A song over the fields:
"Where the wind touches forgotten trails,
Where stars weep through empty nights,
I walk through the shadows of broken roads —
Seeking the home I once lost."
Tarion inhaled the damp scent of morning mist, spreading across the earth like an ashen veil. He stood at the edge of the old path — a narrow trail overgrown with grass, leading into a deep, almost black forest. The leaves rustled overhead, as if the trees were whispering forgotten stories to one another.
— "This way?" Laina stepped closer, clutching his elbow. Her voice was soft, slightly trembling. "It smells like… old spells here."
Tarion nodded.
— "Yes. The old path. Once, spirits of resonance used it to reach places of power. My father told me…"
He fell silent, eyes dropping to the thick grass. A sharp pang of memory struck his chest — warm evenings when his father taught him how to see the "knots of power" woven into the world. Now there was only mist and silence.
— "We need to go," Laina said firmly. Her eyes, deep and serious, seemed to carry the weight of doubt in his place.
Beside them, Maili walked barefoot over the moss. Her long dark hair fell in waves over her shoulders, and her gaze held a strange intensity.
— "The old path remembers more than it shows," she murmured. "Sometimes… it's better if memory stays buried in the ground."
A chill ran along Tarion's skin. But he didn't stop.
They moved forward. Branches hung low above them, in places blocking the way entirely. The deeper they went, the thicker the mist became. The whisper of the wind gave way to something else — jagged scraps of voices, barely audible at the edge of hearing.
— "You hear that too?" Laina asked, glancing around nervously.
— "Yes," Tarion whispered. "It's… the resonance of old vows. The path remembers those who walked it."
Maili bent down, touching the rotting roots with her fingertips. Her face tightened with concern.
— "There were battles here. And those who fell… haven't found peace."
Her words hung in the air like an invisible web.
Suddenly, the path widened, forming a small clearing bathed in dim light — not from the sun, but from the ground itself.
At its center stood a stone obelisk, covered in moss and cracks.
Tarion stepped closer, his heart pounding. Symbols had been carved into the stone — ancient, warped by time. One of them he recognized immediately.
— "It's his mark," he whispered. "My father's symbol."
— "Your ancestors left this for you," Maili said gently. She laid a hand on his shoulder, her voice unusually warm. "Remember, Tarion: the past doesn't only wound. It guides."
Laina approached the obelisk, running her fingers carefully along the ancient inscriptions.
— "There's more…," she murmured. "As if something's hidden beneath."
Tarion leaned in beside her. Dust crumbled from the stone, revealing an engraving: three interlocked circles with a flame at their center.
— "The Black Cycle," Tarion breathed. His voice rasped. "They knew of it… even back then."
Whispers rose around them again — louder now, nearly intelligible. The ground trembled underfoot, and from the shadows of the forest, shapes emerged.
— "Who are they?" Laina asked, backing toward the obelisk, eyes darting to the dark silhouettes.
— "Not the living," Maili said quietly, one hand slipping behind her back to prepare a spell.
Tarion clenched his fist. He could feel the magic swelling in his chest, responding to an ancient call in his blood.
— "They're guardians. Old souls bound to the path."
A battle was coming.
But this time, Tarion was not alone.