The world outside the woods was colder.
Colder than the embers of Eloryn. Colder than the silence that followed death. Arian moved through the wilderness like a ghost—silent, hollow-eyed, and half-starved. Hunger gnawed at his ribs. His breath steamed in the morning and chilled. His silver-streaked eyes scanned every root and bush, hoping for something edible. Often, he found nothing but bark and bitter herbs.
The forest gave way to forgotten lands. He wandered past broken roads that once led to bustling cities, now swallowed by time. Forgotten shrines crumbled under moss, their stone idols broken, their prayers scattered like ash. Ivy climbed over collapsed towers, their insides hollowed by fire and decay. Signs of a kingdom lost long ago whispered stories in the wind.
He had no destination—only motion. With no guidance but instinct and a flickering memory of his father's words, his feet carried him through a land that had nothing left to offer.
Each night, he dreamt of fire. Of screams. Of his father's voice calling his name.
Of silver light that poured from his body like living mercury. Of whispers—soft, feminine, urgent—but without meaning. Just echoes.
The pain in his chest never faded. It wasn't physical—at least, not entirely. It throbbed under his skin like a drumbeat. As if something within him stirred restlessly. As if a second heartbeat wanted to break free.
He pressed on.
Scavenging roots, thistles, and shriveled berries. He stole stale bread from abandoned carts or wayward travelers, darting like a shadow through the underbrush. Once, he found a half-eaten apple and cried when it touched his tongue.
He avoided cities and even small villages. People didn't trust boys with empty eyes and tattered clothes. Arian learned quickly that mercy was rare on the roads.
He survived for weeks. Maybe months. Time blurred.
Then—his body gave out.
The last thing he remembered was stumbling beside a wide, crystalline lake. Its waters were so still they reflected the moon perfectly. He saw himself—bloodied, gaunt, hair matted to his face. A scar curled along his collarbone, marking where flames had once licked him. The silver mark on his chest pulsed faintly.
Then—darkness.
"Oi! He's breathing!"
"Barely. Think he's a bandit?"
"Look at him. Kid's all bones and bruises."
Arian opened his eyes. Sunlight stabbed through the haze. Four men hovered above him, their faces blurry at first—hardened, soot-streaked, and frowning. They smelled of sweat and earth. Miners.
"Easy, lad," one said. A thick-armed man with a crooked nose and kind eyes. His voice was rough but not unkind. "You're safe now. You nearly died out there."
Arian tried to sit up, but a pain shot through his side. He grunted, curling slightly. His ribs ached with every breath.
"Don't move. You're lucky Korran saw you."
Another man grinned, tipping a dusty cap. "I was out lookin' for mushrooms, not half-dead kids."
They hoisted him gently onto a makeshift stretcher of cloth and branches and carried him to their camp.
It wasn't a town. More like a scar on the land—a hidden mining outpost tucked between cliffs and thorny hills. Tents stitched from tarps and leather scraps dotted the area. A small forge stood near a pile of ore. A smokehouse exhaled slow streams of meat-scented smoke. Chickens clucked in a crooked coop, and goats wandered among short wooden fences. A vegetable patch lined the edge of a bubbling stream, where green sprigs pushed defiantly through rocky soil.
They didn't ask questions—not at first.
They fed him salted broth, cleaned his wounds, and laid him beneath thick wool blankets. The gruff one with the kind eyes—Merk—seemed to lead them.
"You got a name?" Merek asked one night as he handed Arian a bowl of vegetable stew, thick with lentils and spice.
"…Arian," he whispered.
"That's it?"
He nodded.
Merek shrugged. "Fine by me. You heal up, and if you want to stay—you work."
Arian stayed.
He learned their names quickly. Merek, Korran, Jossel, and Daine.
Merek was the oldest, mid-forties, tall and broad-shouldered. His beard was streaked with silver, and his arms were lined with scars from years of hard labor. He had Plant Growth Aether, which he used to coax vegetables to ripen faster or strengthen vines that held tunnel walls in place. He rarely smiled, but his voice was steady. Reliable.
Korran was younger, lean and sharp-eyed, with a permanent smudge of soot on his cheek. He manned the forge and wielded Heat Manipulation Aether—able to raise or lower temperatures in metal at will. Watching him mold molten iron with a flick of his hand was mesmerizing. He rarely spoke more than necessary, but he noticed everything.
Jossel was the quietest—thick-bodied and square-jawed with a thoughtful gaze. His Aether allowed him to create bursts of water pressure strong enough to blast through stone or extinguish forge fires. His movements were slow but deliberate, like a mountain deciding when to shift.
Daine was the youngest of them, maybe early thirties, wiry and energetic. He cracked jokes constantly—some awful, some clever. His Aether, Nature's Fury, allowed him to summon thorny roots and sudden gusts of force. He often used them to prank the others, though it always ended with Merek chasing him with a shovel.
They weren't warriors. They didn't speak of politics or magic orders. They were men who dug into the earth, hoping to strike veins of iron, silver, platinum, gold or even diamond—or anything they could sell. But they treated Arian like a person, not a burden.
In their presence, Arian found something he hadn't felt in weeks.
A reason to breathe.
On his second day, he was already hauling water from the stream. His arms trembled, but he refused to stop. By the fourth day, he was chopping wood with Daine, who cheered every time Arian landed a solid swing.
"You've got decent form for a stick with bones!" Daine laughed. "Though I've seen scarecrows with more meat on 'em. Don't worry, we'll fatten you up. You'll be wrestling bears for fun in no time!"
A week later, they were running through the forest after a wounded boar. Arian carried a spear and learned how to move without a scarring game. They returned with meat and bruises and wide grins.
Merek taught him how to till soil and spread crushed bones as fertilizer. "Feel the soil," he said. "Listen to the ground. It remembers everything. Every seed, every drop of rain, every footprint. It's got a long memory, just like a grizzled old miner. Treat it with respect, and it'll give you back ten-fold."
Korran brought him into the forge. "Ever made anything?"
"Mhmmm..... I've read some books about forging," Arian admitted, trying to sound nonchalant, but his eyes sparkled with a hidden interest.
"Books? Fancy! Well, here, let's see if those delicate hands can actually hold a hammer without bending," Korran grunted, handing him a crooked hammer. "Start with nails. No one gets a sword 'til they learn patience. Besides, you need more nails than swords in this life, believe me."
Under Korran, he learned how to strike metal with rhythm, how to judge the color of steel in the heat, and how to quench it without shattering it. He burned his hands more times than he could count, but he learned to accept the sting. Once, while trying to cool a piece of metal, he splashed water on Korran's face. Korran just wiped it away with a weary sigh. "Kid, if you're gonna try to drown me, at least make it look like an accident next time."
He failed often. And kept going.
Every task they gave him—be it milking goats or fixing fences—he did without complaint. Milking the goats was a particular challenge. The first time, a particularly stubborn goat named Barnaby kicked the bucket over, spraying milk all over Arian's face. Daine, who was watching, burst into laughter, nearly falling off the fence he was mending. "Looks like Barnaby's not a fan of your technique, kid! Maybe try singing to him? I hear they like opera." Arian just wiped the milk from his eyes, a faint, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his lips.
Over time, his fingers thickened with calluses. His muscles gained definition. His skin darkened under the sun and soot.
And still, the silver mark on his chest pulsed faintly beneath his shirt. For two years, the emotional walls around Arian remained as thick as the iron ore they mined. He was a machine, efficient and tireless, but devoid of the easy laughter and camaraderie that filled the camp. He ate, worked, and slept, his gaze distant, his voice a low monotone. The others respected his silence, attributing it to his mysterious past, but the ever-present ache in his chest was a constant reminder of Eloryn. He was a shell, and he knew it. He decided he would tell them, when the time was right, when his heart felt less like a shard of ice. He settled on a year and five months from then.
The Unveiling of Aether and the Weight of the Past
One day, while gathering stones with Jossel, Arian broke the silence.
"Uhmm...How do you use your Aether?"
Jossel looked up from the pile of granite, his brow furrowed in thought. "I guess...same as breathin'. You don't think too hard. You just reach inside, like flexin' a muscle you never used before. It's like trying to remember a dream you had last night – you know it's there, just out of reach, until suddenly, it clicks. You gotta let it flow, not force it."
"I've tried," Arian said, his voice flat. "For months. I feel... something. A hum, a tremor. But nothing ever happens. It's like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands."
"Not all Aether works the same," Jossel replied, gently stacking stones. "Some powers need emotion. Some need focus. Some just need time. Maybe yours needs something different. Or maybe it's waiting. Like a stubborn mule, it'll move when it's ready. Don't rush it, kid. Patience is a miner's best friend."
Waiting. That word stuck with Arian. It echoed the silent waiting of his own grief.
Another evening, while fixing a fence with Daine, Arian hesitated before asking, "Do you think… maybe I don't have any Aether?" He braced himself for a sympathetic lie, or worse, pity.
Daine snorted, expertly hammering a loose plank. "Kid, I once met a guy whose Aether let him create cheese from thin air. Cheese! And it wasn't even good cheese, mind you, it was the crumbly, smells-like-old-socks kind. Everyone's got something. Yours just isn't ordinary. That's not a bad thing. In fact, it usually means it's something spectacular, just waiting for its grand entrance. Think of it like a really dramatic theatre performance."
Somehow, that helped. Daine's absurdity cut through Arian's grim resolve, a tiny crack in the emotional armor he'd built.
Arian began training harder. Running at dawn until his lungs burned and his legs ached, envisioning nameless threats. Swinging wooden blades until his arms went numb, practicing stances taught to him by his father in a lifetime that felt impossibly distant. Imagining enemies in front of him, feeling the phantom weight of a true blade. He was relentless, driven by a silent, unacknowledged hope that unlocking his Aether would somehow mend the broken pieces of his past.
The forge became his temple. He stayed late, the rhythmic clang of hammer on anvil a soothing counterpoint to the turmoil in his mind. He crafted daggers, chisels, and crude blades, each one a testament to his burgeoning strength and a desperate attempt to find purpose. Korran never said it, but his silent nods, the slight widening of his eyes when Arian showed him a particularly well-made hilt, meant everything. He was learning to speak the language of steel, a language that required precision, patience, and a willingness to be consumed by the fire.
Life in the mining camp, though arduous, had found its rhythm. Until one fateful afternoon, two years and two months into Arian's stay, while searching for wild animals for dinner, Arian spotted a hidden cave. It was tucked away behind a cascading waterfall, shrouded by thick moss and ancient vines. A shiver ran down his spine. An instinct, primal and urgent, screamed at him to turn back. But hunger, and perhaps a flicker of the daring spirit he once possessed, pushed him forward.
He hesitated at the narrow entrance, the air within strangely still and cold. Don't be a fool, Arian, a voice in his head warned. But his feet moved, as if drawn by an invisible current. He stepped inside, his hand instinctively gripping the crude knife he carried. The cave twisted and turned, the darkness absolute save for a faint, phosphorescent glow from the walls. He pressed on, deeper, until he reached a cavern so vast it felt like the belly of the earth.
And there, coiled in the center, was something monstrous. A creature of nightmare. It was a giant lion-looking beast, its fur the color of bruised thunderclouds, with immense, leathery wings that stretched to the cavern ceiling and a tail long enough to lash like a whip. Its eyes, even in slumber, glowed with an ancient, malevolent intelligence. The air crackled with raw Aether, a potent energy that made Arian's silver mark throb violently.
Panic seized him. This wasn't a boar. This was something else entirely. He stumbled backward, his foot dislodging a loose rock. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the oppressive silence.
The beast stirred. Its eyelids slowly peeled back, revealing twin pools of molten gold. A low growl rumbled in its chest, vibrating through the very stone beneath Arian's feet. A raw, terrifying roar ripped through the cavern, sending Arian scrambling. He turned and ran, the primal fear overriding all sense of caution, leading the beast directly back to the camp.
"Run! Get inside! It's… it's a monster!" Arian screamed, bursting from the tree line, wild-eyed, the enormous winged beast hot on his heels. It was a blur of dark fur and razor claws, its roars shaking the very foundations of their humble camp.
The miners, quick to react, grabbed their tools—pickaxes, shovels, and Korran's ever-present hammer. Merek roared, "To arms, lads! Stand your ground!" Jossel, grim-faced, blasted a stream of water at the beast, which merely hissed, the water evaporating before it touched its hide. Daine, true to form, yelled, "Well, isn't that a lovely way to make an entrance? You didn't tell us you were bringing a pet, Arian!" He summoned thorny roots, attempting to snare its powerful legs, but the beast tore through them with ease.
The creature was faster, stronger, and more terrifying than anything they had ever encountered. It moved with lethal grace, swatting aside pickaxes, its tail whipping like a scorpion's. One swipe of its massive paw sent Jossel flying, his head hitting a rock with a sickening thud. He lay still.
"Jossel!" Merek roared, his face contorted in fury. He slammed his hand to the earth, and thick, thorny vines erupted from the ground, attempting to bind the beast. But it snapped them like brittle twigs.
Arian, fueled by a terrifying guilt—this was his fault, he'd awakened it—fought with a desperation he hadn't known he possessed. He darted in, a silver blur, trying to target its eyes, its flanks, anywhere vulnerable. Korran, a whirlwind of heat, hurled superheated metal shards, making the beast roar in pain but failing to deter it. Daine, despite his jokes, was a whirlwind of motion, summoning gusts of wind that momentarily disoriented the creature.
The beast lashed out, its long, powerful tail cracking through the air. It struck Daine's leg with brutal force. A sickening snap echoed across the clearing. Daine screamed, clutching his leg, a raw, ragged wound where his lower limb had been severed. Blood pulsed from the stump, staining the earth.
"Daine!" Arian cried out, his heart plummeting to his stomach. The sight of Daine's mangled leg, the gushing blood, brought back the vivid, burning memory of Eloryn. He felt a surge of raw, destructive power welling within him, a silver fire beginning to bloom in his chest.
"No, Arian! Control it!" Merek yelled, seeing the familiar, terrifying glow. "Focus!"
Arian gritted his teeth, wrestling with the surge of power. This wasn't like Eloryn. He wouldn't let it be. He remembered Daine's words: "Believe in yourself. Trust that you can overcome anything." He channeled the raw, uncontrolled energy, not into an outward burst, but inward, focusing it into a blade forged by Karran recently. The blade pulsed with a blinding silver light.
With a primal scream that tore from his throat, Arian plunged the supercharged blade into the beast's chest, right where its massive heart would be. The creature shrieked, a sound of unimaginable agony, as the silver energy flared, burning from within. It thrashed, its mighty wings beating wildly, tearing up the earth, before it collapsed with a deafening thud, its molten gold eyes dimming.
Silence descended, heavy and suffocating, broken only by Daine's ragged gasps and the laboured breathing of the others. Merek, Korran, and Arian stood over the fallen beast, wounded and bleeding. Merek had a deep gash on his arm, Korran nursed a bruised rib, but their eyes were fixed on Daine.
Arian stumbled to Daine's side, his face pale, tears streaming down his cheeks, a mixture of grief and profound guilt. "Daine… I… I'm so sorry. This is my fault. I woke it up. I led it here." His voice cracked, the emotion he'd suppressed for years finally broke through.
Daine, despite the agony, managed a weak, blood-flecked grin. "Don't be a dramatic fool, Arian. Accidents happen. Besides, look at this! I'll have a peg leg, like a true pirate! Think of the stories!" He coughed, a pained grimace crossing his face. "Just... make sure you tell my stories. And maybe… less monster-hunting for dinner next time, eh?"
Jossel, miraculously, began to stir, groaning and clutching his head. He'd been knocked out, but alive. Merek quickly began tearing strips of cloth for a tourniquet, his hands shaking. "We'll get you through this, Daine. You hear me? You'll be cracking jokes again in no time, even if they're worse than usual."
Arian collapsed beside Daine, clutching his bloodied sword, his body trembling with exhaustion and sorrow. The silver mark on his chest throbbed, no longer with suppressed power, but with the raw ache of consequence. He had used his Aether, unknowingly perhaps, to power a blade, but the cost was devastating. The battle was won, but the scars, both visible and invisible, would remain. The echoes of Eloryn's tragedy had found a new, horrific resonance in the quiet mining camp. The walls he had built around his emotions shattered, revealing the raw, vulnerable boy beneath. He wasn't emotionless, he was just broken. And now, another person he cared about was broken too, because of him.
Arian passed out resulting the consequences of his sudden use of his Aether.
Three years and eight months after arriving, Arian forged it.
The blade came out smooth. Balanced. The metal rang with clarity when struck. The hilt was wrapped in old leather. The blade shimmered slightly, almost as if it remembered fire.
He held it under the forge light, heart pounding.
Korran stared for a long moment. "Well, I'll be damned. You finally did it."
"I want to call it… Kagayaku," Arian said, his voice softer, carrying a new resonance of wisdom and pain. "It means 'to shine'."
Daine, now sporting a sturdy, expertly crafted wooden leg made by Korran, whooped from his usual spot near the forge. "Shiny name for a shiny sword! And don't worry, Arian, if you ever lose that one, I'll trade you my leg for it. It's got better stories now!" He winked, though the underlying pain in his eyes was still visible.
Merek tested the weight, and swung it twice, his movements slower now, the gash on his arm a faint scar. "This blade will serve you well, lad. You forged it through pain and grit. That memory stays in the steel. And it will remind you that sometimes, the hardest things you forge are within yourself."
Jossel gave a rare smile, a small scar above his eyebrow where he'd hit the rock. "You've earned your place, Arian. More than that, you've earned your truth."
That night, they roasted boar, drank bitter wine, and sang terrible songs. Arian sat among them, wrapped in warmth, laughter, and firelight. For a moment, he imagined he might stay forever.
But forever was never an option.
A week later, he stood at the edge of the camp with his pack slung over his shoulder. The atmosphere was different now, a bittersweet understanding hanging in the air. The unspoken guilt Arian carried had finally found voice after the beast attack, and though the others had forgiven him, had told him it was an accident, a part of him would always bear that burden. He had finally opened up to them about Eloryn, about the uncontrollable Aether that burst forth, about the whispers, about the constant fear of hurting those he cared about. It was a raw, tear-filled confession, and they had listened, silent and understanding, their rough hands clapping his shoulder in quiet solidarity.
Merek handed him a pouch of silver florens and a small red stone that pulsed faintly in his palm.
"Aetherstone," Merek explained, his voice gruff but kind. "Might help you someday. Or explode. Either way, memorable. And if you get into trouble, remember what I taught you about listening to the ground. Sometimes, the answers are right beneath your feet."
Korran clapped his shoulder, his eyes glinting with a rare warmth. "You've got iron in your bones, Arian. Don't forget that. And if you ever need a weapon repaired, or a new leg for Daine," he gestured with a nod towards Daine who was waving vigorously, "you know where to find us. But don't rush back just to get another monster killed, alright?"
Jossel gave him a tight hug, surprisingly strong. "Don't die. I hate funerals. And make sure you keep those emotional walls down, kid. It's a lot harder to breathe when you're constantly holding your breath."
And Daine… Daine met his gaze, serious for once, a profound understanding in his eyes. He stood on his new wooden leg, remarkably agile now.
"No matter what happens… believe in yourself. Trust that you can overcome anything. Even when it feels impossible. You've faced a lot, Arian. You're stronger than you know. And remember, sometimes the biggest battles are the ones you fight inside your own head. Just keep moving forward, even if it's on one leg." He managed a small, genuine smile. "And hey, you ever need a wingman for a crazy adventure, you know who to call. I'm practically half-man, half-tree now, perfect for forest ambushes!"
Arian nodded, a genuine, if fleeting, smile gracing his lips. "Thank you. I'll treasure this… all of this… until my last breath. You all taught me what it means to live, not just survive."
Korran wrapped a black scarf around his neck, the soft fabric a stark contrast to Arian's rough clothes. "Here! Take this... to keep you warm. It suits you."
They watched as he turned and walked toward the horizon.
The wind carried their final cheer long after he vanished from view.
The road stretched before him—quiet, endless, and unknown.
But for the first time, Arian didn't feel lost. The burden of Eloryn and the beast attack was still there, a heavy weight, but now it was a part of him, not something that consumed him. He was no longer a ghost. He was a survivor, with a new family carved from the rough stone of the earth.
With Kagayaku at his side, calluses on his hands, and sweat-forged strength in his bones, he felt… ready.
Until the whisper returned.
Help me…
He froze.
The silver mark on his chest pulsed. The voice was softer than before—like leaves rustling in a summer wind.
Feminine. Pained.
Who are you? he asked silently, his hand instinctively gripping the hilt of Kagayaku.
No reply.
Only the voice again.
Help me…
Then silence.
He exhaled slowly and walked on, the whisper echoing in his mind, drawing him towards an unknown destiny.
By dusk, he spotted movement up ahead.
A battle.
A squad of Aether Warriors, clad in navy and gold, clashed with monstrous shapes—Aether Beasts, twisted and wrong. Their forms dripped shadow, their eyes burned crimson, and their bodies twitched as if unraveling mid-motion.
At their center stood a woman with sun-gold hair and a blade of radiant light.
They were skilled. But outnumbered.
Arian didn't hesitate.
He drew Kagayaku.
And he ran toward the fray.