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A soft tremor passed through Adrien's fingers as his eyes fluttered open. The first light of dawn spilled through thin curtains, painting faint bars of gold across the wooden floor. Dust danced within the sunbeams, like drifting stars caught between sleep and waking.
For a moment, he lay still — the echo of his dream clinging to him like morning fog.
A burning field. A sky torn open by light.
And a voice, faint yet achingly familiar, calling an unfamiliar name through the smoke.
He sat up slowly, pressing a palm to his temple. His breath came ragged, his heartbeat unsteady. The same dream again… the same silence after the fire.
"Adrien?"
His mother's voice came through the door, soft and concerned.
"I'm awake, Mother," he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
The door creaked open. Lira, Adrien's mother,stepped in, wiping flour from her hands. Her auburn hair was pinned loosely, a few rebellious strands framing a face made gentle by worry. The scent of warm bread followed her — giving Adrien a sense of hunger.
"You're drenched again," she said, crossing her arms. "The same dream?"
Adrien hesitated, then nodded faintly. "It's nothing. I'm fine ."
She sighed — she's long stopped chasing answers from this stubborn boy.
"If you're so fine ,why don't you fetch me some herbal tea from old maren's . we have run out of them ."
"Alright."
Adrien replied automatically, though his mind still scattered.When she left back to the kitchen, the room fell silent again.
Ever since he turned seventeen , he's been haunted by Nightmares,a single nightmare to be precise. He could never recall much of it once he woke. Only fragments, a dim plain veiled in mist,the sound of whispers he can't decipher the meaning yet giving a sense of familiarity. Each time ,he awoke with the same hollow ache in his head as though he's been hit by something vast.
Adrien dragged himself from the tangled sheets ,his limbs heavy with the weight of restless dreams. The floor was cold beneath his feet as he crossed to the basin by the window. Morning light poured through the shutters, scattering across the rippling surface of the water .A familiar face stared back at him -a young man of seventeen with quiet, thoughtful eyes. His hair, a soft chestnut brown, fell in uneven strands that caught the sunlight. His skin held the faint color of someone used to open air and work, but not roughened by it.
His features were clear and calm, though there was a shadow beneath his eyes — not from sleeplessness alone. His gaze always carried that faraway look.
He studied his reflection for a moment longer, then sighed. "Another restless night…"
He stepped out of his room, the wooden floor creaking softly under his feet. The morning air inside their small cottage carried the scent of baked bread, simmering herbs, and warmth — chasing away his lingering uneasiness replaced by hunger.
His mother stood by the hearth, stirring a pot with practiced ease. The faint lines near her eyes deepened when she noticed him.
She studied him for a moment longer, then smiled faintly, though the worry in her eyes didn't fade. "Eat first. Dreams can wait till you've had something warm."
Adrien chuckled softly and took his seat. The wooden table was worn smooth with years of use, yet it felt comforting. He broke a piece of bread, its crust golden and crisp, and dipped it into the stew. Shoving it into his mouth, he let his mind relax.
Outside, the faint sound of a rooster crowing echoed through the valley. Through the open window, he could see the early mist curling over the rooftops of Veliria, the place he grew up in.
After breakfast, Adrien gathered the small basket his mother had left by the door. "Get some herbs from old Maren," she reminded him, wiping her hands on her apron. "And don't let her talk your ears off again."
He grinned. "No promises."
The morning light met him the moment he stepped outside. Dew clung to the cobblestones, turning them silver beneath his feet. The village was already waking — smoke curling lazily from chimneys, children chasing a stray hen down the path, and the steady rhythm of the blacksmith's hammer ringing from across the square.
Veliria was small, but it carried a charm that travelers often spoke of — the scent of pine drifting from the surrounding hills, the sound of river water running close by, and the banners of pale blue cloth that fluttered softly from wooden poles, marking the coming of the Harvest Week.
As Adrien walked, his eyes caught on a passing merchant cart. A pair of horned draft beasts pulled it steadily. Etched faintly along their flanks were delicate glowing markings — guiding runes, barely visible in daylight. The creatures' eyes shimmered faintly blue, calm but aware. The merchant, noticing his gaze, gave a proud grin.
"Fine work, isn't it? Paid a rune-smith from the capital to mark them. Won't lose direction even at night."
Adrien nodded politely. His curiosity about runes was something he couldn't quite hide, even though he'd never been able to understand how they worked. They said runes were living symbols — that they drew strength from both the world and the soul of the one who carved them.
Adrien slowed his pace, watching in quiet fascination.
The Runic Path — that was what they called it.
A calling for the few, unreachable for most.
It was said that the strongest among them could draw entire circles of power across the sky, binding storms and fire to their will. The Imperial Mage Court, at the heart of the capital, was home to such legends. Adrien had only ever seen their likeness in the tattered posters that sometimes reached the village — tall figures robed in light, etched with sigils that shimmered like living stars.
To someone like him, their world felt as distant as heaven itself.
He couldn't help but think how strange it was — even the dumbest beasts could be bound by runes, yet he, a human, couldn't awaken a single one. He'd tried, in secret. Drawn the simplest marks on parchment. Whispered words half-remembered from old tales.
Nothing ever happened.
"By decree of His Majesty and the Council of Mages—!"
The shout broke through his thoughts. Adrien turned toward the plaza. A mounted herald stood atop a pale gryphon, crimson banners of the Imperial Court unfurling behind him. The crowd thickened as villagers leaned closer to listen.
The herald unrolled a parchment, voice loud and steady.
"All able-bodied men and gifted youths are summoned to enlist! The southern borders near Caldrith have suffered renewed assaults from the Wryths. Villages have fallen. Those with rune affinity shall be tested and trained under Imperial sanction."
A hush rippled through the square. The word — Wryths — fell like ice into the air.
Adrien felt it crawl under his skin.
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