The cave entrance yawned before them like the throat of a beast—dark, silent, ancient.
Their boots scraped against the stone as the group of masked figures stepped inside, torches flickering against jagged walls marked with forgotten symbols. At the front walked the man in the golden-edged mask—tall, calm, deadly. His followers trailed behind, silent and disciplined.
They had been searching for years.
Now, finally, the mountain had whispered back.
"Here," one of the men said, brushing away loose earth from an old altar carved into the cave's center. "It's real. Just like the scroll said."
The leader stepped forward, placing his gloved hand on the altar. At first, nothing happened.
Then—a rumble.
Stone grated against stone, and a panel slid aside, revealing a hollow compartment beneath. Inside it lay a folded parchment, bound in cracked leather and etched with a glowing green rune.
The masked leader picked it up carefully, unrolling the ancient map under torchlight.
There it was—a path marked in subtle gold ink, winding through valleys, past ruins, and ending at a single symbol: a tree with roots that spiraled deep into the earth.
"The Power of Terra," he murmured.
"Are we sure this is the right one?" a voice asked from behind.
He turned, eyes glinting behind his mask. "This isn't just a fragment. This is the first location. The Earth Bearer has been sleeping too long. It's time we wake that."
The others exchanged glances. None dared speak against him.
"And what of the sword?" another whispered.
The leader's voice turned colder. "They still believe it's only the gem that holds power. Let them. The sword's truth will come when it's too late for them to stop us."
He tucked the map into his coat, stepping back toward the cave's exit. "We leave by sunrise."
As they disappeared into the shadows, none of them noticed the carving beneath the altar—a blade carved into stone, glowing faintly beneath centuries of dust.
It was subtle at first. Just a flicker.
The college gardens were usually alive with chatter, but today the silence was uncanny. Birds fluttered noiselessly. Leaves swayed without rustling. The light hit oddly, shadows stretched too long, and the breeze held a chill that didn't belong in spring.
Rhea paused mid-step, her hand instinctively rising to clutch her locket. A sudden pressure had built in her chest—as though something within her had shifted without warning.
She looked around. No storm clouds. No threat. Yet her heartbeat thudded like a warning drum. Her dreams had been strange lately, filled with vines and twisted stone, swords and a light that burned and comforted all at once.
High above, on the terrace rooftop, Rael's sketchbook tumbled from his fingers. He stared at his wrist as the tattoo of an ice-forged sword pulsed with chilling blue light.
"It's started," he murmured.
In the rehearsal room, Lyra Solace stood with her hands gently poised over the piano keys. She looked radiant as ever—sunlight always seemed to linger around her skin longer than it should, caught in the strands of her golden hair. But her brows were furrowed in focus.
She turned slowly toward Rael, who had just entered, a thin sheen of frost still clinging to his fingertips.
"Tell me you felt that too," she said.
Rael nodded, quietly. "Like someone woke the earth up by mistake."
Lyra leaned back. "Not by mistake. It was time. The wind has stirred."
Rael crossed his arms. "You're sure it's him?"
"I've seen him," Lyra said, eyes distant. "In a dream last night. A boy wrapped in storms, standing at the gates of the monastery."
"A dream." Rael's tone held skepticism.
"You have frost trailing your boots in spring, and my tattoo nearly blinded me." Lyra raised a brow. "Don't act like this is normal."
He didn't argue.
Lyra stood and walked to the rehearsal flyer she had pinned to the wall a day ago. It read:
"Band Auditions – Hosted by Rael & Lyra"
"You think he'll come?" Rael asked.
"I know he will."
Two Days Later – Rehearsal Room
Rael sat at the edge of the stage, quietly tuning a keyboard. Lyra scribbled lyrics onto the edge of a music sheet. Rhea lounged nearby, her headphones in, bobbing slightly to a beat only she could hear.
The door opened with a soft creak.
Zayn stepped in, guitar slung over one shoulder. A grey hoodie partially shadowed his face, and his presence was quieter than most. But the moment he stepped into the room, the air shifted again.
Rael looked up immediately. So did Lyra.
"You found us," Lyra said.
Zayn's expression didn't change. "Not hard. There were posters. Flashy gold ink."
"Still, you came."
Zayn tilted his head slightly. "I had a feeling."
Rael stood slowly. "What's your name?"
"Zayn."
"You any good with that?" Rael nodded toward the guitar.
Zayn's smile was faint. "Let's find out."
He plugged in, adjusted a knob, and then strummed.
The sound that followed was smooth and powerful, but layered beneath it was something else—an undercurrent like wind whipping through mountaintops. It wasn't loud, but it moved the air. Rhea sat up straighter. Rael felt the hairs on his arms rise.
Lyra closed her eyes, absorbing it.
When he stopped, there was silence.
"You're in," Lyra said before Rael could speak.
Rael exhaled. "You're not just here for music, are you?"
Zayn looked at him, calm. "I could ask you the same."
Rael walked forward, eyes sharp. "Your tattoo. When did it start glowing?"
Zayn didn't flinch. "A few days ago. Same time I started dreaming about a tower made of clouds."
Lyra inhaled sharply. "You saw it too?"
Zayn nodded. "And a sword. Floating in air."
Rael and Lyra exchanged a glance.
"We should talk," Lyra said. "Really talk."
Rhea, watching them from a distance, pulled her hoodie tighter. She didn't have a glowing tattoo. She didn't dream of towers.
But she felt it too.
Like they were all being drawn toward something they couldn't yet name.
And whatever it was—it had already begun.
Later that night, under the cover of silence, Zayn stood alone on the old sports field behind the college campus. The floodlights were out, and only the pale moon bathed the ground in its ghostly hue.
His phone buzzed once. He answered without looking at the screen.
"I found them," he said quietly.
A crackle on the other end. No voice. Just breathing.
Zayn continued, tone calm, measured. "The one with the ice mark. Rael. Power's strong, though he hides it well."
A pause.
"And the other… Light. Lyra Solace. She carries it like it belongs to her. Controlled. Confident. Dangerous."
Silence again. Then a distorted whisper: "You're sure?"
"I saw the sword," Zayn said.
The wind picked up around him, almost in response to his words. His hoodie fluttered. His tattoo burned again, lightly, as if stirred by the presence of truth.
"They don't know about me yet," he added. "Not completely."
The voice returned, low and cold. "Keep it that way. Until the Fifth awakens."
Zayn's jaw tightened. "And if they figure it out?"
A long pause.
"Then don't let them reach her first."
The line went dead.
Zayn stood for a while, staring into the distance where the campus lights twinkled faintly through the trees.
He tucked the phone away, his expression unreadable.
"The game's moving faster than we thought," he murmured to himself.
Then, without a sound, he walked back into the shadows—where the wind followed him like a loyal hound.