The next days passed in a blur of whispers and shadows, of ancient knowledge carved into stone and spells spoken in forgotten tongues. The temple became a world unto itself, sealed away from time. And within it, Jayden trained—mind, body, and soul.
Eryndor was relentless.
She taught him not only how to channel the Moon's energy, but how to feel it: the subtle shifts in air pressure when magic stirred nearby, the way moonlight bent differently around places touched by Shadow. She made him meditate under waterfalls, recite incantations while blindfolded, and fight illusions crafted from his worst fears.
And worst of all—she made him remember.
His mother's voice, just before the fire.
His father's hand, trembling with light.
The scream he hadn't let himself hear for eight years.
Some days, it broke him.
Other days, it reforged him.
But always, Valen was there—quiet, brooding, watching from the edge of every lesson like a blade waiting to be drawn.
Jayden still didn't know what Valen was exactly—a guardian? A warrior? A relic of some long-forgotten war? But there was a scar beneath Valen's left eye that pulsed faintly in moonlight. Jayden noticed it one night, when they trained with twin staffs under a silver sky.
"What is that?" he'd asked, panting, his arms shaking.
Valen only said, "A mistake I survived."
He never brought it up again.
One night, when the moon hung swollen and red in the sky like a watching eye, Eryndor summoned Jayden alone.
No torches. No guards. No Valen.
Just the altar, the runes, and a thin, cold wind slipping through cracks in the stone.
Eryndor stood still as a statue, her robes trailing behind her like smoke.
"There is something you must see," she said.
She didn't wait for an answer. She raised her hands, and the altar split open—not with light, but with darkness.
A pit, swirling with shadow, opened before them. It wasn't just absence—it was a living thing, twisting and whispering, licking the edge of the world like a tide of black flame.
Jayden stepped back. "What is that?"
Eryndor's voice was steady. "A mirror. Not of your face—but your fate."
And then Jayden saw it: himself, reflected in the shadow.
But not as he was.
Older. His hair wild. His eyes glowing like silver fire. And behind him, a ruined city. Towers collapsed. The sky cracked. The moon… broken.
"I don't understand," Jayden whispered.
Eryndor's gaze was unreadable. "This is one of many futures. It is not set. But it is possible."
"Are you saying I destroy everything?"
"I am saying that power has a price, Jayden. And not every wielder survives the cost."
The shadow-Jayden turned in the vision, his face hollow, his hands dripping with dark light.
Jayden tore his eyes away.
"I won't become him."
Eryndor let the pit close. "Then you must choose differently at every turn. Especially when it's hardest."
The First Mission
The next day, Jayden was given a pack, a blade etched with moon-silver, and a single scroll sealed in wax.
Valen handed it to him without ceremony.
"You're leaving," he said simply.
Jayden blinked. "Where?"
"To the ruins of Lys Myr. The Moonlight Wells are tainted. Something has stirred them awake."
"Shadowborn?"
Valen's jaw tightened. "Maybe. Or something worse."
Eryndor appeared behind them, her hands clasped.
"You will not go alone," she said. "Others have heard the Moon's call. One waits for you at the edge of the ruins. A girl named Aerin. She's not like you—but she is important."
Jayden's stomach twisted. Another one? Another person chosen by this mysterious celestial force?
"What is she?"
Valen almost smiled. "Angry. Fast. And dangerous."
"And if she doesn't want to work with me?"
"Then don't give her a reason not to," Eryndor said flatly. "You're on the same side. Even if it doesn't feel like it yet."
The Journey Begins
Jayden left the temple that evening. The world outside was different. Wilder. The wind colder. The stars sharper.
He looked back only once.
The silver lanterns of the temple flickered in the distance like distant stars.
Ahead of him, a winding path led through forest and ruin, through half-forgotten places where the Moon once sang and now only whispered.
In his hand, the scroll pulsed faintly—ink glowing with threads of silver.
And in his heart, something had changed.
He wasn't just running anymore.He wasn't just surviving.
He was searching.Learning.Becoming.
And the Moon—The Moon was watching.