When he awoke, he was no longer in the ruins. Torches flickered along stone walls, casting dancing shadows over ancient runes etched into the floors and ceilings. The air smelled of damp stone and old incense. He was in a fortress, massive and hidden within a mountain. And he realized—he was no longer a boy from a small village. He was something else. Something bigger.
And the guardians… they had no intention of letting him leave.
---
Arian woke to a strange chill, the kind that seeped into your bones and refused to leave. The air smelled of damp stone and faint incense, a mixture both foreign and oddly familiar, as if the scent carried whispers of forgotten memories. His head throbbed from the previous night's storm, and his eyes blinked against the flickering torchlight. The floor beneath him was cold stone, uneven and carved with intricate symbols. He sat up slowly, muscles stiff, and looked around.
Tall, cloaked figures stood around him, silent yet commanding. Their faces were hidden in shadow, but their presence pressed upon him like a tangible weight. Arian swallowed hard. His voice felt useless, like it had been trapped in his throat by some invisible force.
"Where… where am I?" he croaked.
One of the figures stepped forward. The hood fell back to reveal a man of indeterminate age. His steel-gray hair and sharp eyes contrasted with the lines etched deeply on his face, a map of battles and burdens long endured. His gaze pinned Arian in place, weighing him, studying him.
"You are safe," the man said. "But your safety does not come without consequence. You have awakened—yet alone. This is… unusual."
Arian's brows furrowed. "Awakened? I don't understand."
"You survived," said another voice, smoother and colder. "And not by chance. Your body… it resonates with power most cannot comprehend."
Arian glanced around. There were five of them, each cloaked, each radiating authority and discipline. The one who had spoken first—Master Kaelor, as the others silently introduced him—approached. His steps were deliberate, measured, echoing in the massive hall.
"You are now within the stronghold of the **Guardians of the Fifth Gate**," Kaelor said. "We protect the balance. We guard what you cannot yet understand. And you… are connected to something far greater than yourself."
Arian tried to speak, tried to form questions, but the words dissolved into a knot of fear and confusion. He only managed a whisper.
"Connected… how?"
Kaelor's eyes softened, a hint of sadness passing through their steel depths. "By blood. By thread. By fate."
He paused, letting the weight of the words settle. "You possess threads… more than anyone I have ever seen. One of them—the fifth—is forbidden. Dangerous. Untamed. And yet… it calls to you."
Arian shivered. Threads? Forbidden power? He did not understand. Yet deep within, something stirred. A pull, a heartbeat he had never felt before. A strange thrill mixed with terror.
---
The Guardians led him through narrow corridors carved from stone, adorned with glowing runes and the faint shimmer of blood-red sigils etched along the walls. Every step echoed, every sound amplified, yet the silence in the fortress was complete. Outside, he could see faint light creeping through cracks in the mountainside, hinting at a world that no longer resembled the one he knew.
They brought him to a chamber, circular and high-ceilinged, where the floor was marked with a series of concentric rings. Kaelor gestured toward the rings.
"This is where you will begin. You will train, learn control, and awaken what sleeps within you. But understand this—power without discipline is destruction. Uncontrolled threads will consume the user, or worse… transform him."
Arian swallowed hard, his heart racing. "I don't even know what I'm capable of. How can I control… this?"
Kaelor's gaze was steady. "You will. Or you will be destroyed."
---
Days passed, though Arian lost all sense of time. The Guardians fed him, taught him, and observed him. He learned to focus, to sense the threads within him—glimmering, faint, almost invisible strands of energy that responded to thought, emotion, and willpower. At first, attempts to manipulate them were clumsy, destructive. A flick of a hand and the thread would snap violently. A thought of anger and the thread would lash out uncontrollably.
Yet there was a part of him—small, elusive—that thrived on it. A spark. A thrill. The faint promise of mastery. He began to feel alive in a way he had never known before.
It was during one of these training sessions that he first saw her—**Lianna**.
Tall, disciplined, her every movement precise, her dark hair tied back in a practical braid. Her eyes, sharp and alert, watched him with a mixture of curiosity and exasperation. She had been observing silently for days, waiting for him to fail or succeed.
"You're strong in theory," she said one morning during sparring practice, her voice like tempered steel. She moved effortlessly, sweeping his legs out from under him in a single motion. "But terrible at everything else."
Arian groaned on the cold stone floor, damp from the morning mist seeping through the open windows. "Thanks… I guess?"
Lianna exhaled sharply, brushing dirt from her tunic. "You're so oblivious it's painful."
"I… what cue?" he asked, confused.
"Exactly," she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You don't even recognize a warning when it's staring at you in the face."
Despite himself, Arian smiled. For the first time in what felt like forever, a human reaction—small, tentative, yet genuine—escaped him.
---
Training intensified. Every day was a new trial: combat against shadows that moved with unnatural speed, puzzles inscribed on ancient walls that tested intellect and patience, and endurance runs that left his body screaming in pain.
He learned to stretch the threads from his fingertips, to weave them into thin lines of sharp crimson energy, but control was fleeting. A strike that succeeded one moment would fail disastrously the next. The fifth thread—the one that pulsed faintly within him—was a mystery. It hummed with energy unlike the others, whispering secrets in a language he could not understand.
Late at night, he would stare at his hands, imagining what it could do. He could feel it calling, demanding, waiting for him to understand.
And yet, he did not know if it was a gift… or a curse.
---
One evening, after exhausting drills and meditation, Kaelor called him aside. His eyes glinted in the torchlight, serious and commanding.
"You survived something no one else could. Your village… destroyed. All gone. Yet you are here. Alive. That is not chance. That is fate."
Arian clenched his fists. "Why me? Why was I spared?"
Kaelor's expression softened. "Because you were chosen. Your life has a purpose greater than survival. One day, you will understand. Until then… train. Learn. Prepare. The threads will guide you… if you listen."
The words echoed in Arian's mind long after Kaelor left. The chamber was silent, save for the dripping of water from the stone ceiling and his own heartbeat. Something deep inside him had changed. He felt different, awakened to a potential he could not yet name.
Outside the fortress, the sky was gray, the clouds heavy with rain yet again. But inside, Arian felt something more potent than the storm—something unstoppable. Power. Responsibility. Fate.
And the shadows outside were only the beginning.
---