The next morning dawned bright and clear, the hills drenched in dew like jewels scattered by unseen hands. Kael rose early, as always, to tend the sheep. Mira still slept by the hearth, and Darin snored with a blanket tangled around his legs. He smiled at them both before slipping quietly out the door.
The village stirred slowly. Farmers made their way to the fields, and women fetched water from the well. The air smelled of damp earth and pine sap, of life unchanged for generations. Yet that morning, Kael sensed something different, though he could not name it.
As he climbed the ridge, staff in hand, a low hum began to vibrate through the air. At first he thought it was the wind whistling over the rocks, but then it deepened—resonant, strange, like the toll of some distant bell. His flock bleated uneasily, hooves shuffling as they pressed closer together.
Kael's brow furrowed. He lifted his eyes to the sky.
The heavens rippled.
It was as if the very fabric of the world had been torn open, revealing a burning wound of light. Clouds spun into spirals, pulled toward a single point high above. And then, with a thunderclap that shook the hills, a streak of fire split the sky and came crashing down toward the capital far beyond the horizon.
The ground quaked beneath Kael's feet. He stumbled, clutching his staff, eyes wide as the light blazed and then—vanished.
For a moment, silence. The birds were gone. The sheep huddled, trembling. Then came the sound: a voice.
It was not carried on the wind, nor did it come from any human throat. It was everywhere, vast and commanding, echoing through valley and mountain alike.
"Heed, children of Aeloria. The Skyblade has descended. Only the most powerful shall lift it. Only the worthy shall wield it. And he alone shall stand against Bakaalka, the chained shadow who stirs in the abyss. Seek the blade, if you dare."
The voice faded into silence, leaving the world heavy and still.
Kael's heart pounded. He could not move, could not even breathe. He had heard tales of the Skyblade, whispered in old songs sung by traveling bards. A weapon forged by the gods, they said, to banish the darkness when it rose again. But he had never believed them—not truly. Not until now.
---
The Village in Uproar
By the time Kael herded his shaken flock back to Branthollow, the entire village was gathered in the square. Mothers clutched their children, old men muttered prayers, and the air buzzed with fear. Some swore the end of the world had come. Others shouted that the gods themselves had spoken.
A group of riders had arrived—royal messengers, their cloaks bearing the crest of the white hawk. Dust still clung to their boots, and their horses steamed with sweat. One rider unfurled a scroll and, with a voice trained to command, addressed the people.
"By decree of His Majesty, King Aldros of Aeloria! The Skyblade has fallen in the capital, its light witnessed across the realm. His Majesty declares a grand tournament: all who believe themselves strong enough may come forth and prove their worth. Whoever lifts the Skyblade shall be granted the right to wield it against the Demon King, Bakaalka. And by the King's word—" the herald's voice rose above the murmuring crowd "—he who claims the blade shall also win the hand of the Princess Serenya, heir to the throne."
A hush fell. The villagers looked at one another in disbelief. The princess? A chance for a commoner to marry into the royal line?
Excited voices erupted, mixing with fear. Some young men spoke eagerly of joining the tournament, boasting of their strength. Others cursed the King for tempting fate when demons stirred.
Kael stood at the edge of the crowd, silent. His heart thundered in his chest, though not with fear. For him, the herald's words were fire poured upon embers that had long smoldered in his heart. The Skyblade… the princess… destiny itself seemed to be calling his name.
Yet even as he felt the pull, the whispers of doubt rose too. What was he, but a shepherd?
---
Shadows Over the Hills
That night, the village held little peace. Men sharpened old swords, women spoke of omens, and children whispered about demons slipping through the cracks in the world.
Kael sat outside the cottage, staring at the stars. The words of the proclamation echoed in his ears, twining with the divine voice he had heard on the hills. He thought of the princess, of the capital he had never seen, and of the strange stirring in his blood.
Somewhere far away, a wolf howled. The sheep in their pens bleated uneasily. Kael frowned. It was no wolf. The sound was too deep, too hollow, like the growl of something ancient.
And then—against the moonlit sky—a shadow passed. Vast wings, black as midnight, swept silently above the hills.
Kael's grip tightened on his staff. His life had been simple yesterday. Today, it was already gone.