The sky hung heavy with stars as Elara Wynne stepped out of her cottage, a woven basket hooked over one arm. The last traces of sunlight had melted into the forest beyond the hills, and with it came the crisp bite of nightfall. She tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders and made her way down the familiar path toward the woods, the scent of damp earth and pine surrounding her like an old friend.
"Late again," she murmured to herself. Old Marn would scold her if she didn't bring back enough moonflower petals before they closed for the night. Their luminescent glow only bloomed under the moon, and their essence was vital for the fever draughts needed this time of year. Half the village had come down with the same coughing sickness.
Elara's boots crunched gently on the gravel, a soft rhythm as familiar as her own heartbeat. She had lived in the village of Liora her entire life — a quiet, secluded settlement tucked between silver birch woods and the rushing River Lys. It was a place where everyone knew everyone, where the most exciting news was when the baker's cat got into the cream again.
Yet something had been stirring lately. In the wind, in her dreams. In the way her skin sometimes tingled as if touched by invisible sparks. She hadn't told anyone, not even Marn, the only family she'd ever known.
She reached the meadow and knelt beside the first cluster of moonflowers, their soft white petals glowing faintly in the darkness. As she plucked them gently, careful not to bruise the delicate blossoms, a sudden gust of wind swept through the trees. Elara froze.
The wind spoke.
It wasn't a voice exactly — more like a pressure behind her eyes, a whisper threading through her thoughts.
"Awaken…"
She spun around, heart hammering in her chest. But no one was there. Just the rustling trees and the distant call of an owl.
Shaking her head, Elara gathered the last of the petals and started back toward the cottage. She didn't notice the faint silver shimmer blooming beneath the skin of her palm — not yet.
---
Old Marn was waiting by the hearth when she returned, stirring a pot of thick broth.
"You're late, girl," Marn grumbled, but her tone was gentler than her words.
"Sorry, the flowers took longer to bloom tonight," Elara said, setting down the basket.
Marn gave her a look, eyes narrowing slightly. "You've been having those dreams again, haven't you?"
Elara stilled. She hadn't told Marn about the recent ones.
"I just — it's nothing. Just strange dreams. Everyone has them."
"Not like yours, they don't." Marn wiped her hands on a cloth and turned toward the window. "Your mother used to get them too."
At the mention of her mother, a pang went through Elara. She had no memory of her. Only that she had died when Elara was a baby, leaving her to be raised by Marn.
Before she could respond, a loud knock came at the door.
Not the soft, hesitant knock of a neighbor. This one was forceful. Urgent.
Marn frowned and moved to answer it. Elara followed, her heart beginning to race again.
The door creaked open.
Standing on the other side was a man.
Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark cloak and travel-worn armor. A long sword rested at his side, but it was the look in his eyes — sharp, stormy gray — that caught Elara's breath.
"I'm looking for Elara Wynne," he said, his voice low and firm.
Elara stepped forward before she could stop herself. "I'm Elara."
He studied her for a moment, then nodded as if confirming something he already knew. "You're not safe here."
Marn scowled. "And who are you to come knocking with such claims?"
The man hesitated, then drew something from his cloak — a broken medallion, shaped like a sun split down the middle. Elara had seen the symbol once, in an old book Marn kept locked away.
"The Order of the Solguard," Marn whispered. Her face had gone pale.
"I am Kael Thorne," the man said. "Knight of the Last Circle. I've come to protect her."
"From what?" Elara asked, voice barely audible.
Kael didn't answer. Instead, he turned and pointed toward the dark forest behind him.
A shimmer pulsed between the trees — a shape, writhing in shadows. Then another.
Elara's breath caught.
They looked almost human, but wrong. Their limbs were too long, eyes glowing faintly red, their bodies flickering like smoke barely held together.
"Shadowspawn," Kael said grimly. "They've found your scent. And they won't stop until you're dead — or worse."
Marn moved quickly, grabbing Elara's arm. "The mark," she said, yanking back her sleeve.
There it was.
A glowing silver mark, delicate and shaped like a rising star, pulsing softly on the inside of her wrist.
Elara stared at it, shaking her head. "What is this? What's happening to me?"
Kael stepped forward. "You carry the Aetherblood — the last of a line that once kept balance in the realm. Your power has been dormant, but now it's waking. And others can feel it."
"I don't have any power," she said, backing away.
"You will," Kael replied. "And when you do, they'll come for you in greater numbers."
A shattering crash came from outside. The window exploded inward as one of the creatures lunged through, its body trailing black smoke.
Kael was already moving. In one motion, he drew his sword and struck, the blade glowing with faint blue runes. The creature screamed and dissolved into ash.
"Get what you need," he said to Elara, "We leave before dawn."
---
Elara sat in her room, stunned, as Marn packed her satchel.
"You knew," Elara said quietly. "You knew something like this might happen."
"I hoped it wouldn't," Marn said, not meeting her eyes. "But your mother made me promise to keep you hidden. To keep you safe. The Aetherblood was thought extinct — hunted down in the last war. If the wrong hands control it again… the whole realm could burn."
Elara swallowed hard. "And Kael? Can we trust him?"
Marn gave her a tired look. "The Solguard once served the Aetherblood line. He may be the last. If anyone can protect you, it's him."
They finished packing in silence. Elara slipped the satchel over her shoulder and took one last look around her small room — the dried herbs hanging from the rafters, the well-worn books, the soft quilt Marn had sewn when she was a child.
Nothing would ever be the same again.
She stepped out into the night, where Kael waited beside a dark horse. His expression was unreadable, but he gave a short nod.
Without a word, she climbed up behind him, and they rode into the forest — toward a destiny Elara never asked for, and a power she didn't yet understand.
But the silver mark on her wrist glowed brighter now, and deep inside her, something ancient stirred.
Something waiting to awaken.