was something unnatural about this child. Something ancient. Something hidden. And yet, even in this frailty, there was a weight, a presence, as if the boy carried a fragment of the world's power in his small frame.
Gently, Eldon placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Then I will give you a name," he murmured. "A name to hold until you discover your own." He looked down, scanning the boy's face as though searching for a sign of recognition. The mist hovered above the water, curling as if listening.
"You name shall be… Ashreign," Eldon declared. "You rose from the river's ash-gray mist. Perhaps one day… you will reign over your own destiny."
The boy blinked, eyes reflecting the dawn. He did not speak, but he did not resist. A subtle understanding passed between them, fragile and unspoken. For the first time since being found, Ashreign's eyes softened.
Eldon lifted him carefully, noting how unnaturally light the boy felt. He almost seemed to float in his arms, a whisper of weightlessness that was unsettling. Something inside Eldon stirred a mixture of awe and fear. This child was no ordinary being.
As they walked back toward Evershade Village, the forest seemed to observe them. Shadows stretched unnaturally along the path, and the wind carried whispers too faint to catch. Leaves quivered, and the distant cries of animals sounded sharper than normal. Eldon felt it in his bones: the child's presence had awakened something, and unseen eyes were tracking them.
When they reached the village, whispers erupted immediately.
"Who is that?"
"Look at those markings… do you see them?"
"Eldon, what have you brought us?"
Eldon raised his hand, silencing them. "He is a child," he said firmly. "Lost. Weak. And in need of a home. Nothing more."
The villagers hesitated. Children peeked shyly from behind fences. Women and men exchanged nervous glances, some fearful, some curious.
Elder Marah, the village's wise woman, approached. Her eyes were sharp, ancient, seeming to pierce time itself. Her voice, though gentle, carried authority.
"Child… your heart carries a silence heavier than most," she said, kneeling in front of Ashreign. Her fingers brushed the boy's cheek. "Fear resides in you, yet I sense a spark, a shadowed light that has yet to awaken. This village will shelter you… until you discover who you are, and what you are meant to become."
Ashreign met her gaze with quiet stillness. Though he did not understand her words, a small warmth began to bloom inside him. For the first time, he felt the strange comfort of safety.
That night, the village slept under a moon pale and watchful. Candles flickered in cottages, and the soft snores of exhausted villagers mingled with the rustling of the trees. All seemed calm.
But in the shadows above the treetops, a figure perched silently. Eyes glowed faintly in the dark, reflecting the light of the moon in sharp, dangerous arcs. The figure was hidden in black feathers and smoke, its form almost indistinguishable from the night.
"So… he survived," it whispered, voice smooth and menacing. "The child has returned… or has been left behind. Either way, the clan must know."
The figure extended a hand, revealing a small shard pulsating with a faint inner light. The glow reflected in its eyes like a beacon a warning, a signal, a command. Then, with a swirl of shadow and smoke, it vanished into the forest, leaving only silence in its wake.
Ashreign slept peacefully, unaware that his arrival had already disturbed forces older than the forest itself. Somewhere, unseen, enemies stirred. Ancient powers that had slumbered for centuries now shifted, drawn by the boy whose eyes held both darkness and light.
The world of Arkanis had begun to awaken.