The next morning, the village was quiet, too quiet.No children laughed. No hammers rang. No birds sang. The air itself held its breath, as though even the wind feared to make a sound.Adam stood alone in the clearing where Walter had first trained him. His arms trembled from fatigue, muscles screaming from yesterday’s punishment. Bruises painted his sides like ink stains, and two of his fingers were swollen from parrying wrong.But still, he swung the wooden sword.One. Two. Three.The wind whistled against the blade. His feet dug into the damp earth. His breath came in ragged, controlled bursts.Then came the voice.“Better,” Walter said, stepping from the trees. He moved without sound, like a shadow given form. “Still sloppy, but better.”Adam straightened. “Didn’t hear you.”“That’s the point. If you hear your killer, you’ve already lost.”Walter approached, his robe trailing frost behind him despite the lack of snow.“What’s next?” Adam asked, tightening his grip.Walter’s eyes n

The borderlands stank of death. Not of fresh death that was sharp and coppery. This was old death, woven into the soil, thick in the rivers, clinging to the very wind. It smelled of rust and ash, of ancient bones ground into powder beneath decades of boots and beast claws.Adam walked the edge of a cracked road, flanked on either side by scorched trees and decaying fences. His boots were caked in dried blood. His blade still plain to look at hung loosely from his hip, its essence now humming beneath the surface like a sleeping beast.He hadn’t seen another living soul in two days.But he wasn’t alone. Not truly.He could feel them now. Aura signatures. Hidden energies flickering in the distance like lanterns under murky water. Some were small animals, human, dying. Others were vast and cold and wrong, waiting behind the trees like forgotten gods.This land had once belonged to men.Now it belonged to war.He crested a ridge at dusk and saw them: the war camps.Dozens of them spread li

The forest between Skyreach and the Maw was known only as the Gray Veil.Legends whispered that its trees were older than the kingdoms, older than the gods, older than death itself. Each step Adam took down the moss-covered path felt like walking through the bones of something ancient and slumbering.No birds sang here. No wind stirred the branches. Just total silence and eyes.Always, the feeling of being watched.“Keep your blade loose,” Nyra whispered. “The Gray Veil doesn’t forgive mistakes.”Adam nodded. His fingers hovered near his sword. A faint, ghostly light pulsed in the depths of the woods. Essence drifted from cracks in the bark of dead trees. Spirits, perhaps. Or remnants of old battles.He stepped over a fallen root, and the air shifted.Then he heard the whispers again.But these were different from the ones in the ravine. These were clear. Familiar."Adam..."He froze.That voice wasn’t Nyra’s nor was it anyone in this world.It was his mother’s."Adam, why did you lea

Walter's eyes narrowed as he leaned on his curved sword which was planted in the earth like a marker between worlds. "Are you ready?" Walter echoed, his voice dry as cracked parchment. He glanced at Nyra and Selene, standing a few paces behind. Nyra's spear rested against her shoulder, her expression was guarded. Selene's gaze was serene, but her presence hummed with unspoken power, like a storm held in check. Adam nodded, his fists tight. The flame inside him was raw and hungry pushing against his ribs. "I've seen too much. Lost too much. Teach me to control this." Walter's lips twitched, as he held back a smile. "Control? Boy, that's the least of it. Come." He turned, leading them deeper into the Bloodpine Forest. The trees grew thicker, their bark etched with faint runes that glowed when shadows fell across them. No beasts stirred. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. They walked for hours, until the canopy opened to a clearing ringed by ancient stones. Moss-covered pilla