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The world had always been too big for Arinthal.
She had always felt small in it—like a pebble on the side of a mountain, waiting to be swept away by the next gust of wind. The weight of her ancestors rested heavy on her shoulders, their legacy a chain she could never quite outrun. The only thing that had ever given her solace was the knowledge that the world could be controlled, measured, contained.
The air was thick with magic in the Vale of Eldere, the remnants of a world long forgotten. The trees here weren't just trees—they were ancient beings, their bark as smooth as obsidian, their roots sunk deep into the heart of the land. Arinthal had been walking for hours, her feet pounding the earth with each step, but she never quite felt alone. The forest was alive in a way that words couldn't explain. It whispered to her when she needed to hear it and fell silent when she needed to think. It was a place she had come to understand, even if she couldn't always explain why.
As she moved deeper into the Vale, a sense of unease crept into her bones. It was something she couldn't name—a shift in the air, a change in the rhythm of the world. The trees seemed to watch her more closely, their branches stretching higher than she remembered. The ground beneath her feet felt… different. The pulse of magic was stronger now. Thicker.
Arinthal paused, setting down her pack and wiping the sweat from her brow. The fog that clung to the forest floor made it hard to see more than a few feet in any direction, but the sound of distant birdsong kept her grounded. She took a deep breath, inhaling the cool, crisp air. There was something about the scent of the forest—earthy, wet, and ancient—that always calmed her. But today, the air smelled… *wrong*.
"Too much change," she muttered to herself.
Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the surroundings. She had come here on a mission—one that was supposed to be simple. Collect a few rare herbs, take them to the village healer, and return. The forest was known for its dangers, of course. Few ventured this deep without good reason. But Arinthal had a reason—one that was too important to ignore.
Her fingers brushed the dagger at her side. She had been carrying it for years—ever since she was a child—and it had never failed her. But today, she felt the weight of it differently. As if the air itself was pressing down on her, urging her to move faster, to get out.
She could almost hear the forest whispering again, but this time the words were muddled. **Go back**. **Don't look**.
It was then that she saw it.
A shape, moving just beyond the veil of fog.
Her breath caught. The figure was slender, tall, and cloaked in tattered fabric. It moved without sound, as though it were part of the mist itself. The strange thing about it was that it wasn't *alive*—not in the way things should be. It wasn't breathing, wasn't moving like a person. It was a shadow. A wisp of something that didn't belong.
Arinthal stepped forward, her dagger slipping from its sheath with a sound that cut through the fog. She couldn't tell if it was human or not, but she didn't want to take any chances. The forest had a habit of testing travelers—no one came here and left unchanged. She had to know what this figure was.
---
The figure turned its head, slowly, deliberately. Its gaze met hers, and Arinthal's heart stilled. Its eyes weren't eyes at all—they were pits, dark and endless, filled with something that felt *ancient*.
The figure didn't speak. It didn't need to.
But Arinthal felt something shift. A pressure building in her chest, like a weight pressing down on her ribs.
It's here.
The voice that filled her mind was not her own. It was foreign—cold. It was a whisper and a roar all at once.
---
**She is coming.**
---
Arinthal recoiled, her hand flying to her head. The voice was inside her skull, inside her mind, pressing against her thoughts, clawing at her sanity.
*Who?*
The figure didn't answer. It merely *pointed*—its skeletal hand stretched toward the horizon, toward the mountains that lay beyond the Vale.
---
**The King's Star rises.**
---
The words echoed in her mind, crashing against the walls of her consciousness.
For a moment, everything stopped. Time seemed to stretch, to bend in ways it shouldn't.
She stared at the figure, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She wanted to turn away. She wanted to flee. But she couldn't. There was something in those dark, empty eyes that anchored her to the spot. Something deep within her knew that this—whatever this was—was important. It was a moment she would never be able to undo. A turning point.
A sign.
---
Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the figure dissolved into the mist, vanishing without a trace.
The fog swallowed it whole.
---
Arinthal stood frozen in place, her chest rising and falling with quick, uneven breaths. She felt the ground beneath her shift, the world spinning out of control. She had *seen* something. Something that had to mean something.
But what?
She had heard stories, of course. Tales told in whispered voices around fires—of the King's Star, the child of prophecy, the sorcerer who sought to change the world. But they were only stories. Myths. There were no prophecies anymore. The world had moved on.
Hadn't it?
Her hands trembled as she grabbed the strap of her pack. She needed to move. She needed to think. She needed to—
Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft crunch of footsteps behind her.
Arinthal spun around, her hand reaching for the dagger at her side.
But it wasn't the figure from the fog.
It was a man.
Tall, with dark hair and a face she didn't recognize. His clothes were worn, travel-stained, and he carried a sword. But what made him stand out—what caught her attention more than anything—was the coldness in his eyes.
He was looking right at her.
And for a brief moment, she saw a flicker of recognition in his gaze.
---
"You saw it too, didn't you?" he asked, his voice low and steady. It wasn't a question. It was a statement.
Arinthal didn't respond immediately. She couldn't. The air around her felt too thick, too heavy. She wasn't sure if she was ready for whatever was happening.
"Who are you?" she finally asked, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside her.
The man took a step forward. His eyes never left hers.
"Lyrien," he said.
She narrowed her eyes. "What do you want?"
Lyrien didn't immediately answer. Instead, he glanced toward the mountains in the distance, his gaze distant. Thoughtful.
"I think we're both looking for the same thing," he said.
The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.
Arinthal's hand tightened around the dagger at her side.
"Why are you here?" she asked, her tone sharp, though her instincts told her this man was no ordinary traveler.
He turned his gaze back to her.
"I'm here because I think the world is about to break," Lyrien said softly. "And I need to find the one who can stop it."
---
Part 2 — Unseen Paths
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Lyrien's words hung in the air like the final strike of a bell, its reverberations echoing across the Vale. Arinthal, still gripping her dagger tightly, studied him, her instincts at war with the curiosity that gnawed at her. This was no ordinary man. His voice carried a weight, a truth beneath the surface that made her wary and intrigued all at once.
"Stop looking at me like that," Lyrien said with a half-smile, though his eyes remained solemn. "I'm not here to hurt you."
The sincerity in his voice surprised her. But there was something unsettling in the way he spoke—like he already knew more about her than she did about herself.
"Why are you looking for the child of prophecy?" Arinthal asked, her voice edged with skepticism.
Lyrien hesitated for a moment, as though choosing his words carefully. "I've seen the signs. The stars, the sky... everything is shifting. The time of the prophecy is coming, and the world isn't ready."
Arinthal's heart quickened. "The King's Star." She had heard whispers of it in the old tales, of how it was said to mark the birth of someone who would change the fate of the world. But those stories had always felt too distant, too intangible to matter in her own life. Now, they seemed closer than ever. She wondered how much of what he was saying she could believe.
"You think it's Aria," she said, her voice barely a whisper. Her thoughts swirled, but one thing became clear. Aria, whoever she was, had to be central to everything that was happening. She had to be the key to what Lyrien was talking about, and to the echoing warning that Arinthal had just received.
Lyrien nodded. "I don't know her name, but I know she's out there. And I know she's important. You can feel it, can't you?" His voice grew more intense, more urgent. "The forest, the land… it's alive with it. There are echoes of something greater moving in the currents of time. The first signs have already started."
Arinthal's stomach churned as if a new weight had been added to her already heavy heart. She had spent her life learning how to control the elements, how to bend them to her will, but she was starting to feel that even her strongest magic might not be enough to stop what was coming.
"I've felt it," she admitted, her voice quiet. She wasn't sure why she was telling him this. Something about him was both familiar and alien, like a mirror reflecting a version of herself she didn't want to see. "But I don't know how to stop it."
"You're not alone in this," Lyrien said, his gaze softening. "That's why I'm here."
Arinthal hesitated. Her heart pounded in her chest, a drumbeat in the silence that stretched between them. The fog had thickened around them, obscuring everything beyond the immediate few feet, as though the world itself was closing in. She could feel the air growing heavier, as though something, someone, was watching them. The weight of unseen eyes pressed upon her back.
"What do you mean, you're here for me?" she asked. "What is it that you want from me?"
Lyrien took a step closer, the fog swirling around him like a cloak. "Not from you," he said. "With you."
Arinthal's brow furrowed. "I don't understand."
"Come with me," he said, his tone now quieter, almost coaxing. "I can explain more. But we have to leave here before it's too late."
---
Arinthal looked at him for a long moment, her instincts still alert, her mind spinning. The strange vision in the mist—the cryptic figure and the voice warning her of something coming—lingered in her thoughts. She couldn't shake the feeling that the prophecy, whatever it was, was closer than she could have imagined.
*But why me?*
"I've already been warned," she said, her voice steady but filled with uncertainty. "I saw something in the mist. It spoke of the King's Star. But it didn't say who the prophecy was for, only that it was rising."
Lyrien didn't seem surprised. "The King's Star is a sign of the child of prophecy. Whoever they are, they are destined to defeat the sorcerer Xandros. I've spent my life tracking down the fragments of the Echoes of Eternity. I know what's coming, and I know how dangerous Xandros is."
The mention of Xandros sent a chill through her. He was the name whispered in fear across the land, the one who sought to reshape reality itself using the Echoes of Eternity. She had heard tales of him—stories of villages burned to the ground, of entire kingdoms lost to madness. But she had always thought of them as just that—stories.
"You said you've been tracking the Echoes," Arinthal said, her voice hardening. "What does that have to do with me?"
"Everything," Lyrien said simply. "The Echoes are scattered across the realms. They have the power to reshape reality. They can alter the course of history, bend time itself. If Xandros gathers them all, nothing will stop him from remaking the world in his image. But the child of prophecy—whoever they are—can stop him."
Arinthal's eyes narrowed. "And you think that's me?"
"I don't know," Lyrien admitted, "but I have my suspicions."
"And what if I don't want to be part of this?" Arinthal asked, her voice rising. The thought of being swept into something so large, something beyond her control, filled her with a sense of panic she couldn't ignore. "What if I just want to live my life?"
Lyrien's expression softened. "I understand. But the world doesn't give us the choice to run anymore. It's already changing, Arinthal. And it won't wait."
Her breath hitched as she thought of the figure in the mist, the dark eyes that had watched her, the voice that had warned her. The pressure in her chest grew heavier, more suffocating, until she couldn't ignore it any longer.
"I'm not ready for this," she whispered.
"You don't have to be ready," Lyrien said. "You just have to be willing to listen."
---
The fog had fully enveloped them now, but Arinthal didn't feel the usual fear that came with losing her sense of direction. There was something oddly calming about the mist, as if it were guiding them, pushing them toward something—toward her destiny.
Lyrien took another step closer, and this time, Arinthal didn't pull back. His eyes were intense, filled with an earnestness she hadn't expected. She could see it now—the weight of the world in his gaze, the same burden that she had been carrying for far too long.
"I don't have all the answers," Lyrien said, "but I have a sense of what's coming. You're not the only one who has a role in this. There's someone else—someone who will help guide you."
Arinthal's brow furrowed. "Who?"
Lyrien didn't answer right away, as if he were weighing his next words carefully. "Her name is Aria."
---
The name hung between them like a lifeline thrown out into a storm. Arinthal's heart skipped a beat as the fog seemed to part just a little, as though the world itself was holding its breath. She had heard the name before, in whispers. A child of prophecy. The one who would bring an end to Xandros's reign.
For a moment, everything seemed to stand still.
The world was shifting, Arinthal realized. And she wasn't going to be able to outrun it.
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