The moonlight barely reached through the canopy above, fractured into jagged beams by the tangle of branches and leaves. The wind stirred the forest around them, but the air felt wrong, too still. The scent of damp earth and decaying leave lingered in the air, as though the forest itself was holding its breath. Jain and Lyra walkedin silence, their footsteps muffled by the dense undergrowth.
The old man led them through the woods, his pace slow but deliberate. Jain's muscles ached from the run, and the weight of the dagger at his side felt heavier with each step. The mark on his neck throbbed, sending waves of heat that seemed to seep into his bones. His thoughts were tangled mess, each one more urgent than the last.
The shadows felt alive tonight.
"Where are we going?" Jain's voice cut through silence, rough from the exertion. The old man didn't look back, but his steps never faltered.
"Somewhere you'll find answers," the stranger muttered, his tone gruff but strangely reassuring. "But answers come with a price, boy."
Jain glanced over at Lyra, her eyes wide with concern. She didn't ask the question, but it was clear she was thinking it. How could they trust this man?
But Jain didn't have any choice. He had no answers, and no plan beyond surviving. This man—this stranger—might be their only hope, or their doom.
As they moved deeper into the forest, the trees grew more twisted, their trunks gnarled and bent like ancient sentinels. The silence deepened around them, pressing in on all side. The air felt heavier, thicker, and each step was like wading through something more than just forest.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the old man came to a stop in front of a large stone archway, half-hidden beneath a thick blanket of ivy and moss. The stones were weathered, ancient and covered in strange symbols that Jain didn't recognize. The archway stood as though it had been forgotten by time itself, a relic of some long-lost era.
"Here," the old man rasped, looking back over his shoulder at Jai and Lyra. His sharp gaze lingered on the mark on Jain's neck, his lips pressing into a thin line. "The answers you seek are within."
Lyra took a step forward, her brow furrowing. "What is this place?"
The old man didn't answer immediately. He simply walked through the archway, disappearing into the darkness beyond. Jain and Lyra exchanged a brief look before following him into he gloom.
The air was cold, and the stone beneath their feet felt slick with moisture. The sound of heir footsteps echoed around them, bouncing off the walls in a way that made Jain's skin crawl.
They were in some kind of underground chamber, it walls lined with shelves filled with ancient books and artifacts. The dim light from their lanterns barely illuminated the space, but jain could make out carving on the walls, similat to the symbols on the archway. Some of the symbols seeed to move, shifting and twisting as though they had a life of their own.
Lyra's breath hitched as she reached out to touch one of the symbols, her fingers brushing the stone. The moment she made contact, the air around them seemed to shift, and the carvings began to glow faintly, pulsing within otherworldly energy.
"This place," she whispered, er voice trembling. "it's alive."
Jain stepped close, his hand instinctively brushing the mark on his neck. He could feel something stirring within him, a connection to the place, toto the energy that hummed beneath his skin. It was as if the very stone was calling to him, beckoning him to uncover its secrets.
"Is this where the gifted were?" Jain asked, his voice low, almost reverent. The old man turned to face him, his expression unreadable.
"The Gifted," the old man said, the words coming slowly, as if each one carried a weight of it own. "They were the last hope, They were the warriors who stood against the darkness." His voice grew softer, almost distant. "And they failed."
Jain's heart skipped a beat at the old man's words. "Failed? But... the Gifted are real. I saw them in my vision. They were fighting and they—"
"They died," the old man interrupted, his voice sharp. "The darkness swallowed them all. One by one, the Gifted fell, their powers consumes by the very thing they fought to stop."
Jain's blood ran cold as the implications of the old man's words sank in. The Gifted weren't just legend, they weren't just storied to scare children. They had been real, and they had lost. The war had been lost.
"But if they died, why... why am I marked?" Jain asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He felt the mark burning beneath his fingers, a constant, pulsing remined that something had chosen him for a purpose he didn't understand. "Why me?"
The old man didn't answer immediately. instead, he gestured for them to follow him deeper into the chamber. As they walked, Jain couldn't shake the feeling that the walls themselves were watching him, that the very stones knew something he didn't.
Finally, the old man stopped in front of a large, circular stone slab set into the ground. The surface was covered in more of the strange symbols, but in the center, there was a single empty space, as if something had been removed long ago.
"This is the heart of the gifted," the old man said, his voice soft but filled with reverence. "This is where they were chosen. Where they made final stand."
Jain knelt beside the stone slab, his heart racing in his chest. He could feel the power beneath the surface, like a sleeping giant waiting to be awaken. The mark on his neck pulsed in time with the beat of hi heart, as though it was calling out to the stone.
"Place your hand here," the old man instructed. His voice was firm low, as if he knew the moment was inevitable.
Jain hesitated for only a moment before placing his hand on the stone. The moment hi skin made contact, a jolt of energy shot through him, so intense that it nearly knocked him back. His etire body went rigid, and for a moment, the world around him spun.
He saw flashes of the past—visinos of the Gifted, their faces filled with determination as the fought the growing darkness. He saw their deaths, one by one, consumed by shadow. But there was something else, something buried beneath the surface of this memories.
A voice. Ancient, resonant, and full of sorrow.
"You must find those that are left before the moon and the sun meet, or the World would be in shambles."
Jain staggered back from the stone, breath ragged. Lyra caught him before he fell, her eyes wide with concern.
"What did you see?" she asked.
"They're not all gone," he whispered. "The Gifted. some survived. The voice said... before the moon and sun meet. We have to find them."
The old man nodded solemly."An eclipse. 10 days from now. When the veil thins and the final seal weakened. if the Gifted remain scattered, the darkness will return."
Lyra swallowed hard. "And if we fail?" he met her gaze. "The world breaks."
Jain clenched his fists, feeling the echo of power in his veins. The mark on his neck burned with purpose.
"Then we find them," he said. "All of them."
The old man moved to a shadowed archway, pointing beyond. "Through there lies the mirror Grove. it shows what you need—but truth has a cost."
Jain and Lyra exchanged a look, then stepped forward. The air thickened with unseen energy. His mark pulsed, huilding him, Whispering of paths forgotten.
The Gifted had fallen.
But he hadn't.
Not yet.
and maybe—just maybe—he was meant to rise in their place.