The wind changed again.
It wasn't the cold bite of mountain breeze or the scent of early autumn.
It was... older. Deeper. Like the breath of a slumbering world exhaling for the first time in centuries.
Caelum stood at the edge of the Sanctuary's gardens, staring into the old woods. The trees swayed as though greeting him. Not a single leaf fell from their branches—no, they danced. Spiraled. Shimmered faintly in the air as if made of living stardust.
"Caelum!" Seraphine called, rushing toward him. "Don't go too far—"
But she stopped.
Her voice caught in her throat.
The moment she stepped near him, the world shifted. The soil beneath her feet pulsed with warmth, glowing with faint veins of emerald light. Flowers bloomed in her footsteps—ones that hadn't existed in this land for centuries.
Then the voice came.
A whisper. Soft and melodic. In a language no one alive had spoken in over a thousand years.
"𐌌𐌴𐌽 𐌂𐌀𐌕 𐌄𐌋𐌅𐌄𐌍 𐌒𐌄𐌌..."
Caelum tilted his head. His eyes unfocused. He blinked once, twice—then whispered back in that same ancient tongue, as if he'd always known it.
Maika and Carlos appeared behind Seraphine, both halting mid-step.
"What is that language?" Seraphine gasped.
"Elvish," Carlos said, voice hollow with awe. "The First Tongue."
The wind circled Caelum's feet. Leaves rose in spirals. Trees leaned inward—not menacing, but protective, like guardians recognizing their prince.
Then it happened.
A doorway—woven from vines and moonlight—opened in the heart of the forest. A soft hum of ancient power drifted out from within.
Caelum turned toward them. His eyes no longer looked like a child's. They glowed faintly green—like fresh moss kissed by sunlight.
He raised his hand.
"I need to go," he said simply. "They're calling."
Seraphine's heart dropped. "Who's calling you?"
Caelum hesitated. Then whispered:
"The ones who remember. The Keepers. The last of the Elven Spirits."
"No," Seraphine said, clutching his hand. "You're not ready. You're only—"
"I am what they made me," Caelum said gently. "You gave me life. Father gave me legacy. But the forest is where my blood begins."
Tears formed in her eyes. Maika placed a hand on her shoulder, silent. Carlos looked torn, his fists clenching.
But before anyone could speak again, a glowing silver hawk descended from the trees and landed on Caelum's shoulder.
Carlos whispered in shock, "That's a Starhawk. They only appear to—"
"Elven heirs," Maika finished.
Caelum turned to Seraphine, placing his hand over her heart. "I'll come back, Mother. I promise. But if I don't go now… I may never understand what I am."
And with that, he walked into the glowing doorway.
The forest swallowed him in silence.
The trees stopped swaying.
And the air, once again, was still.
-----
The forest was no longer the same.
As Caelum stepped through the shimmering doorway, the air grew thicker—warmer, yet weightless. Light trickled from leaves above like liquid gold, and the ground hummed softly under his bare feet.
The trees whispered his name—not in sound, but in memory.
Caelum…
He walked deeper.
The forest shifted with each step, revealing towering white-barked trees with glowing green sap, waterfalls that flowed upward, and flowers that bloomed in the colors of forgotten stars.
Before him stood an ancient arch carved from petrified moonwood. As he stepped through, the world flickered—
And then he was alone, standing in a circle of stone, surrounded by statues.
Elves.
But not just any.
They wore silver crowns, long robes, and held blades made of starlight.
At the center, one statue remained incomplete—unfinished and faceless. A plinth beneath it read:
"He who shall return. The one born from blood and storm."
Suddenly, the air cracked with energy. A voice echoed through the glade—not loud, but resonant, as though it had always existed within his bones.
"Caelum of the Bloodline of Vaelthorne…
Heir of the Elven Throne…
You stand at the Threshold."
A figure appeared across the circle—cloaked in emerald and gold, with long white hair and silver eyes. His aura shimmered like a mirage, yet his voice held gravity.
"Do you know who I am?"
Caelum blinked. "No… but I feel like I should."
The figure nodded.
"I am Elyon Vaelthorne. Your Ancestor. The last Elven King before the fall."
Caelum's breath caught.
"My grandfather—Lord Vaelthorne—he never spoke of you."
Elyon stepped forward, and though his feet touched nothing, he seemed to walk on air.
"Because he never knew me. I died before he was born… sacrificed to seal away the Old Darkness. But my soul—my essence—waited for its return."
He placed a hand over Caelum's chest. "And now… you carry it."
Caelum staggered back, eyes wide.
"I don't want to be a vessel. I just want to be… me."
Elyon smiled sadly. "And that is why you must be tested."
The statues around the glade cracked—glowing light poured from their eyes. One by one, they stepped from stone, surrounding Caelum.
"Face us," they spoke as one. "Face what you were, what you could become… or be consumed by it."
Caelum's body lifted into the air.
Images burned into his mind—
A battlefield soaked in blood. His own voice screaming commands in a language long forgotten. A tower crumbling. A crown forged in dragonfire. Alaric kneeling before him. Seraphine crying his name from a throne of thorns.
The power surged—his skin glowed, his heart thundered.
"Stop it!" he shouted. "I'm not a king! I'm just a child!"
But the wind screamed louder.
And then—
A gentle hand on his cheek.
The images vanished.
The forest stilled.
He opened his eyes—and standing before him, in her youthful beauty, was a vision of Seraphine.
But not his mother.
A past self. Karena Carello—his grandmother.
"You are not just a child," she whispered. "You are a bridge. Between past and present. Light and dark. Blood and soul."
She placed a silver leaf in his hand.
"You must choose, Caelum. Be a weapon, or be a guide. The forest does not need a king… It needs a heart."
Caelum clutched the leaf tightly.
The visions faded.
The statues returned to stone.
The arch behind him reopened—this time glowing with gentle light.
He walked through it.
When he returned to the Sanctuary, hours had passed—but in the mortal realm, it had only been minutes.
Seraphine fell to her knees and embraced him, breathless and trembling.
He whispered in her ear, voice soft, matured.
"Mother… I know who I am now."