The forest beyond the ruined village was quiet.
Too quiet.
Birds should have been chirping.Insects should have been buzzing.Wind should have whispered through the branches.
But everything was still—as if the world itself held its breath.
Kael walked alone down the dirt path, boots sinking into the soft soil.Every step he took felt heavier than the last, filled not with fatigue… but with the new pulse in his veins.
His first Echotrait was awakening slowly, unfolding inside him like a seed cracking open.
He didn't understand it yet.He only knew one thing:
The soil was watching him.
Every patch of dirt he stepped on tingled.Every footprint he left behind whispered faint echoes of memory.
His memory.Lyra's laughter.Lyra's cries.Lyra's fear when they dragged her away.
The land replayed it to him, again and again, until rage replaced breath.
He forced himself forward.
The invaders had left a trail.
Broken branches.Boot prints pressed deep into the forest floor.The faint metallic scent of blood.And every few meters—burned flags bearing a symbol:
A serpent swallowing its own tail.
Kael had never seen it before.His village was small, forgotten by most kingdoms.But the emblem chilled him.
Not because it was frightening—but because it looked old.Older than any carving he had seen.Older than the soil itself.
Kael stopped at a muddy patch and crouched.The footprint was large, heavy, and armored.A commander's step.
And beside it…a smaller footprint.Light. Barefoot.
Lyra.
His hand trembled when he touched it.The soil pulsed, reading his memory, answering him.
A vision flickered—
Lyra stumbling.A rough hand pulling her forward.Her eyes searching the forest…searching for him.
Then darkness.
The vision shattered.
Kael's breath turned sharp, ragged.
"Hold on, Lyra," he whispered."Don't be scared. I'm coming."
The forest suddenly rustled.
Kael instantly dropped low, eyes narrowed.
Movement—fast, deliberate.
Something—or someone—was hiding in the bushes.
He reached for a wooden branch, gripping it like a spear.
"Come out," he said.
No answer.
The bushes shook again.
Kael took a step closer.
A shadow leaped out—
Kael swung the branch.
It cracked against the creature's skull with a dull thud.
The figure collapsed, groaning.
Kael froze.
It wasn't a beast.Not an invader.Not a scout.
It was a boy—maybe fourteen, skinny, half-starved, covered in dirt and bruises.
The boy coughed, raising trembling hands.
"P-Please… don't kill me…"
Kael lowered the branch slowly.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
The boy swallowed hard.His voice shook with terror—not of Kael, but of something else.
"They… they took her," the boy whispered."The girl with the silver hair… I saw them drag her through the woods."
Kael's heart slammed against his ribs.
"You saw?" His voice came out harsher than intended."Where did they take her?"
The boy pointed a shaking finger deeper into the forest.
"To the Iron Caravan. They said they were going to the capital of the Serpent-Fed Empire."
Kael had never heard the name.
But the boy was not finished.
He leaned closer, eyes wide with fear.
"They weren't just soldiers," he said."They were looking for someone."
Kael felt cold.
"For who?"
The boy whispered:
"For a girl born under the Shadow Harvest.For the one the soil remembers.For a ruler waiting to awaken."
Kael's blood ran cold.
Lyra.
Before he could speak again, the soil beneath Kael's feet pulsed—hard.
Another vision slammed into his mind.
A colossal city of black stone.A throne of twisting serpents.A girl—Lyra—crying in chains.A shadow looming behind her…holding a crown made of bone.
Kael gasped and dropped to one knee, clutching his head.
The boy stepped back in fear.
Kael looked up—eyes glowing faintly with the newborn power in his blood.
"Tell me," he growled softly,"How far ahead is the caravan?"
The boy trembled.
"Half a day… but they're fast…"
Kael stood.
Not a farmer.Not a boy.
A brother on the edge of becoming something monstrous.
"We run," Kael said."If you can keep up, follow.If not… hide."
The boy nodded shakily.
Kael stepped forward, and the soil darkened beneath his boots, whispering one word—
"Hunt."
He broke into a run.
The forest roared behind him.
The journey had begun