The sky was burning.
Crimson clouds churned above a battlefield torn apart by fire and fury. The ground was cracked and blackened, soaked with blood and scorched by the breath of dragons. Amidst the chaos, a lone warrior stood—battered, bloodied, yet unbroken. His armor hung from his frame in shattered pieces, his greatsword dragged at his side, its once-brilliant edge dulled and fractured.
He could barely breathe.
But behind him stood something even more fearsome than the armies encircling them—a great hybrid dragon, wings like storm clouds, eyes burning with ancient fire. Its obsidian scales shimmered with raw power as it roared, a sound that shook the heavens. It coiled protectively around the warrior, flames bursting from its jaws to hold back the dark.
The warrior clutched a pendant at his chest, its faint glow pulsing like a heartbeat.
"Protect it," he whispered hoarsely, voice barely audible over the storm. "No matter what."
The dragon turned its head, meeting his gaze. There was pain in those eyes—grief, rage, something deeper.
Then the world blurred—
melted—
shifted—
Now a forest.
Cold night air.
A man, running.
His cloak was torn by branches, blood smeared across his cheek. In his arms, he held a baby—small, barely five months old, wrapped tightly in a faded blanket. The child didn't cry. He only stared upward with wide, calm eyes, a faint silver glint at his throat—a pendant.
The man's breaths came in ragged bursts as he reached the edge of a quiet village. He stumbled toward a small cottage at the far end, light flickering behind its windows. Kneeling at the doorstep, he looked down at the baby, sorrow tightening his face.
"I'm sorry… This is the only way," he whispered.
He touched the pendant gently, then gave a soft knock—once, twice—and vanished into the night.
The door creaked open.
A woman's gasp.
Then—
Darkness.
Silence.
Cold.
Artemis woke upright in bed.
His breath came in short bursts. Sweat clung to his forehead, his shirt damp against his skin. The early light of dawn streamed through the window, soft and golden, as if mocking the firestorm he had just witnessed.
His hand moved instinctively to his chest, fingers closing around the small pendant hanging from the chain around his neck.
The dream again.
Always the same—the burning skies, the dragon, the dying warrior... and the baby left at a doorstep.
Artemis sat still for a long moment, the dream clinging to his skin like morning fog.
The echoes of fire and screaming skies still rang faintly in his ears. That battlefield—the dragon—the pendant. It all felt so real. Too real. And that man in the forest, running with the baby… Every time the dream ended in the same way: with the knock on the door and the woman's gasp.
He stared at the pendant resting against his chest, the silver chain cool beneath his fingertips. It wasn't glowing anymore. Had it ever been?
A soft knock came at his bedroom door.
"Artemis!" his mother's voice called gently from the hallway. "Breakfast is ready, sweetheart. Don't make me come drag you out of bed again!"
He blinked, shaking the weight of the dream from his shoulders.
"Coming!" he called back.
Throwing off the blanket, he stood and pulled on a faded green shirt. His room was small but cozy, filled with hand-carved furniture and sunlight filtering through the old wooden window. A few dried flowers hung by the door—his mother's habit—and the faint smell of fresh bread was already reaching up from the kitchen.
He descended the stairs into the warm embrace of the Baker household.
The table was already set. Fresh loaves, eggs, jam, and a small bowl of honey sat in the center like a morning feast. Mira Baker, his mother, bustled between the hearth and the table with a smile, apron dusted in flour. Thomas, his father, sat polishing a wooden tool handle, eyes warm under his graying brows. kael and lyra, his younger brother and sister , were already stuffing their mouths with bread, arguing about something ridiculous.
"There he is! "Thomas said with a grin. "We thought you were going to sleep until the sun set."
"I was up late," Artemis muttered, sliding into his seat.
"With your head in the clouds again ?" Mira teased, tousling his hair as she set a mug of warm milk in front of him. "You've always had strange dreams, haven't you?"
Artemis gave her a faint smile but said nothing. The warmth of the room, the chatter of his brothers, and the smell of home slowly eased the lingering unease.
For a while, it was enough.
For a while, he let himself believe this life—this family—was all there ever had been.
After breakfast, Artemis stepped outside into the crisp morning air. The village of Elmsworth lay bathed in soft golden light, its cobblestone paths still damp from the night's dew. Thatched-roof cottages dotted the hills, smoke curling lazily from chimneys. The scent of fresh bread, wildflowers, and the faint hum of distant rivers gave the entire village a dreamlike peace.
A peace Artemis had always felt grateful for… and slightly apart from.
He carried a small bundle of tools under his arm, walking toward the shop where his father worked. Though Thomas Baker was best known for his carpentry, Artemis had started helping with small repairs across the village—mending fences, sharpening tools, or hauling sacks of grain. It wasn't glamorous, but it gave his hands purpose and kept his thoughts from drifting too far.
Today was no different.
"Morning, Artemis!" called Old Man Renner from across the road, pushing a wheelbarrow of potatoes that threatened to tip.
"Morning, sir," Artemis replied, jogging over to steady it.
"You've got good eyes, boy," Renner grunted.
Artemis smiled politely and helped him carry the sack to the porch. Every villager knew him. Some still whispered about the day he was found. But no one ever asked questions. Or maybe they just didn't want the answers.
By midday, the sun was high, and the field beyond the village glowed with swaying gold. Artemis sat beneath a tall oak, wiping sweat from his brow, his pendant catching the light as it swung gently from his neck.
He stared up at the sky, watching the clouds drift slowly like they had all the time in the world.
In this moment, he felt peace.
But deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling.
He wasn't meant to stay here forever.
As Artemis leaned back against the old oak tree, letting the wind rustle through his hair, he heard a familiar voice approaching through the tall grass.
"There you are, dream-boy," came the teasing tone. "I was about to file a missing person report with the local sheep."
He didn't have to look. "Hello, Arion."
Arion dropped beside him with a dramatic sigh, holding two warm sweet buns in his hand. He tossed one toward Artemis, who caught it reflexively.
"You skipped the bakery line again," Arion said. "Honestly, do you have some sort of secret tunnel into their kitchen?"
"I helped Mrs. Fenley fix her fence . She pays in sweet buns," Artemis said with a shrug.
Arion groaned. "Ugh. Why do good people like you always get rewarded? Meanwhile, I risked my life wrestling her goose and all I got was a bite on the leg."
Artemis chuckled quietly. "You chased it with a stick, Arion."
"It started it!"
They sat in silence for a few minutes, the breeze playing through the tall grass, the scent of earth and woodsmoke filling the air.
Then Arion glanced at him sideways. "You okay? You've got that look again."
"What look?"
"The 'I just saw the world end in my sleep' look," he said casually. "You've had it every few weeks since we were kids."
Artemis hesitated, biting into the sweetbun slowly. He didn't answer.
Arion didn't push. He never did.
But the silence between them carried more weight than words could hold.
The sun climbed higher, casting a warm glow across the village of Elmsworth.
From where they sat on the hill, Artemis and Arion l could see nearly everything—the winding cobbled paths, the moss-covered rooftops, the small market square beginning to stir with life. The air shimmered faintly with morning enchantments—floating lanterns still drifting home from the night before, and wisps of glowing pollen that danced between flowers like lazy fireflies.
Elmsworth wasn't a grand place. It had no castle, no strong mages, no dragon bones displayed in its halls. But it felt like home.
The marketplace buzzed with life as they strolled into the village center. A traveling herb-seller had arrived with a cart full of bottled starlight, phoenix feathers, and headache cures labeled "Do Not Drink if You're Cursed." A young bard played a cheerful tune on a stringed instrument shaped like a crescent moon, while two children chased a runaway enchanted broom through the stalls, laughing as it zigzagged like a panicked animal.
Old Lady Miriam sat near the fountain, offering "fortune-twists" — thin spiral pastries that, according to her, gave you dreams of who you'd marry. She waved at Artemis. "Still single, dear?"
Arion replied quickly. "By choice, madam."
Miriam cackled like a spell gone wrong.
Artemis wandered a bit, pausing at a stall selling hand-carved figurines—mostly animals, but one caught his eye: a dragon, wings raised, carved from obsidian-black stone. Something about it stirred the dream again. The heat. The roar.
He blinked, and the feeling was gone.
They continued their slow walk through the village, pausing here and there to help lift a cart stuck in the mud or return a floating apple that had tried to escape its basket. The villagers smiled as they passed—Artemis, the quiet, kind-hearted boy who always helped without asking; and Arion, the loud, slightly ridiculous boy who somehow always made things better by just being around.
By the time the sun began to lean westward, the square had settled into its lazy afternoon rhythm. The sounds softened. The wind shifted.
And somewhere, far beyond the hills, a flock of birds rose suddenly into the sky—disturbed by something unseen.
But in Elmsworth, for now, everything was peaceful.
as the last light of day stretched across the sky, Artemis and Arion parted ways, each heading down separate village paths. Chickens clucked. Lanterns floated lazily into place above doorways, glowing with soft magic.
Artemis reached the edge of the fields where the forest met the hills. He paused for a moment, watching the wind ripple through the tall grass.
A strange stillness settled over the land.
Then, out of the corner of his eye—just for a second—he saw it.
A figure standing far off beneath the trees. Cloaked. Motionless.
Watching him.
Artemis turned quickly. The figure was gone.
He stood there for a moment longer, heart tapping lightly against his ribs. The pendant at his chest felt… warm.
He shook his head and kept walking. Maybe it was nothing.
But that night, the dream returned.
And this time… the dragon spoke his name.