Night crept slowly among the trees of Senra. The forest seemed alive breathing in a strange, silent rhythm, as if every branch, leaf, and wisp of fog held its own awareness. Lys walked heavily, pushing through the thick mist that swallowed the moonlight. Each breath came out as a thin cloud, each small movement stirring the sound of breaking twigs that made his heart pound faster. He did not know how long he had been walking only that the sound of horses from the valley had long vanished behind him.
He stopped by a small river, knelt, and scooped water with both hands. The water was freezing, but refreshing. He drank slowly, trying to calm the frantic beat of his heart. When he looked at his reflection on the water's surface, he almost didn't recognize himself his usually pale eyes now shimmered faintly, a silver-blue hue like remnants of a dream that refused to fade.
"Are you still there?" he asked softly.
For several seconds, only the sound of the river and night insects answered. Then, slowly, a voice echoed gently inside his mind deep, calm, and somehow soothing.
"I have not left you," said Aetherion. "We are one. I am weakened, but I remain."
Lys lowered his head, droplets of water falling from his hair to the ground. "I don't know whether to believe or to be afraid," he said quietly. "I don't even know if you're real."
"Is your breath real?" the voice asked gently. "Is your pain real? If so, then so am I."
Lys took a deep breath, trying to accept the truth of it. But his head was full of questions—who exactly was Aetherion? What did he mean by 'guardian of the sky'? And why him, a nameless shepherd, chosen by such a being? He looked toward the dark forest around him, then stood. "Then where do we go now?" he asked. "You said they're hunting us."
"South," Aetherion replied. "There is a place where their shadows cannot reach. But your journey will not be easy. This world... is cracking."
"Cracking?" Lys frowned. "What do you mean?"
"The sky and earth are no longer bound as they once were," said the voice, heavy, as if each word carried the weight of centuries. "The balance once guarded by the seven lights has shattered. I am the first to fall. And beneath this world, something is stirring."
Lys shivered not from cold. He stared into the darkness of the trees ahead. "Something?"
"I cannot explain it fully to you yet," Aetherion replied, his voice dropping to an almost whisper. "You are not ready. But the time will come when you must choose to become the light that guides, or the flame that consumes."
The words hung in the air, and Lys didn't know how to answer. He just walked, stepping over thick roots and thorny undergrowth. The mist grew denser, closing off the world beyond. The Forest of Senra was known in old tales a place where the spirits of nature still whispered, and where those who entered uninvited rarely returned. But tonight, Lys had no other choice.
Hours passed, and exhaustion began to take hold. He found a gap between two fallen trees and decided to rest there. He built a small fire from dry twigs, staring at the flames dancing in the damp air. Around him, the forest murmured faintly the sound of insects, night birds, and something farther away, perhaps only his imagination.
He pulled a worn book from his cloak pocket, one he had used to jot down small notes back in the valley. Now its pages were stained with dirt and water. On the last page, he wrote with a trembling hand:
"First night in the Forest of Senra. Something fell from the sky. I saw it. I touched it. Now, I am not alone."
He stopped writing. His hand trembled not from the cold, but from the realization that every word he wrote was no longer a mere record, but a witness to something beyond human understanding. He closed the book, hugged his knees, and stared into the fire. "What will happen to me?" he whispered.
"You will change," Aetherion replied without hesitation. "Your body must adapt to the light. At times, it will feel like burning."
As if in answer, heat began to bloom in Lys's chest. He looked down the glowing mark appeared again, pulsing faintly beneath his skin. He grimaced, the pain spreading like liquid fire through his veins. "Why does it feel like this?" he gasped between ragged breaths.
"Because you are human," Aetherion said plainly. "Light was never meant to dwell in mortal flesh. But you... are different. There is an ancient echo in your blood."
"Echo?" Lys shut his eyes, fighting the pain that spread through him. "I have nothing but a shepherd's blood."
"So did all beginnings," the voice softened. "Even stars are born from dust."
The heat slowly subsided. Lys lay down, breathing heavily, but feeling strange his mind clearer, his senses sharper. He could hear the heartbeat of small creatures scurrying through the brush, smell the damp earth mingled with mushrooms and tree sap. The world seemed to unfold before him in a way he had never known.
He looked into the small fire before him. The flame quivered softly, but beyond its light he thought he saw something the faint shadow of vast wings stretching across the forest wall. He blinked, and it vanished. "Was that you?" he asked.
"It is the part of you that has begun to awaken," Aetherion said. "Wings of light do not grow from the back, Lys. They grow from the soul."
Lys didn't know whether to feel proud or afraid. He just sat still, letting the words echo in his mind. The night dragged on, and though his body ached with exhaustion, he could not sleep. Through the mist came small, fleeting sounds whispers of the wind, perhaps forest spirits, or perhaps only his weary mind.
Near dawn, he finally drifted into restless sleep. His dreams were fragmented shards exploding stars, cities above clouds, and a figure with seven wings standing amid a storm of light. When he awoke, the sky had paled behind the trees. The small fire had gone out, and the morning air felt heavier than before.
He rose slowly, stretching. The pain in his chest had lessened, though the glowing mark on his skin was clearer now. He stared at it for a long time, then sighed. "You said they're chasing us. How would they know you're here?"
"Light leaves a trail," said Aetherion. "And the Skybinders are trained to sense it. They use an instrument called a Resonator a sacred metal that vibrates when near energy like mine."
"So I'm glowing like a torch in the dark to them?" Lys muttered bitterly.
"Something like that," Aetherion answered calmly.
"Wonderful," Lys said, kicking a small stone into the river. "And now what? You said south. But how far?"
"As far as the Sanctum of Elyndra."
Lys turned sharply. "What is that?"
"A place that was once home to us, the guardians of the sky," said Aetherion. "There, the remnants of light still dwell. If we can reach it, I may recover. And perhaps... answer your questions."
Lys exhaled slowly. The word perhaps unsettled him. But before he could ask more, another sound came a growl, not from within his head but from the bushes behind him. A low snarl, followed by the crack of breaking branches. Lys straightened, his hand instinctively reaching for the wooden staff beside the stone.
From the darkness, a pair of yellow eyes appeared then a massive shadow stepped into the morning light. A wolf, but not an ordinary one. Its fur was pitch black, its eyes glowed faintly, and an open wound on its neck gleamed like molten iron. The air filled with the stench of blood and metal.
"That is no ordinary creature," Aetherion warned. "It is a shadow formed from the cracks of the world. Be cautious."
The wolf growled louder, lowering its body, ready to strike. Lys stepped back, his breathing unsteady. He was no fighter. He didn't know what to do. But as the creature leapt, something within him burst. Reflexively, he raised his hand. From his palm, a burst of blue light shot out, striking the beast squarely in the chest.
The explosion of light shook the forest. The wolf was hurled back, slamming against a tree and vanishing into a swirl of black smoke. Lys stared at his own hand, trembling. His skin still glimmered faintly, like embers refusing to die.
"What... what did I just do?"
"The light protected you," Aetherion said. "You merely channeled it."
"But I don't even know how—"
"You don't need to know. The light recognizes your will."
Lys looked down, still panting. He didn't know whether to feel joy or dread. The same hands that once herded sheep could now destroy a creature with a flicker of light. The world he had known was long gone. He glanced at where the wolf had vanished, leaving only a scorch mark on the ground and a strange lingering scent.
"Are there many creatures like that?" he asked.
"Yes," Aetherion said softly. "When the sky cracked, shadows from below began to rise. This world grows thin between light and dark."
Lys swallowed hard. He turned east, where the sun was rising between the trees. "Then we keep moving," he said at last. "If I stay still, they'll come again."
"True," said Aetherion. "But remember, Lys— the farther we go, the stronger our bond will grow. And when that happens, the light within you will draw more attention... even from those who call themselves allies."
That last word made Lys pause. "Allies?"
Aetherion did not answer. Only silence deepened between them, like mist returning to the forest.
Lys sighed. "Fine. Allies or enemies, I don't care. I just want to survive." He turned from the river, facing the narrow path that wound south. "And if I have to walk to the end of the world for that, I will."
"Your courage is your first light," said Aetherion gently. "Do not let the world extinguish it."
They walked on, leaving behind the river and the fading fire. Above the trees, the rising sun spread golden warmth, but beneath the canopy's shade, Lys felt a world entirely different a world shifting, cracking between light and shadow.
And through his weary steps, the voice remained, whispering within his mind calm, ancient, and strangely familiar.
"The sky calls to you, Lys Arven. And every step you take is an echo of a world being reborn."
Lys didn't answer. He only looked at the light filtering through the trees, letting it touch his face. Somehow, despite the fear, something else stirred within him a fragile hope, small but warm, growing quietly in his chest.
The sky might have cracked, but within his heart, a new light had begun to rise.