The Letter
Jenny's voice rang through the house, warm but edged with concern. "Sylvie! You have a letter from your parents!"
Sylvie bolted down the stairs, her silver-streaked hair flying behind her, a grin splitting her face. She snatched the parchment from Jenny's hands, her emerald eyes scanning the words hungrily—until her smile shattered.
"They… they're not coming back yet." Her voice was small, fragile. "They said they still have business to do."
The letter slipped from her fingers, fluttering to the kitchen floor like a dead leaf. Before Jenny could say another word, Sylvie turned and fled upstairs, her footsteps heavy with hurt.
Kael barely had time to brace himself before Sylvie crashed into him, her face buried in his chest. Her tears soaked through his tunic, hot and relentless.
"It's already been six months!" she sobbed, her voice muffled against him. "When are they coming back?"
Kael hesitated, his hand hovering over her trembling shoulders before settling there. "They'll be back soon," he murmured, though the words tasted hollow. "They just need more time to find what the village needs."
He wished he could believe it himself. From what he'd overheard in the quiet conversations between his parents, this journey wasn't just about trade. There were whispers of unrest in the outer kingdoms, a surge in magical anomalies even the village wards could feel—like a drumbeat beneath the soil.
But Sylvie wasn't listening. Her fingers twisted into his shirt, gripping like she was afraid he, too, might disappear.
Kael exhaled, then forced a smirk. "Bet I'm still better than you in training."
Sylvie's head snapped up, her tear-streaked face twisting into something fierce. "You wish!"
And just like that, she was gone—bolting out the door, her grief momentarily forgotten in the heat of challenge.
The Training Yard
The training yard was bathed in golden afternoon light as Sylvie snatched up her wooden sword, spinning it with practiced ease. "Come on, Kael! You're so slow!"
The yard, built from scorched stone and ringed with aged dragonbone totems, was where Eldermist's young trained not only in martial skill but in discipline. A carved plaque over the gates read in Old Draconic: "Strength is earned, not given."
Kael grinned, hefting his wooden spear. "Yeah, yeah. Don't cry when I win."
They circled each other, the air between them crackling with unspoken tension. Then—
They moved.
Sword and spear clashed, their mock battle a blur of controlled strikes and dodges. Kael could have ended it in seconds—his past life's instincts screamed at him to exploit every opening—but he held back. Let Sylvie press forward. Let her believe she was winning.
Then, in a burst of reckless energy, Sylvie lunged.
Kael saw the strike coming. He let himself miss the block.
But the wooden sword didn't graze his shoulder as he'd planned—it cracked against his temple.
The world shattered.
Darkness. Then—
Gunfire. Screams. The metallic stench of blood.
Kael—no, not Kael, not here—staggered through the smoke-choked battlefield, his rifle slick with sweat and grime. The war had ground their hope into mud, their promises into dust.
"Amelia!" His voice was raw, desperate.
A figure in the distance—her golden hair matted with dirt, her smile long gone. "Kael! Behind you—!"
A blast.
White-hot pain erupted in his skull as shrapnel tore through flesh. He crumpled, the world tilting, his vision swimming with blood and fire.
"Promise me, Kael. After this… we'll live."
Amelia's voice, fading.
The darkness swallowed him whole.
Kael gasped awake, his body drenched in cold sweat. Sylvie's face hovered above his, her emerald eyes wide with panic.
"Kael! Kael, say something!" Her hands gripped his shoulders, shaking him.
He blinked, the remnants of gunfire still ringing in his ears. The battlefield was gone. But the memory—the guilt—clung to him like a second skin.
"I'm… fine," he croaked, though his voice sounded distant, foreign.
Sylvie's lip trembled. "You scared me! You were out for minutes!"
Kael sat up slowly, his head throbbing. He stared at his hands—no blood, no rifle, just calluses from training—and exhaled shakily.
"Sorry," he muttered. "Guess you hit harder than I thought."
Sylvie didn't laugh. She just studied him, her gaze too knowing. "You were… talking in your sleep. About someone named Amelia."
Kael's breath hitched.
The past had claws. And it wasn't letting go.
The Healing Hearth
Jenny's needle flashed in the firelight as she stitched the cut above Kael's brow, her lips quirking in amusement. "You let her win, didn't you?" The thread pulled taut as she arched an eyebrow at her son.
The cottage's hearth crackled beside them, casting long shadows on the stone floor. Shelves filled with vials of herbs, dragon salves, and preserved scales lined the walls—Jenny's healing space was a sanctuary of smell and memory.
Kael winced—though not from the stitches. "I just wanted her to feel better," he muttered, fingers digging into his knees. "But now I made everything worse! She was already hurting and I—"
Jenny's calloused hand enveloped his, stilling his tremors. "Oh, my little dragon," she murmured, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "Sylvie knows your strength better than anyone. Why do you think she trains so hard?" Her golden eyes softened. "That girl's tougher than ironwood, and she loves you too much to believe a pity victory."
She reached to the shelf behind her and uncorked a small bottle of golden balm, gently dabbing it over the stitches. It smelled of clove and moonroot.
The hug that followed smelled of hearth-smoke and healing herbs, so achingly familiar that Kael nearly forgot the battlefield ghosts haunting him.
Then—a creak of floorboards.
Sylvie hovered in the doorway, her silver-streaked hair obscuring her face like a mourning veil. Jenny squeezed Kael's shoulder and slipped out, leaving the weight of unsaid words between them.
"Does it hurt?" Sylvie's voice was barely audible, her fingers worrying the hem of her tunic.
Kael opened his arms wordlessly.
She crashed into him with enough force to bruise, her face buried against his neck. They stayed like that—two halves of a broken promise—until Sylvie's breathing steadied.
"I'm sorry," Kael whispered into her hair. "I didn't mean to—"
"Shut up." Sylvie's arms tightened around his waist like dragon's talons. "You always do this. Try to protect me from everything, even losing."
A log cracked in the hearth. Somewhere outside, an owl called. The gentle wards around the house thrummed faintly, keeping out the cold night magic that sometimes crept through Eldermist.
Then—
"Still..." Sylvie's lips curved against his collarbone, her whisper triumphant. "First time I ever beat you."
Kael's laugh shook loose the last of the battlefield ghosts. "Cheater."
"Winner," she corrected, and when she finally met his eyes, the sunlight had returned to her emerald gaze.
They spent the rest of the evening like that—shoulder to shoulder, trading stories and half-hearted insults, a blanket wrapped around both of them. In a world growing darker each day, this moment was a rare and precious warmth.
The Desert of Dawngale
Four Months Later
The Kingdom of Dawngale
The desert winds howled through the city of Nareth-Kai, a merchant stronghold nestled between sandstone cliffs and windswept ruins. Ornate spires jutted skyward like jagged teeth, their banners snapping violently in the gusts. Arcane wards shimmered faintly above rooftops, protecting trade routes from the ever-encroaching sands.
Through these storms trudged William and Synthia Everglen. Their once-pristine robes were now threadbare, sun-faded, and caked in grit. Their boots left shallow prints in the dune-choked alleys, where whispers of illegal relic trades and mage-duels filtered through the swirling air like smoke.
"Where's the one with the stone?" Synthia shouted over the gale, shielding her eyes with a gloved hand.
William squinted through the dust. "There!"
A cloaked figure stepped from the alley shadows—tall, robed in desert garb, his staff marked with the crescent sigil of the Makarim, a nomadic order of sand-seers. He carried no weapons, yet power clung to him like static.
"You the merchants looking for the Concealment Stone?"
"Yes," William rasped. "We were told you had one… strong enough to mask a blood-sealed relic."
The man studied them in silence, then gestured toward a nearby shop—half-buried in sand, its thick door reinforced with rune-sealed metal. Inside, shelves sagged under the weight of talismans, draconic bones, and vials of glowing liquid. The air reeked of myrrh and something older.
From beneath the counter, the merchant withdrew a stone wrapped in dragon-leather. As he unrolled it, moonlight seemed to catch within its glassy black surface, dancing like ripples on water.
"This is the last of its kind," he said softly. "Forged in the cataclysm after the Fall of Aerendhil. It doesn't just mask—it silences."
William reached out reverently, his fingers brushing its cold surface. It pulsed faintly. Alive.
Synthia's breath hitched. "We'll take it."
The merchant nodded once. "Then may your gods protect you. Whatever you're trying to hide… it will not stay buried forever."
Back in their rented quarters above a spice market, William sat in silence, the stone cradled in both hands. The hum of distant wind chimes and chanting prayers echoed through the sandstone walls.
"Synthia," he whispered. "Send word to the Silver household. Tell them… we're coming home."
For the first time in months, Synthia's smile reached her eyes. She pulled William into a fierce embrace, tears soaking the dust from his tunic.
No more running.
No more hiding.
Their daughter would see them again.
The Return to Eldermist – A New Dawn
Eldermist, the Early Morning
The clash of steel rang through the crisp dawn, echoing across the mist-veiled meadows beyond Eldermist's western ridge. The training yard—flattened earth ringed with elderstones inscribed with protective sigils—buzzed with the sharp rhythms of discipline and ambition. The clangs and grunts weren't just the sound of sparring; they were the pulse of a hidden people preparing for a future they could no longer ignore.
Auther Silver stood at the edge of the ring, arms crossed, eyes sharp beneath his silver-streaked hair. "Sylvie! You're dropping your right shoulder again—keep it tight!"
Sylvie and Kael faced each other with blunt training blades—steel, not wood this time. A rite of passage. It was their first week using real metal, and although dulled for safety, the weight of it changed everything. It forced precision. It demanded respect.
Sweat glistened on their brows. Sylvie's braid was half undone, strands whipping as she spun and parried. Kael adjusted his stance, shifting with the instincts of a soldier long buried beneath a child's frame. His form was textbook-perfect—almost too perfect.
"Good work! Take a break!" Auther finally called.
Both collapsed onto the grass. Sylvie's sword thudded beside her; Kael's spear clattered to the ground. They lay there, backs to the sky, catching their breath.
"Damn, Sylvie," Kael said between gulps of air, grinning. "Since when did you get so strong?"
Sylvie pushed herself up, grabbing a canteen from her pack. "I might be stronger, but I still can't beat you. Not since that one time you let me win."
Her smile faltered, though only for a second. Kael noticed.
"You okay, Sylv? You seem off."
She didn't answer immediately. Her gaze drifted beyond the treeline—to the ridgeline path her parents had taken months ago. "It's just… been a while since I've seen my parents. I miss them."
A single tear escaped, glistening on her cheek before falling onto her knuckles.
Kael sat up and gently brushed the tear away. "They're coming back."
The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken doubts.
Suddenly, Jenny's voice rang across the training yard, breaking the mood. "Sylvie! A letter came for you!"
She strode toward them, parchment in hand, a wide grin lighting up her face.
Sylvie didn't hesitate—she sprang up, snatched the letter, and scanned it with trembling fingers. Then her whole body lit up.
"They're coming back… They'll be home in three months!"
Joy exploded in her like a storm. She bounced on her toes, the letter clutched to her chest, then launched herself into Kael with a squeal of pure delight.
He caught her easily, laughing. "I'm really happy for you, Sylv," he murmured, holding her close. "Nothing beats seeing you smile like this."
The sun broke through the clouds then, casting golden light over the village, the training yard, and the dragon-blooded children within it—children born of fire, war, and promises still waiting to be kept.
The Nightmare Awakens
Two Weeks Later
The midday sun hung high over Eldermist, casting long shadows as Kael and Sylvie trudged home, their clothes damp with sweat and their laughter trailing behind them like a fading melody. The village felt unusually peaceful—still and suspended, as if the land itself were holding its breath. The scent of blooming starblossoms drifted on the breeze, mingling with the earthy tang of the nearby forest.
As they stepped inside the Silver household, warmth enveloped them—not just from the hearth, but from the tantalizing scent of roasted meat and honey-glazed root vegetables wafting through the kitchen.
Kael's eyes widened. "What's all this?" he grinned, slumping into a chair with exaggerated exhaustion. "Did one of you get knighted or something?"
Sylvie plopped down beside him, already snatching a piece of bread. "Or did someone finally slay a chimera in the backyard?"
Jenny bustled out of the pantry, practically vibrating with excitement. Her cheeks were flushed, and flour dusted her apron. "Okay, your mom and I have news, Kael—" She clapped her hands together, barely able to contain herself. "I'm pregnant! You're going to be a big brother!"
For a moment, silence blanketed the room.
Then Kael shot up from his chair, knocking it backward in his haste. "Wait—what? Are you serious?!"
Jenny laughed, tears of joy glistening in her eyes. "Absolutely serious."
Auther stepped in behind her, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Easy, love. Let's not scare the child into early labor."
Kael ran both hands through his hair, pacing. "This is… wow. That's incredible." His gaze flicked to his mother. "When did you—how long have you—never mind. I'm just… wow."
Laughter filled the house.
Except from Sylvie.
She was still, clutching her fork tightly. Her knuckles were white.
"Congratulations," she said softly, her voice barely carrying across the table.
She smiled. But it didn't reach her eyes.
Kael was too caught up in his questions to notice. Sylvie quietly excused herself and slipped out the back door.
Outside, the quiet wind tugged gently at her silver-streaked hair as she stood beneath the branches of the old ash tree where she and Kael used to race to climb as children. She looked down at the wooden charm dangling from her wrist—a little dragon, carved by Kael on her seventh birthday.
She traced the lines with her thumb.
"I'm happy for them," she whispered to the wind. "Really, I am."
But deep down, a question bloomed like a bruise.
What if there wasn't room for her anymore?
The Next Day
The sun had barely crested the eastern peaks when the clang of blades echoed once again through the Eldermist training grounds. Dew still clung to the grass, glittering in the early light like thousands of tiny stars. The usual murmur of morning life—the clatter of tools, the caw of hill-crows—was muted beneath the rhythmic ring of steel and breathless grunts.
"Sylv! What are you doing? Stop zoning out!" Auther's voice cracked like a whip across the yard.
Sylvie blinked. Her stance was off. Her grip was too loose. She hadn't even noticed the approaching strike until her opponent—a boy named Lanric—had already disarmed her. The wooden blade hit the ground with a dull thud.
She winced, clutching her wrist.
Auther strode over, frowning. "You're off-balance. Your form's sloppy. That's not like you."
Sylvie avoided his gaze. "N-Nothing, Uncle Auther. Just… feeling a bit sick today."
The lie left a bitter taste.
Auther studied her for a long moment, then sighed. "If you were sick, you should've said so this morning. Go rest." He jerked his chin toward the house, but his eyes lingered on her retreating figure with a mixture of concern and curiosity.
As Sylvie trudged away, Kael stepped forward to retrieve her weapon. Auther stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
"Go see what's eating her."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "Wait, she's not actually sick?"
Auther gave him a look that said obviously. "You're young, but you'd better learn to tell when a woman's upset. Especially that one."
Kael nodded and jogged after her.
The knock on Sylvie's door was soft. She didn't answer, but he pushed it open anyway. She sat by the window, knees pulled to her chest, chin resting on her arms. Outside, the forest swayed gently in the breeze, golden leaves drifting like whispers through the air.
"You okay, Sylv?"
She didn't turn. "Fine. Just need rest."
Kael lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching her. Then he gave a quiet nod. "Alright."
But as he stepped out, he paused.
"Meet me tonight. Usual spot."
The door clicked shut behind him.
Alone again, Sylvie let out a shaky breath. Her fingers tightened around the wooden charm Kael had made her, and she closed her eyes.
Somewhere outside, the wind carried the scent of autumn and old magic.
The Forest's Whisper
That Evening
The sun melted into the horizon, turning the sky to liquid gold and shadow-streaked rose. Eldermist quieted with the hush of twilight—the forgefires dimmed, the watchrunes shimmered to life at the village's edge, and the wind shifted with a whisper of coming change.
Kael arrived at the park first, their usual meeting place since they were five. The grass swayed gently, kissed by the dusk breeze, and the playground swings creaked with lazy rhythm. He leaned against the old oak at the park's edge, the bark worn smooth from years of climbing, waiting.
Memories played behind his eyes—Sylvie's laughter echoing across the field, her triumphant whoop the first time she bested him in tag, the way she always swung the highest on the creaking swing set, fearless as ever.
"Kael?"
Her voice drew him from his thoughts. He turned to see her silhouetted against the fading light, hands clasped behind her back. The sadness in her eyes mirrored the ache in his chest.
"What did you want to talk about?" she asked.
Kael pushed off the tree and stepped closer. "What's really going on, Sylv?"
She opened her mouth to deflect—he saw it forming, the mask—but he gently raised a hand.
"Please," he said, voice cracking. "Just stop. You've been different all day. Talk to me."
Her pulse thundered in her ears. She turned slightly, ready to retreat. But Kael caught her wrist—not to restrain, but to anchor.
"I'm worried about you."
"I'm scared," she admitted. The words trembled into the dusk like birds freed from a cage.
"Scared of what?"
He moved to stand in front of her, hands settling gently on her shoulders. His thumbs moved in slow, comforting circles, but she didn't meet his eyes.
"That you'll…" Her voice broke. "That you'll forget about me. When your mom has the baby."
He blinked, stunned. "Are you kidding me?"
It came out too harsh, and he instantly regretted it. "No, Sylvie—I didn't mean—"
"Why is this so hard for you to understand?" Her voice cracked, rising with a storm she'd held back too long. "I didn't choose to feel this way!"
Kael's heart dropped. He saw it then—the cracks in her armor, the way she was unraveling at the seams. All the strength she wore in training, all the fire—it had shielded a loneliness he hadn't seen.
He reached for her.
But she shoved him away. Her nails grazed his cheek, and a thin line of blood welled up, warm against the cooling air.
The world froze.
Sylvie's eyes widened in horror. "Ah—I didn't mean—!"
Kael touched the scratch, winced, then forced a weak laugh. "Hey, don't worry about—"
But she was already turning.
And running.
Into the forest.
Kael's shout died on his lips. He darted after her, boots pounding against the worn dirt trail, branches clawing at his arms—but she was fast. Too fast.
The forest swallowed her whole.
He burst out of the treeline minutes later, chest heaving, and nearly collided with Joren, the blacksmith's son.
"Joren! Sylvie—she ran into the forest and I lost her. I need help!"
Joren leaned on his walking stick with casual ease, raising an eyebrow. "Let her cool off, mate. She'll come back when she's ready."
Kael bristled. "You don't understand—!"
"Just give her space."
But Kael's gut twisted. Something was wrong. The air had changed.
Still, Joren's dismissive shrug held. After a moment of useless arguing, Kael turned and trudged back to the village, each step heavier than the last.
That night, under a quilt of stars, Eldermist slept.
Unaware that a nightmare had begun to stir.
Sylvie moved deeper into the forest, driven by shame, fear—and something else. A pull.
She stopped beneath the ancient trees, the wooden charm Kael had carved for her now clenched in her palm like a lifeline.
Then she saw it.
The obsidian stone.
It pulsed. Dark, alive.
She knew it was forbidden. But the word echoed dully in her head, drowned beneath the strange whispers curling around her mind.
The air shifted—cold and thick.
As if the forest itself had stopped breathing.
Her eyes began to glow.
She reached out.
And just before her fingers could touch the stone—
CRACK.
The stone split open with a thunderous boom. A shockwave of dark energy erupted, hurling Sylvie backward.
The earth shook. The trees groaned. And from the shattered stone, they emerged—jagged, twisted creatures with molten eyes and razor limbs.
Dragonhunters.
Monsters of nightmare and myth.
Long believed sealed away—buried beneath stone, warded by blood, and banished by the first dragons in the Age of Shattering.
Now… they were free.
With the creaking hiss of bone grinding on bone, they unfolded from the broken shell of the obsidian stone—twelve towering abominations of jagged armor and blackened flesh. Limbs like blades. Jaws that split too wide. Their molten eyes burned with eternal hatred, casting flickering red light across the trees like dancing shadows of ruin.
They stood in eerie silence, as though waiting. Then, as one—
They turned.
No words. No sound.
But Sylvie felt it.
Their hunger.
Their purpose.
Toward Eldermist.
The village that lived and breathed in peace.
The village that raised her.
The village that didn't know death was coming.
Sylvie's scream caught in her throat.
Terror locked her lungs. Her limbs moved before her mind could catch up.
She turned.
She ran.
Her feet slammed against the forest floor. Branches lashed her face and tore at her tunic. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears—faster, faster—her muscles screaming as she pushed harder than ever before.
But behind her, the forest groaned in protest as those things—those monsters—moved. The sound of claws scraping bark. Of trees snapping like twigs. Of shadows chasing light.
And Sylvie knew—
She was too late.
The hunters were already coming.
And nothing could stop them now.