Volume 1- The start of a legend
The birds were singing.
That was the first thing he noticed—before the pain, before the questions, before even opening his eyes. A symphony of chirping and distant rustling leaves played above him, warm and alive. The sunlight dripped gently through a canopy of green, painting golden freckles across his cheeks.
He blinked slowly. The sky was fractured by leaves, and the trees around him towered high like old sentinels. His body ached in strange places, his head heavy and confused. He tried to sit up.
And then he froze.
Who am I?
The thought dropped into his chest like a stone in a still pond. His fingers gripped the grass beneath him as panic flickered through his ribs, but no name rose to his tongue. Only silence. His breaths came quicker, shallow and unsure.
His hands trembled.
He looked down at them—slender, pale hands. Elven, though he didn't yet know the word for it. His gaze caught on a faint glimmer from a puddle beside him. He crawled toward it, peering in.
A boy stared back. Short blond hair, tangled and messy. Sharp, angled features too noble for someone his age. And those eyes—green as dew-covered leaves, glowing faintly in the morning light.
They weren't normal. He knew that instinctively. They weren't just eyes—they were marks. Symbols. Something ancient stared through them.
"I had… longer hair," he whispered aloud, surprised at the sound of his own voice. It was soft, still childlike, but clear. His hand rose to the back of his neck, as if expecting a longer trail of gold. A faint tug in his chest echoed that thought, a memory not fully gone.
Wind rustled nearby. The forest stirred as if watching him.
He stood—wobbly, barefoot, and alone. His clothes were simple, worn but clean, a cream-colored tunic and pants made of something soft and well-crafted. No sign of who left him here. No sign of who he had been.
Then, a whisper. Not a voice—something deeper. A sensation. A wordless echo that settled in the air.
Elarion.
The name unfurled in his mind like leaves in spring. It felt right. Not fully familiar, but not foreign either.
"I'm Elarion…" he said it aloud, and something inside him stilled.
Then the trees shifted. Not with the wind—but with presence. Something—or someone—was coming.
He looked around, senses suddenly sharper, more alert. He didn't know why, but the forest no longer felt completely neutral. There was a tension. As though his waking had stirred something more than just the birds.
And so the boy named Elarion took his first step.
Into the forest.
Into the unknown.
Into the beginning of his legend.