The night the silver moon rose brighter than it had in decades, Arian did not yet know his life was about to divide into a before and an after.
He lived in the quiet hill village of Elaris, where mist rolled through the valleys like a patient tide and every story was older than the stones beneath their feet. The elders often spoke of the Silver Moon — not as a celestial body, but as a witness. It was said to reveal truths long buried and awaken powers long forgotten.
Arian never believed such things.
Until the mark appeared.
It began as a faint shimmer beneath his skin, just above his wrist — a crescent-shaped symbol glowing with pale light. It did not burn, nor did it hurt. But it pulsed, as if it possessed a heartbeat of its own.
That same night, the forest at the edge of Elaris trembled.