The wind over Terra Valis never truly slept.
It whispered through fractured cliffs and sang along the glowing ley lines beneath the ground, a constant reminder that the planet itself was alive — restless, powerful, and dangerous.
Alex sat on the edge of a high ridge, legs dangling over the drop, watching the sky split into hues of gold and violet as the twin suns began to set. In his hands rested a wooden practice sword, chipped and worn, but held with reverence.
Below him, laughter echoed.
"Alex! You're going to fall again!"
He turned his head and smiled. His younger sister, Lina, stood a few meters away, hands on her hips, pretending to scold him while failing to hide her grin. She was smaller than him, thinner, always trailing behind — but her eyes burned with stubborn light.
"I won't," Alex replied. "I've practiced this spot a hundred times."
"That's what you said last time," she shot back, sitting beside him anyway. "And then you slipped."
Alex chuckled softly. "I didn't slip. I tested gravity."
Lina snorted. "Gravity won."
They sat in silence for a moment, watching energy ripple faintly across the valley. The ley lines pulsed like veins beneath the earth, glowing softly, beautiful and terrifying all at once.
"Do you think Father would like this view?" Lina asked quietly.
Alex's smile faded.
Their father had died three years ago — crushed beneath collapsing stone while evacuating civilians during a ley-line surge. A hero, the elders had said. A necessary sacrifice.
Alex hated that word.
"I think," he said slowly, "he'd tell us not to sit so close to the edge."
Lina laughed softly, then leaned her head against his shoulder.
"Then he'd tell you to train harder," she added. "Because strong people don't fall."
Alex's fingers tightened around the wooden sword.
That was what he believed too.
Strength meant protection. Strength meant no more funerals, no more whispered condolences, no more empty chairs at the table. If he could become strong enough — truly strong — then nothing like that would ever happen again.
"I'm going to be the strongest swordsman on Terra Valis," Alex said suddenly.
Lina tilted her head. "Stronger than the guardians?"
"Stronger than everyone."
She studied his face for a moment, then smiled — wide and fearless.
"Then I'll brag about you to everyone."
Alex laughed. "You already do."
Footsteps approached from behind them.
Their mother stood at the ridge path, her expression calm but firm. "Training is over for today, Alex. The ley lines are unstable tonight."
Alex stood immediately. "Just a little longer. I almost have the form right."
She shook her head. "Almost is how people die on this planet."
The words weren't cruel — just tired. Spoken by someone who had already lost too much.
Alex nodded, lowering the practice sword. As he turned, something strange happened.
For just a fraction of a second, the air around the blade shimmered.
Alex blinked.
"Did you see that?" he asked.
"See what?" Lina said.
Their mother frowned. "Alex?"
"It was nothing," he muttered quickly. "Probably the light."
But his heart was racing.
That night, Alex lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling as the hum of Terra Valis vibrated faintly through the walls. His muscles ached pleasantly from training, but his mind refused to rest.
When he closed his eyes, he saw it again.
The shimmer.
Not light. Not reflection.
Something else.
He sat up slowly and reached for the wooden sword beside his bed. The moment his fingers wrapped around it, the hum around him deepened — as if the planet itself had noticed him.
Alex's breath caught.
"Calm down," he whispered to himself. "You're imagining things."
But somewhere, far deeper than the ley lines…something answered.
A faint pulse.Soft.Curious.Watching.
Alex didn't know it yet, but this was the first time the world had acknowledged him — not as a boy, not as a trainee…
…but as a weapon still being forged.
And in the quiet darkness of his room, with his sister asleep in the next chamber and his mother believing her children were safe for one more night, Alex made a silent vow:
I will be strong enough.
No matter the cost.