The mist coiled around Kaelen like living tendrils, dampening every sound, every step.
He pushed forward, clutching the bloodied shard in one hand, the other gripping a crooked branch he used as a makeshift staff. His body ached from exhaustion, but some unseen force pulled him deeper into the Veilwood.
Hours passed.
Or maybe it was days. The mist made it impossible to tell. The moon overhead was little more than a blurred smear of light.
He stopped when he stumbled into a clearing.
In the center stood a crumbling stone archway, half-swallowed by vines and moss. Symbols older than any Kaelen had ever seen were etched deep into the stone, glowing faintly in the mist.
The air here felt... different. Heavier. Charged.
As Kaelen approached the archway, the shard at his side vibrated slightly, as if in recognition.
"This is it," he thought. "The Warden's Tomb?"
He took a cautious step forward — and immediately a ripple of power shot through the ground, knocking him back onto the cold earth.
"You're not ready," came a voice, soft but clear, cutting through the mist like a blade.
Kaelen scrambled to his feet, brandishing the shard defensively.
From the shadows beyond the arch, a figure stepped forward — a woman cloaked in green and silver, her hood drawn low over her face. Long hair, the color of fresh snow, tumbled down her shoulders. Eyes like molten gold regarded him with cool detachment.
"Who are you?" Kaelen demanded, his voice hoarse.
The woman tilted her head slightly, studying him.
"I could ask the same. It's not every day a half-blood boy wanders into sacred ground carrying a relic of the Wardens."
Kaelen stiffened. "Half-blood?"
She chuckled softly, the sound like wind in winter branches. "Your blood is not pure human. There is older magic in you — buried deep, dormant until now."
Kaelen gritted his teeth. "You didn't answer my question."
The woman finally pulled back her hood.
Delicate, pointed ears peeked from beneath her hair — unmistakable even in the gloom.
An elf.
Kaelen had heard of them, of course, in old tavern songs and travelers' tales. But to see one, here, standing before him...
"My name is Elowen," she said simply. "Last of the Verdant Circle. Guardian of the Old Ways."
Kaelen lowered his makeshift staff slightly, though he kept the shard ready.
"What do you want from me?" he asked warily.
Elowen's gaze sharpened. "Not what I want. What you need."
Kaelen opened his mouth to protest, but she held up a hand.
"You seek answers. Power. Purpose. And vengeance." Her voice softened. "I felt your awakening from across the Veil. The forest called to me. And so I came."
Kaelen's heart hammered against his ribs. "You talk like you know me."
"In a way, I do." She stepped closer, unafraid. "You are the last heir of the Wardens, Kaelen Drayke. The blood of heroes flows through your veins."
He laughed bitterly. "Heroes? My village is gone. Everyone I loved is dead."
Elowen's expression didn't change. "And that is why you must stand."
Kaelen shook his head. "I'm just a blacksmith's apprentice. I don't even know how to fight properly. I barely survived a wild boar."
"The blood remembers," Elowen said cryptically. "You will too."
She extended a hand, palm up.
"Come with me. There is a place where the past sleeps, waiting for the worthy to awaken it. There, you will find your true strength."
Kaelen hesitated. Every instinct screamed at him not to trust her. But at the same time... what choice did he have?
He looked back toward the way he came — only mist and darkness.
Forward... the unknown.
But also, perhaps, a chance to understand what he was becoming.
Gritting his teeth, Kaelen reached out and clasped her hand.
The moment their skin touched, the stone archway blazed with brilliant blue light. The ground rumbled beneath them. Ancient magic, wild and untamed, surged into the air.
Kaelen staggered as visions flooded his mind — great battles, monstrous beasts, men and women clad in shimmering armor wielding weapons of impossible power.
And at the center of it all, a solitary figure stood — a Warden, his eyes burning with fierce determination, standing against the end of the world itself.
The vision faded, leaving Kaelen gasping for breath.
Elowen regarded him silently, her golden eyes filled with something almost like pity.
"Your journey begins now, Kaelen Drayke," she said softly. "The world will not wait for you to be ready."
From the mist, shapes began to emerge — shadows wearing the faces of men, but wrong, twisted.
Kaelen gripped the shard tighter, heart pounding.
Elowen drew a slender blade from beneath her cloak, its edge humming with faint green light.
"Lesson one," she said with a grim smile.
"Survive."
And then the shadows lunged.