The forest stretched endlessly, a sea of silver leaves whispering in the wind. The sun filtered through the canopy in fractured beams, painting Kael's path in shifting gold. For two days, he had followed the distant toll of bells — the only sound that felt alive in a world too quiet.
His clothes were torn. His boots were heavy with ash. The sword on his back pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat echoing a memory that wasn't his.
> "Ardentis…"
The word still burned in his mind — a promise, or perhaps a curse.
He stopped beside a stream to drink. The water was cold, clean, and impossibly clear. For a moment, it stilled — and in its reflection, he saw someone else's eyes staring back.
Crimson. Ancient. Burning with war.
Kael staggered back, clutching his head as flashes surged through his mind — marching armies, broken skies, and a name shouted through thunder.
> "Varion!"
"Spirit of—"
Then, silence.
When he opened his eyes again, the vision was gone. The forest was still. The stream ran quietly.
And someone was watching him.
A young woman stood across the stream — her robes marked with silver sigils, her eyes the pale hue of moonlight. The wind stirred her hair, glowing faintly with traces of starlight mana.
She carried a staff, but her stance was not defensive — only cautious.
> "You shouldn't be here," she said softly. "This forest is forbidden. It borders the Threadveil."
"Threadveil?" Kael echoed.
"Where the Loom bleeds," she replied. "Only Weavers from the Academy are permitted to study its edges."
Kael frowned. "Ardentis Academy?"
The girl's expression shifted. "You know of it?"
"I'm… going there."
"Are you?" Her voice carried disbelief. "No one 'just goes' to Ardentis."
He didn't answer. The bells tolled again, faint and far away — and for the first time, she looked uncertain.
> "You heard them too," she whispered. "The Resonant Bells. They haven't rung in years."
The air trembled. A cold wind swept through the trees — and with it came a distortion, like a tear in the world itself. Threads of black light bled into the air, forming twisted shapes that screamed without sound.
Lira raised her staff. "Threadfiends!"
Her voice was steady, but her hands trembled.
Kael stepped forward instinctively.
The sword on his back pulsed — once, twice — before exploding in light.
The creatures lunged. Lira shouted a spell, weaving a circle of blue sigils that flared into a barrier. One of the fiends broke through, jaws gaping — and Kael moved.
He didn't think. His body remembered.
In a single motion, he drew his blade and struck.
The world shattered around the swing.
The fiends froze — then burst apart into dust, their threads unraveling into the wind.
Silence returned. The forest held its breath.
Lira stared at him, wide-eyed. "That… wasn't weaving," she whispered. "You didn't even draw on the Loom."
Kael exhaled slowly, the blade fading from his hand. "Then what did I do?"
She hesitated, then murmured, "Something impossible."
The bells tolled again — louder this time, as if answering his presence.
And far above, in the halls of Ardentis, ancient wards flickered awake.
The Spirit of War had been found.