The two moons lit up their path as Caim and Storm walked through Neverend. The old trees seemed to regard the hidden trail with a feeling of respect, as their branches never crossed before it. Sunken rocks and bits of grass laid flat after so many cycles of the boys passing over them.

“Na, Storm,” said Caim, breaking the silence.

“Hmm?”

“What’s a myth? Like, how do you become one?”

“Really, Caim?” Storm sighed. “You baffle me sometimes. A myth is just an old story, you know, like Night and Day, or how we’re supposed to descend from dragons. They’re nice to hear, but they aren’t real. The old man was just messing around with us. And I have no idea how to become one. Good luck with that.”

“No way!” Caim shot back defensively. “You’re just saying that because you want to become the Dragon King before me! And, if myths aren’t real, then where did the stories come from?”

Storm smirked. “From someone’s imagination? Who knows? But believe whatever you want, Caim. Whatever helps you sleep at night. Besides, didn’t he say that the Dragon King is more like a presence? A being that watches over us? ‘The one who rides upon the backs of Night and Day’, right? I mean, it may just be me, but I think it’s meant to be taken more metaphorically, maybe for the gods themselves?”

“Meta—what? No,” Caim said, shaking his head. “He said . . .” Caim scratched his head and smiled. “I forgot. But he said something about being born during times of chaos, whatever that means.”

“I think he may have just been playing with your imagination.” Storm spent a couple seconds pondering if the old man was hinting at the great wars being an actual time of chaos.

“So, can I hold it now?” Caim asked, losing the subject like wind through his fingers. “The magic gem? I promise I won’t lose it! I swear, I swear, I swear!”

“No,” said Storm, passing around a bend in the trees. He came to a sudden stop.

“Na, Caim,” said Storm, “you know that weird feeling when you feel like you’ve been someplace before, or are seeing something exactly the same as it once was, but for the second time?”

Caim stopped. “What?”

Storm rolled his index finger and his thumb together, thinking. “I’m not really explaining it right, but I think the saying for it in the old language is, ‘vel’ar seeth’, which roughly translates to ‘already seen’.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Caim, placing his hands on his hips. “I just felt that! Right back there! Did you feel it too? Maybe it’s a new power!”

Storm looked at his brother long and hard. “That’s so strange you say that, because I just had the same thing happen to me. And no,” he laughed. “I don’t think it’s a new power.”

“So, can I hold the stone now?” Caim held out his hand.

Storm rolled his eyes, then continued walking. “Caim, what do you think that feeling means? Do you think it means we’ve lived this exact moment before?”

Caim looked up to the roof of trees. “You mean that we’ve already lived this life once?”

“Something like that,” mused Storm. “I sometimes wonder if we are born to do something, and that if we were unable to accomplish whatever it was, we are forced to relive that same life over and over again, until we get it right.”

“No,” Caim replied. “I don’t think so . . . Nothing’s perfect, right?”

“Then why the feeling of vel’ar seeth?”

“Who knows?” Caim shrugged. “Can I hold the stone now?”

“So, you don’t believe in fate then?” Storm eyed his brother. “They say that Fate is one of the old gods, and that it can control what happens to you in your life. I think I remember it being a monstrous spider in one of the old stories.”

Caim flashed Storm a grin. “I think it’s got the coolest name of the gods, but I’d show it the sharp edge of my blade if it ever tried to tell me what to do.”

Storm laughed. “Fair enough.”

It was a couple shades before midnight when the two came upon a massive gorge. It descended deep into Falia, reaching all the way down to a thin black creek that ran along the bottom. An eerie presence seemed to linger from within, and a strange mist drifted around it. If it weren’t for the bright light of the moons, they wouldn't have been able to see a thing. Caim leaned forward, then kicked a rock into the deep ravine. A long time later, he heard the distant plop of the rock landing in the creek.

“One day, I’m going down there,” said Caim. “I don’t know why, but I just know the story is true!”

“I don’t know why you think every one of those stories are true. They’re all myths. Maybe one day you’ll understand that. And if Cataclysm’s Axe really was down in that gorge, don’t you think someone would have found it by now? It’s not like sorians wouldn’t be swarming by the hundreds for a chance to acquire the actual axe of the God of Earth, right?”

Storm looked down into the gorge, thinking of the tale their old man had spun about Cataclysm’s Axe. The story went that long ago, Cataclysm, the God of Earth, had gifted to Soria their first seeds, stones, and soils. Yet, upon looking at the two floating lands he had helped to create with the other gods, he shook his head in disagreement, then struck the land of Falia with his mighty axe. He hoped to split it, for the god believed that all virtuous things came in threes and that the realm of Soria should be of that same virtue.

However, when his axe bit into Falia, the world did not let go. For three long passings of Night and Day, Cataclysm roared and pulled, heaving with all his might to free his axe, but to no avail. After the third night, Cataclysm turned his back to the axe, declaring that the spirit of Soria had fought him over its own form and won. Walking away two steps, the god turned and bowed two times, honoring the spirit of the world. Since that moment long ago, the axe had remained on Soria as a memento and memory of a world that held true to itself, even if it had to stand against the gods to do it.

“Maybe everyone’s just scared to go down there.” Caim peeked again over the edge. “Could always fly down. That wouldn’t be so hard.” Storm’s palms grew clammy at the thought.

“And face the Tarasque that has guarded it since the creation of our world? I’m good on that.”

“That’s why you’re coming with.” Caim beamed. “It wouldn’t stand a chance!” Caim floated off the ground a couple feet and hovered over the edge of the gorge. “I just know it’s down there.” He reeled back and roared at the top of his lungs, hoping for an echo. There was none.

“Oi!” Storm hissed. “You’ll attract flares! What are you thinking!?”

“It just has to be real . . .” Caim said to himself, ignoring Storm.

“I swear, Caim,” he said, resting his forearm on the hilt of his sword. “All you want is one of these old stories to be true so that you can believe in all of them.”

“I do believe in all of them.”

“Doesn’t make them true,” said Storm, who then leapt across the gorge, soaring through the air as if the two-hundred-foot jump were nothing at all. He landed on the opposite side, then turned as Caim floated down softly beside him, the feathered ends of his vest held up by the slightest of winds.

“Let’s pick up the pace,” said Storm. “We’re getting nowhere.”

Caim stretched down and touched his toes. “Fine by me.”

The two began running, slow at first, but steadily their speed rose, until they were dashing through the trees at a blur that caused all the creatures and birds to wonder curiously at their haste. After a few shades of flashing through the trees, the two came to a stop and started to walk again in the brisk of twilight. Caim, who had been bothering Storm all night about the mysterious gem, continued his onslaught of begging.

“Pleaseeeeee, let me look at it,” pleaded Caim for the hundredth time since they had set off for Trestles. Caim’s eyes were restless as they scoured Storm’s body for signs of the emerald stone. If only he could locate exactly which pocket he had placed it in. . . .

“Sorry, Neo, but you’d definitely lose it,” said Storm, hoping to put an end to Caim’s requests.

“You haven’t called me that in a while,” said Caim. “Feels like ages, actually . . . But I do like it. It feels good when you say it, like it reminds me of when we were kids. Oi, why did you start calling me that in the first place?”

Storm grinned. “It was the first word you ever said. Remember? The old man told us that even after I was able to walk and form baby sentences, you were still crawling around talking to all the trees, grass and creatures. You called all of them neo for some reason, and so, I don’t know, I just sort of started calling you that.”

“Neo,” said Caim, holding the name on his tongue. “What a strange first word.”

“It means something in the ancient language,” said Storm. “But I can’t remember what it is.”

The coming of midnight had brought a cool wind that swept its way through Storm’s hair, and all around them the creatures of the night were awakening. Storm could hear their slight rustling in the trees and bushes, though it was a sound that set his heart at peace. There was something about the forest that calmed him. High above in the dark skies, the two crystal moons emitted a blue glow that pierced through the veil of treetops, casting fragments of broken light over the path.

“I don’t understand why I can’t hold it,” said Caim. “I never lose anything. Well, not important things. Only that one time.” He looked at Storm, betting it was in his right pocket, but he wasn’t absolutely sure. He would only have one attempt to steal it, after all.

“Don’t even think about it, Caim.”

Caim stuck his tongue out at him. The only thing he could think about was the gem. He wanted to know more than anything what the mysterious alchemy gem did, and he knew he could figure it out, if only he could hold it.

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They continued to run again, and the trees changed in shape and size, growing thicker and even taller than earlier, rising up like thorny marble pillars. They were entering the densest and darkest part of Neverend, a place few in their world would ever tread at night.

“Storm? What do you think it does? Did you figure it out?”

“How should I know?” Storm answered, tired of Caim’s never-ending tirade of questions. “Probably nothing. I wouldn’t be surprised. I also wouldn’t be surprised if the Soldier Games were just another story made up by the old man. I get the feeling he just wants more wine from town, and Trestles has the best of it apparently, since he’s always going on and on about it.”

“Well, maybe if I look at it . . . I could figure it out!” Caim flashed in front of him and stopped, holding out his hand. “C’mon, what do ya say? Can I take a peek?”

Storm walked around him. “Not gonna happen.”

“I’ll let you hold my sword! I never let you hold my sword!”

Storm called back teasingly. “You literally just got your sword, Caim. And so what, I have my own remember? Besides, wouldn’t you be upset if I transformed it to its true form before you?”

“Like you could!”

Just as he was about to try again, Caim detected the presence of something and looked down. Unexpectedly, Caim lost complete interest in the gem and his sword, suddenly entranced by what he saw. A tiny, furry creature with a long black tail, small enough that it could have sat in his palm, stared up at him through enormous blue eyes that were far too big for its face. It had snow-white fur and little black ears with black whiskers and a pink button nose.

Meep. The creature looked up at him. Meep.

“What are you looking at, Tree Spirit?” Caim kneeled and stuck his tongue out at it. It responded with another faint sound, and sat up on its hind legs. Although they were rare to see, Caim had grown up with the bothersome little tree spirits and their strange behavior. He stuck his tongue out at it once more, before turning and catching up to Storm.

Storm could feel Caim take up pace at his side once again. Hoping to turn the conversation away from the gem, he decided he would at least talk about what was on his mind.

“Caim . . . If there really is a world tournament, why do you think the old man never told us about it before? Do you think that he thought we would just sneak off to it?”

“Wouldn’t we have?”

“Probably,” Storm acknowledged, laughing.

The tree spirit began following the two of them. As the feathered ends of Caim’s vest fluttered as he walked, the tree spirit ran up and tried to pounce on them, barely missing. The little creature rolled into the bushes and bumped straight into another tree spirit, though this one was slightly bigger.

Storm ignored Caim and considered his own question. His whole life had revolved around training to become the greatest swordsman in the world. It seemed unlikely that, immediately after overcoming their old man’s last trial, there was suddenly a tournament where much stronger opponents were fighting, as if the next level of their training had always been waiting for them. And the timing of it was, well, almost too perfect.

Fated, perhaps. Storm thought.

It always felt like the old man was one step ahead of them, planning things for them they couldn’t understand, nor predict. Something else that bothered him was something the old man had said before they left: ‘Don’t be disappointed, Storm . . . no matter what, you can’t enter.’

Storm clenched a fist. “There is hidden meaning in those words . . . I know it,” he murmured. Was this just another test? The thoughts were unsettling, and he couldn’t find peace with any answer that came to him. An evil grin crept across his face. “If this is truly about the wine . . .”

“Well, I think it’s real,” said Caim. “I mean think about it, Storm. It makes sense. Remember those strange surges of energy we felt sometimes as kids? I remember the feeling so clearly, the power of something coming from the direction of the castle. It felt like the wind was heavy, as if the force pushing down on all of us grew so strong that it was hard to stand. Don’t you remember? That must have been it. I’m sure of it. There are really strong people in this world. Super strong. I know there are.”

Storm’s boot crunched down over the dirt. He knew what Caim was talking about. Once, when they were young, they had felt a great power from beyond Falia, pulsing from the distant world of Risia. They were but young boys when they had first felt the powerful aura and had argued, even then, over what it could be.

“I remember,” said Storm, thinking back to the day. “So, maybe it is true . . .”

He still wasn’t sure if the feeling had been real or not, let alone what it was. All he knew was that the auras they felt were not like their grandfather’s. They were cold, unmerciful, and indomitable. For some reason, his heart craved to meet it, to find the mystery in the shadow.

“But who knows what that was. Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

“Whatever it is . . .” Caim smiled. “I hope its way stronger than grandpa.”

Storm couldn’t help but laugh—Caim never did change.

A soft light caught Storm’s eye from above. He gazed up through the broken holes in the treetops at the two moons. Slowly but surely, the two of them were moving closer to one another, like the two hands of a clock that both ticked towards each other, towards midnight. Storm raised his hand and measured the distance between them as two finger lengths.

“Seven more days, give or take. Until the new cycle.”

But Caim wasn’t paying attention. His mind was still on the thought of the powerful auras they had felt as kids. “Doesn’t matter how strong they are,” Caim said, punching his fist into his palm. “I’ll beat all of them. I’ll fight and I’ll fight and I’ll fight, until I prove that myths are real, by becoming one.”

Storm chuckled. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” declared Caim. “The stronger they are, the more fun it will be. It’s like grandpa said, ‘Is life itself not a grand challenge? If you’re going to challenge yourself, choose something that will push you past the brink of your limits, and to a place that once only existed in your dreams.’”

“But riddle me this, Neo. The legends from all the myths are already long gone, so to me it just looks like your dream is to die.” Storm flashed him a grin.

“Ugh, sometimes you’re as thick as a fruit, Storm. You don’t understand anything.”

“That’s, ugh, not the saying, Caim.”

“You know what I mean!”

Meep, meep, meep.

Caim looked down to find that there were now at least half a dozen of the fluffy white tree spirits lounging around him. Some were rolling in the dirt, others were floating just above it, and two were fighting over a piece of long grass as others pranced about them in a kind of dance.

“And what do you think you are doing?” Caim asked, kneeling. Each of the little tree spirits froze and looked up at him, blinking their big blue eyes.

Meep. Meep, meep.

Caim eyed them curiously. “Grandpa says you’re good luck,” he whispered. He placed his hands together in front of his face and closed his eyes. “I wish you peace and harmony, little tree spirits.”

Storm took one long look at the collection of tree spirits, then continued walking, before realizing the trail they were on was becoming less and less of one. He took caution in reminding himself of what that meant. They were leaving their part of Neverend and entering the domain of the Master of the Forest. The frequency of the tree spirits was even more proof of that.

“C’mon, Caim,” said Storm. “We’re getting to the dangerous part of Neverend, let’s be on guard.” He peered out and into the darkest parts of the forest, sensing with his aura to feel if anything were there, but he could feel nothing. The words of Caim played through his mind.

“A grand challenge or a grand game,” Storm said, stopping. “Sometimes I can’t tell which way you look at it, Caim.” He was expecting some retaliatory answer from his brother, but heard nothing.

“Caim?”

Caim hadn’t heard a thing he said. He sat entranced by the effect of the tree spirits, for just looking at them for too long cast one into a state of complete calm. Storm walked back until he was standing above Caim, then pulled out his sheath and tapped him on the top of his head with it.

“Wake up, already. We have places to be remember?”

Caim blinked and looked up. “What?”

Storm started walking away. “Wanna hold the stone?”

Caim’s ears perked up. “Really!?” He jumped to his feet and was quickly at Storm’s heels.

“Yeah, but not yet,” Storm answered. “For now, let’s just focus on making it to Senyria.”

“Aw man,” said Caim, who then felt something bump into him. A long line of trailing tree spirits had walked headfirst into his leg, knocking themselves down one by one in a domino effect. They made their same little meeps as they each toppled over. Their eyes grew flustered, irritated by his sudden halt.

Caim knelt and pulled on one of the creature’s little ears. “Stop following me already.”

Just as he was about to get to his feet, something shiny caught his eye. It was clenched between the teeth of one of the bigger tree spirits. Looking closer, he realized that it was holding onto a shining ruby gem the size of a knuckle, but the instant it noticed Caim, the creature vanished into the brush and was gone.

“Did you see that?” Caim asked.

“What?”

Just like that, Caim’s memory of the past few seconds went blank.

“See what?” Storm asked again, slightly agitated.

Caim shrugged. “What are you talking about?”

Storm gave Caim a hard look. “You have issues.” He looked down at the many tree spirits trying to swat the feathered tails of Caim’s vest. “I don’t understand why they have such a fascination with you.” One of the tree spirits jumped at Storm’s leg, attempting to scratch him.

“Little bastards,” Storm said, turning away from them. “They’re kinda annoying, honestly.”

“They don’t like those who don’t understand them.”

“Well, they don’t understand me either. And we’re never going to get to Trestles by morning at this pace,” he said, kicking a stone. He watched it fly across the ground and crack into the side of a tree. Caim, who had been distracted by the tree spirits, suddenly found his focus with the loud thud of the stone, and without thinking, proposed an idea that was astoundingly amazing to him.

“How ‘bout a race, then?”

Storm found himself grinning at the thought. The wind whistling through the trees seemed to hasten as the two brothers turned to face each other. Caim cocked his head to the side and smiled.

“To the lake,” said Caim. “And whoever wins gets to hold the magic stone!”

“Should’ve known this would be your plan.”

“Unless you’re scared you’ll lose.”

Storm laughed, shaking the hood from the top of his head. “So be it, Neo. But only if you promise that when I do win, you’ll shut up about trying to see it every five seconds.”

“You’ll never win,” said Caim. “That much is clear.”

Storm looked ahead through the trees. “Senyria is a little ways away, but at least it will make the time go by faster.” He cracked his knuckles. “And besides, I’ve been burning up with all this talk of a world tournament. I’m seriously going to throw the old man off the Edge if he’s making up another story.”

Dozens of tree spirits had gathered behind Caim as if they were his little reinforcements.

“What is it with you and those things?” questioned Storm, looking down at one of them.

It was about the size of his hand, looking up at him with perfect blue eyes. Its fur looked as if it had been rolled in powdered sugar, and in that moment, something foreign and calm came over Storm’s soul. He had the sudden feeling of tranquility, and earnestly considered laying down in the dirt for a nap. Shaking his head, Storm pulled himself out of the trance, forcing himself to look away from the little celestial creature.

Storm shuddered. “Creepy little things.”

The tree spirit seemed to understand him, and picking up a tiny bit of dirt with its paws, flung it at Storm with all its might. Storm smirked as the dirt landed a few inches in front of him. Storm reached down and picked it up by the fur of its withers, then walked it over to a puddle. The creature stared up at him with huge, innocent eyes. Storm knelt down and with a wicked smile, dropped the tree spirit straight into the puddle. But as soon as its paws hit the water, it kicked out, splashing Storm right in the face.

Caim burst out laughing, and all the tree spirits retreated hastily to the trees.

“Just don’t cry when I beat you,” growled Storm, wiping his face.

“I don’t even know how to cry.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“You don’t make sense.”

“Ok. I’m done talking to you.”

“I was already done talking to you first.”

Storm smacked Caim on top of his head.

“Oi! What’s the big idea!? You wanna fight!?”

“We racing? Or are you getting scared?”

Caim tapped the ball of his foot on the ground, muttering something inaudible. Beside him, Storm, also muttering something indiscernible, reached down and picked up a dull gray stone, half the size of his palm.

“All right. You know how it works,” said Storm, tossing the stone up and catching it.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Caim, pointing. “We run that way and I win.”

“Something like that, except for the fact that, well, you’ve never beaten me, Caim.”

“That’s what you think.”

“A fact is a fact.”

“And myths are facts.”

“No, myths are lies. Now, enough of this. When the stone lands, we go. Just like old times.”

Without hesitation, Storm threw the stone up through the trees. It whizzed past leaves, whistling up into the sky as the two brothers lowered their center of balance, waiting for it to fall. Storm pulled his sheathed katana from the sash around his waist and held it firmly in his right hand. Caim gave him a strange look.

“I’ll be faster like this.”

“Nervous? Seems like it.”

“Not at all.”

“You should be.”

Closing their eyes, they listened for the stone. Far off in the distance, they could hear it falling through the air, punching through leaves, thumping off a branch. . . .

Caim’s feet dug hard into the ground as he launched forward, and he was gone.

Storm sighed heavily. “Never could quite tell the difference between a branch and the ground, could you?” Waiting patiently, he finally heard the stone hit the dirt once and for all, and he was gone with the wind.