The wind howled through the village of Olyn like a restless spirit. Thin as a thread and colder than a blade, it carried the scent of ash and distant rain. The village, nestled at the edge of the ancient forest and the boundary of godly realms, was always on the cusp of something unknown — something beyond its humble borders. The houses were small but sturdy, built with thick stone walls to endure the harsh winds and frequent storms that swept down from the mountains. There were no grand temples here. No towering spires or golden idols. Just simple people trying to survive.
Aeris Varn stood on the edge of the northern ridge, his cloak wrapped tight, eyes fixed on the horizon. It was the only place he could find solace, staring out at the wide, empty fields beyond the village. The sun was beginning to dip behind the hills, casting long shadows over the land. The sky pulsed with the deep colors of twilight — violet, gold, and a haunting ember red.
But it wasn't the beauty of the sunset that held his attention.
The dreams had returned again.
"Rise, Child of Kaelion…"
That voice. It echoed through his sleep like a fire that never went out. The first time he heard it, he woke in a cold sweat, heart pounding in his chest. He didn't know who Kaelion was. No one in Olyn did. The temples spoke of three gods: Elionis the Merciful, Thraemir the Weaver, and Noctyros the Dreamer. But never Kaelion. Never the fourth.
Aeris clenched his fists. His fingers were raw and calloused from hours spent at the forge. He had learned the craft from his adoptive mother, Orla, a stern woman with a soft heart, who took him in as an infant when no one else would. Working the forge was the only thing that dulled the visions — that and silence. But even silence trembled now.
He turned away from the horizon and began walking back toward the village. The chill in the air nipped at his skin, but it was more than just the cold that unsettled him. It was as if the very wind carried a whisper, urging him forward — not to the village, but to something beyond it.
Suddenly, the sound of the bell rang from the central spire, cutting through his thoughts. The bell of the Temple of Threads. The priesthood had a strict curfew, a rule they enforced as rigorously as the changing of the seasons. Aeris quickened his pace as the bell tolled again, louder this time. He was already late.
As he neared the village center, he saw Orla waiting for him, standing by their modest stone cottage. She was holding a bundle of firewood, her brows furrowed with concern. Orla's graying hair was tucked beneath a woolen scarf, her blue eyes as sharp as ever.
"You're late, Aeris," she said, her voice soft but stern. "The curfew's already been rung. Where have you been?"
"I—just out on the ridge," he said, trying to sound casual. "Needed some air."
She studied him for a moment, her expression softening, though there was still a shadow of worry in her eyes. "Air, hm? You've been spending more time on that ridge lately. Your dreams still bother you?"
Aeris hesitated, unsure of how to explain. "They're… strange," he admitted. "But it's nothing to worry about."
Orla gave him a knowing look. "You know I've never pried into your past, Aeris, but there's something about you that I can't quite understand. You're not like the others in the village."
He flinched at her words, a pang of guilt gnawing at his chest. He didn't know how to explain to Orla — how could he? His memories were fragmented, scattered. And the sigil on his hand only made him feel more like a stranger in his own skin.
The truth was, Aeris had always felt different. He could sense things others couldn't. The way the emotions of the villagers ebbed and flowed like the tides. The way the winds seemed to whisper to him at night. It was unsettling.
"You'll figure it out," Orla said, as if reading his thoughts. "But for now, come inside. We'll have a quiet dinner. Maybe some peace will help clear your mind."
He nodded, grateful for her warmth. But the moment they entered the cottage, the fire crackled in the hearth, and the air seemed to shift.
There, lying in the center of the hearth's glow, was a small stone. A jagged, darkened fragment, no larger than the palm of his hand. Aeris had never seen it before.
His heart skipped. He bent down, reaching for it instinctively. His fingers brushed against the stone's surface, and a surge of energy shot through his arm. The world seemed to blur. A strange warmth spread through his body as the sigil on his hand flared to life.
The flame in the hearth flickered and twisted, the colors deepening into a wild, brilliant orange. The stone pulsed in his palm.
Orla stepped back in alarm. "What—what is this, Aeris?"
Aeris gasped, his mind racing. "I—I don't know. I've never seen it before."
But he couldn't look away. The sigil on his hand, the one that had always been a mystery, now burned as if alive, matching the pulse of the stone.
Suddenly, the room grew unbearably hot. The stone seemed to come alive in his grasp, and before he could react, it slipped from his hand and tumbled to the ground. The air shimmered, and everything around him seemed to distort.
He blinked, and everything shifted.
He stood in a place of flame and starlight. The sky was burning. The stars wept molten light. And in the center of it all, a figure stood — faceless, radiant, surrounded by a thousand screaming shadows.
"You are the first to remember," the figure said, its voice layered with countless echoes.
Aeris's heart pounded. He felt as if he were being pulled into the very core of the flames. "Who… who are you?"
"I am what lies beyond the gods."
The figure stepped forward. It raised a hand, and the flames parted, revealing a symbol — a triangle surrounded by wings of fire. The very same sigil that now burned on his hand.
"I am Kaelion — the flame beyond flesh."
Aeris gasped, his body jerked back to reality as he collapsed to the floor, panting. The heat had disappeared. Orla was kneeling beside him, her hands trembling.
"Aeris, are you alright?" she asked, her voice filled with panic.
He looked down at his hand. The sigil was still there, glowing faintly.
"I… I don't understand," he murmured, his voice shaky. "What just happened?"
Orla took a cautious step back, her expression unreadable. "That sigil… it wasn't there before, was it?"
"No," Aeris whispered. "It's never been there before. But now..."
Aeris shook his head, trying to steady his breath. His mind raced, memories flashing — the fire in his dreams, the whispering flame, the voice of Kaelion calling to him. The truth was slipping through his fingers like water. It didn't make sense. How could he, a simple smith's apprentice, be connected to something as vast and unknown as a forgotten god? Was he chosen, or was this some curse?
Orla's face softened. "You've always been different, Aeris. I've known that. I saw it in your eyes from the moment I found you in the woods, that night when the storm raged harder than I've ever seen it."
Aeris's heart clenched. "I was abandoned, wasn't I?"
Orla nodded slowly, sitting beside him. "Yes. You were left on my doorstep. And I've always wondered why, Aeris. Why you?"
He didn't know what to say. Every answer felt like it was just out of reach, hovering on the edge of his thoughts.
"The gods are watching," Orla said softly, breaking the silence. "And it's no coincidence that you've been marked. This sigil… It's the symbol of Kaelion — the god of human potential. It is said that those who bear it are destined for something greater than themselves."
Aeris's chest tightened. "But what does that mean for me?"
She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Only you can find that answer. But know this, Aeris — the gods do not choose their champions lightly. And Kaelion… He is not a god to be feared. He is a god who believes in what humans can become. He believes in your potential."
Aeris looked at the glowing sigil on his hand, feeling the weight of her words. The flames that had licked at his skin moments ago seemed like nothing compared to the fire that now burned within him — a fire that refused to be extinguished.
Outside, the wind howled again. But this time, it felt different. It wasn't the wind that was restless. It was the world itself, trembling with the knowledge of what was to come.