The First Stirrings
The morning after the battle, Lastlight stirred uneasily. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and lingering smoke, the remnants of the night's skirmish still clinging to the village like a shroud. The villagers moved in hushed silence, their eyes darting toward the tree line, where the Vein-Touched had retreated—but not vanished.
At the well, a child named Elia—barely eight summers old—stood frozen, her small hands trembling. The wooden bucket lay forgotten at her feet. She had been drawing water when something strange happened. A droplet, suspended in mid-air, had risen from the well's depths and hovered above her palm.
She gasped, and the droplet splashed back into the darkness.
But others had seen.
Whispers spread like wildfire.
Harkin's Revelation
By midday, the entire village had gathered in the square. The old priest, Harkin, stood at the centre, his gnarled hands clasped around his bone-and-onyx holy symbol. His milky eyes, usually clouded with age, burned with something fierce—something alive.
"You've felt it," he rasped, his voice carrying across the silent crowd. "The tingling in your veins when the Vein-Touched came too close. The way your skin prickled when fear sharpened your focus."
A murmur rippled through the villagers. Some shifted uncomfortably. Others clenched their fists, remembering the strange sensations that had coursed through them during the fight.
Alaric watched from the shadows, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Crimson Wing stood beside him, ears pricked forward, sensing the shift in the air.
Harkin raised his hand—and fire erupted from his palm.
Not the wild, untamed blaze of a torch, but a controlled, swirling ember that danced above his wrinkled skin. The villagers recoiled, some stumbling back in shock.
"Our ancestors wielded the elements," Harkin declared, his voice gaining strength. "Fire. Water. Earth. Wind. But the Vein-Touched hunted them for it. Burned the knowledge from our blood. Now, after centuries of silence, it stirs again."
A farmer, his hands still caked with mud from the fields, stepped forward. "How?"
Harkin's lips curled into a grim smile.
"Because we have no choice."
The Elemental Powers Manifest
The villagers' abilities were raw, unpredictable—echoes of a forgotten lineage. Some shared the same elemental affinities, though none could yet control them fully.
Fire -Wielders Tested
Harkin (Priest): The only one with any semblance of control, his flames burned with the fury of a man who had spent decades praying for vengeance.
Darin (Baker): His hands scorched anything he touched when angered, leaving charred handprints on tables and bread loaves alike.
Ryn (Blacksmith's Apprentice): Sparks danced around his hammer when he struck metal, sometimes igniting into full flames mid-swing.
Water-Callers in Motion
Thom (Farmer): Pulled water from the air and earth in desperate moments, forming whips or shields—but never for long.
Mara (Fisher's Daughter): Could summon a mist to obscure herself, though it often left her coughing and drained.
Elia (Child by the Well): The first to awaken, her power flickered like a candle in the wind—there one moment, gone the next.
Earth-Shapers Rise
Joren (Blacksmith's Son): The ground trembled beneath his feet when he was cornered, spikes of stone erupting to defend him.
Bryn (Stonecutter): His hands could soften rock like clay, though he couldn't yet shape it with intent.
Kessa (Elderly Gardener): Vines and roots responded to her panic, tangling attackers—and sometimes allies.
Wind-Walkers Dance
Lissa (Weaver's Daughter): The wind carried her steps farther than they should go, making her fleet-footed but unsteady.
Talen (Fletcher's Son (Adopted)): His arrows sometimes flew with unnatural precision, as if guided by an unseen hand.
Wynn (Shepherd): Gusts swirled around him when he shouted, though he couldn't yet direct them.
The Problem
None of them could summon their powers at will.
None of them knew how.
The elements answered only in moments of desperation—when fear and focus collided, when survival outweighed thought.
Harkin could guide them, but even his fire was crude compared to the legends. His ancestors had wielded flames like blades, shaping them into shields, forging infernos with a thought. He could barely keep a steady ember.
Alaric's Decision
That night, Alaric stood before the villagers, the dagger—Claret Monarch—glinting at his hip.
"You don't need mastery," he said, his voice low but firm. "You need instinct."
He pointed to the training yard.
"We fight."
The Trial by Blood
They didn't use wooden swords.
They didn't pull punches.
Alaric and Harkin came at them like Vein-Touched—relentless, brutal.
Fire-Bearers Tested
Darin yelped as Harkin's fire licked at his sleeves. Instinctively, his hands flared with heat, the flames recoiling as if burned by his own skin. Ryn, swinging his hammer, sent sparks flying—one caught the training dummy alight, and for a moment, the fire obeyed him, coiling around his weapon like a living thing.
Water-Callers in Motion
Thom stumbled as Alaric lunged at him. A geyser erupted at his feet, dousing the dirt and sending Alaric sliding back. Mara, panting, summoned a veil of mist—just enough to obscure her movements as she darted away.
Earth-Shapers Rise
Joren took a fist to the ribs—and the earth beneath him buckled, throwing Alaric off-balance. Bryn, pressing his hands to the ground, softened the stone beneath Harkin's feet, making the old priest stagger.
Wind-Walkers Dance
Lissa moved like a shadow, the wind carrying her steps farther than she intended—once, she nearly collided with a wall. Talen loosed an arrow, and a sudden gust sent it veering off-course—straight into a dummy's throat.
It was messy.
It was dangerous.
But it worked.
The First True Strike
The next attack came at midnight.
The Vein-Touched poured from the tree line, their blackened veins pulsing, their mouths stretched in grotesque grins.
The villagers didn't falter.
Fire and Fury
Harkin's flames roared to life, a whip of fire searing through the night. Darin, standing beside him, let his hands burn—blackened claws reached for him, and the creature recoiled, its flesh blistering.
Water's Defence
Thom and Mara worked in tandem—water surged from the well, forming a shimmering barrier that slowed the Vein-Touched advance. Elia, trembling, reached out—and the droplets hardened into icy shards, slicing through corrupted flesh.
Earth's Wrath
Joren and Bryn shattered the ground beneath the enemy, spikes of stone impaling the corrupted. Kessa, her hands buried in the soil, whispered—and roots erupted, tangling around ankles, dragging the Vein-Touched down.
Wind's Guidance
Lissa and Talen moved like ghosts, the wind carrying their strikes farther and faster. Wynn's shouts sent gusts slamming into the enemy, knocking them off balance.
Alaric watched, a smirk tugging at his lips.
They were still untrained.
Still wild.
But they were no longer helpless.
The Shadow's Warning
As the last Vein-Touched fell, the wind died.
Silence.
Then—
A whisper, slithering from the darkness:
"You awaken what should have stayed dead."
The villagers froze.
Alaric's hand went to his dagger.
The voice chuckled—a sound like cracking bones.
"The elements were never yours to wield."
And then it was gone.
The Choice
Harkin's face was grim. "They know."
Alaric nodded. "Good."
The villagers exchanged glances. They had tasted power. They had felt the old blood stir.
Now?
Now they had something to fight for.
The Training Continues
By dawn, the yard was alive again.
Fire-bearers practiced kindling flames without burning themselves.
Water-callers pulled moisture from the air, shaping it into fragile shields.
Earth-shapers willed the ground to tremble, if only slightly.
Wind-walkers sprinted, begging the breeze to carry them farther.
Harkin's fire burned brighter.
And Alaric?
He watched.
And waited.
Because the Vein-Touched would return.
And this time—
Lastlight would be ready.