Pinecrest, Planet Naurus, Year 16, Second Era

I watch as the carriages leave the village walls. The Celestrian Army riding in their wagons, taking my brother Kylen with them. He always talked about joining up, far before Mother and Father had passed. He raised us, my sister, and I for the past three years. He said now that we were sixteen, we wouldn't need him anymore.

He said it was time for him to move on from here and learn what it is we want to do with our lives. Truth is I haven't gotten a clue. Ever since Father died, we've been looking after the forge. Kylen knew most of Father's techniques and secrets so it wasn't too difficult for him to keep up with the work and to pass the knowledge along to me. Alyse, my twin, never cared much for it though.

As far as I'm concerned I'll live my entire life in this village, I'll run this forge and continue to support the Celestrian Empire's Army. Maybe I'll earn the attention of Empress Stormcrown with the perfection of my smithing abilities... maybe... I suppose I can dream.

I see him just barely out of view now atop the carriage. He waves back as he watches my eyes linger on him. A final goodbye for now, I know he'll be back in only a few years but, learning to manage without him is a scary thought.

I hear Alyse's footsteps behind me. "Come on Red, you just gonna sit there gawking the rest of the evening?"

What a toolbag. Never a quiet enough moment with her presence. I swear she gets on my nerves more than anyone. Far more than those damn chickens Fulrick, our neighbor, owns. It can be the middle of the night and she's yapping, at least the chickens wait till morning.

"Can't you just let me grieve for one second?" I ask.

"I would but knowing you, you're mind will go drifting away for hours and next thing you know it'll be tomorrow morning and you'll still be sitting there staring out into the road, waiting for him to come back and say he forgot something. Hate to break it to you, but he's not coming back."

Damnit Alyse I love you but you really do know me too well, it's so damn annoying. Mainly cuz I'd love to argue right now but she's right and I'd just look like a fool. She's got some sort of twinstinc, always has. It's like she reads my mind almost.

"I'm aware of my ability to lose track of time, but thank you for reminding me."

I turn around and start to walk toward the house, locking eyes with her as she stands in the doorway. I smirk as I walk past her and into the living room.

The front door creaks as I push it closed behind her, the hinges groaning in protest. It's a modest house, built from sturdy timber with a thatched roof that looks a bit worse for wear, but it's ours.

Inside, the air carries the scent of baked bread and herbs, remnants of meals shared and laughter that echoed through these walls just yesterday. The main room is cozy, albeit cluttered. A large wooden table dominates the center, scarred from years of use, surrounded by mismatched chairs that bear the marks of countless family dinners. Sunlight filters through the small, grimy window, illuminating the dust motes that dance lazily in the air.

To the right, the kitchen is an open space filled with simple utensils hanging from nails, and pots that swing slightly over the hearth, where a fireplace sits with remnants of last night's fire still smoldering. There's a warmth in the way the light flickers across the walls, reminding me of quiet evenings spent talking with Kylen while the flames crackle softly.

A narrow staircase leads to the loft where Alyse and I sleep, the wood creaking underfoot as I ascend. The loft is small, just enough room for two beds, and the walls are lined with the remnants of our childhood: drawings we made, hastily scrawled notes, and trinkets we collected over the years. Alyse's bed is neatly made, a stark contrast to my own, which usually resembles a battlefield of sheets and blankets.

This place has sheltered us through storms, given us solace, and held our secrets. But now it feels empty without Kylen, a shell of what it used to be, echoing with the absence of laughter and light.

As I gaze out the window, the view of Pinecrest unfolds below, the village bustling with life, unaware of the darkness creeping closer. This is home, but it's also a reminder of the family I've lost. At least I still have Alyse.

I sit at the edge of my bed and stare into my hands as I fidget with them.

"Okay fine, I'll admit it. It's hard for me too." She sat next to me.

Hard for you too? Yeah, look at you, you look so sad. "You don't seem like it's that hard for you."

"Because I'm good at repressing things. If I feel it then it'll just make it worse for you." She says.

That's the thing about Alyse. She comes off strong but sometimes, it's almost like I see her soul. Like whatever this is she is repressing shines through. She's been this way since our parents died. Maybe she felt the need to become a mother figure, the way Kylen tried to become a father?

I nod. "Well don't repress how you feel just to protect me, that's not fair to you." I stand up and the bed creaks. "I'm going for a walk. I'll be back at sundown."

"A walk to where?"

Anywhere, as long as it's not here with these memories. "Not sure, just need to clear my mind."

She nods. "If I wake up in the morning and find out you sat on that porch all night staring into endless space..."

"I won't, I promise." I can't help but laugh internally. Maybe this is where I get my sister back from whatever spell she's been under? It seems... possible to finally build... a friendship with her.

She smiles softly. "Okay, but while you are out there, maybe keep your eyes open for some deer?"

"Sure thing."

I descend the steps and turn to the door and take down my father's bow and quiver that hang above the frame. I throw the bow string over my shoulder and attach the quiver at the back of my waist horizontally.

I step out onto the porch now and hear the sounds of the town echoing off every home and shop.

Pinecrest is a quiet, secluded village nestled deep within the heart of an ancient evergreen forest. Towering pines and firs stretch high into the sky, their dense canopies filtering the sunlight and casting a soft, green-tinted glow over the village. The air here is fresh and crisp, always carrying the scent of pine needles and the distant call of forest wildlife.

The village is surrounded by a sturdy wooden wall, built from the thick trunks of the very trees that dominate the forest. This barrier circles the entire perimeter, offering protection from the dangers that lurk beyond, both natural predators and, on rare occasions, bandits. The walls are well-maintained, with a simple gate that opens to a winding path leading deeper into the forest, serving as the only entrance and exit for travelers.

Although a second entrance exists, it's not something I'm so sure I'm willing to give up quite yet. It happens to be my favorite way in and out of this town. I don't have to deal with guards or annoying towns people asking if their order is ready yet.

Within the walls, Pinecrest is modest, its buildings crafted from timber with sloped, moss-covered roofs that blend seamlessly into the surroundings. Small gardens of herbs and vegetables dot the yards, while cobbled paths wind between the homes. A central square, with an old stone well, marks the heart of the village, where villagers often gather for trading, news, or communal events.

Despite its rustic simplicity, Pinecrest has an air of warmth and safety, where the forest feels more like a guardian than a threat. However, the shadows beyond the walls hint at the untamed wilds and the unknown that lies just beyond the village's borders.

A tall and ominous mountain looms over the treetops to the north, its jagged peak piercing the sky like a watchful sentinel. The mountain's steep, craggy face is veiled in mist, obscuring its full height, leaving only the sharp tip visible beyond the towering pines. Its dark silhouette casts a shadow over Pinecrest, a constant reminder of the unknown dangers that lie beyond the safety of the village's walls.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Where the mountain's peak aligns with the northern section of the wooden wall is where my secret entrance lies. Hidden among the dense underbrush and expertly concealed beneath layers of foliage, the entrance is a narrow, inconspicuous passage carved into the earth, just wide enough for one person to slip through undetected.

I walk toward it now, my footsteps quiet as I navigate the familiar path, the towering trees seeming to lean in, as if the forest itself is guarding my secret.

I drop to my knees and carefully pull back the tangled limbs of the bushes, peeling away the sticky moss that clings to the hidden entrance. Beneath the cover of green, a narrow gap reveals itself at the base of the wall. Sliding myself down through the edge of the hole, I ease underneath the wooden barrier, the ground cool and damp against my skin.

Once through, I pull myself back up on the other side, emerging in a crouch. I stay low, brushing dirt and bits of moss from my clothes, my eyes scanning the surrounding forest as I remain hidden in the thick underbrush.

Now standing, I begin to walk through the evergreen forest. The towering pines stretch above me, their branches swaying slightly in the breeze as golden rays of sunlight pierce through the canopy, casting scattered beams onto the forest floor. I keep my gaze downward, searching for signs of any tracks or trails that might hint at recent movement.

And there they are, the prints, pressed into the soft earth. A fresh trail, the marks clear and distinct. It looks like a small herd of deer or elk passed through only moments before my arrival. The tracks gather in clusters and follow an eastern path, leading toward the rolling hills that lie about five kilometers from here.

I follow the fresh trail, creeping deeper into the woods as the daylight begins to fade. The sun sinks lower behind the trees, painting the sky in shades of gold and amber. My heart quickens when I see them, a whole group of elk grazing among the trees, their massive forms moving gracefully as they forage.

Ducking behind a nearby bush, I reach for an arrow from my quiver, my fingers moving with practiced ease. I nock the arrow to my bow and pull back, the tension humming in my arms as I align the tip of the arrow with the largest elk in sight. Its broad shoulders and thick coat catch the last of the sunlight.

I hold my breath and release.

The arrow flies through the air, its whistle barely audible before it strikes. The elk cries out, the sound sharp and pained. The others scatter in a frenzy, but she remains, limping as she struggles to follow the herd. I draw another arrow, quickly nocking it and pulling back the string, feeling the weight of the bow bend with the force.

Just as I prepare to release the second arrow, a loud crack shatters the stillness. The handle of the bow splits in two under the pressure, and I pull it apart, the wood snapping clean in my hands.

"Damnit!" I yell as the elk begins to run and then disappears into the dark. "Are you kidding me?!"

Malice, Plane of Hell, Amerei's Edge

———Domnik———

The stench of sulfur fills my lungs the moment I step into the throne room of Malice. My father's domain, his personal Hell, mirrors every nightmare one could ever conjure. The walls, jagged and scorched, pulse with veins of molten lava that snake through the blackened stone, casting an eerie, blood-red glow that flickers across the room. Smoke rises from cracks in the ground, twisting and curling as though the very air itself is alive with torment.

His throne looms at the far end, carved from dark obsidian and adorned with cruel spikes, each one gleaming like polished onyx. The chair is massive, built to elevate him above all others who dared approach. Its design is meant to inspire fear, a twisted symbol of dominance and authority. Around it, the floor is littered with the skeletal remains of those who failed him, their bones half-buried in the scorched earth beneath his feet.

I remember this room from my childhood, though it feels more oppressive now. My father's presence lingers here, even though he is gone. The oppressive heat, the flicker of flames, and the distant screams that echo from the depths of the realm, it all feels like a haunting reminder of his cruelty.

Above the throne, carved into the stone like a mark of his reign, is the symbol of our lineage, a broken crown encircled by serpents. It's a constant reminder of his ambition, his hunger for power, and the blood he spilled to rule Malice.

Even after all these years, I can feel his presence here, lingering like a shadow. I was only three when he passed, too young to remember anything clearly, but my mother has spun grand tales of his valor in the battle for the Kingdom of Amerei. Yet, some part of me refuses to believe it. Her stories always sound too polished, too perfect—like a lie wrapped in heroism.

"Domnik, back so soon?" A deep voice echoes from the corner of the hall. From the shadows, Galagon emerges, stepping forward with a slow, deliberate grace before settling himself on the throne.

My blood simmers at the sight and I feel a strange mix of dread and defiance as I approach him. How dare he sit where my father once sat. That throne belongs to me. This room, this cursed realm, it is my inheritance, though I've always despised it. Galagon has claimed it ever since my father's death, as if he could ever replace Zul Wrathrune.

The servants whisper that Galagon's own realm fell off the Shores of Malice, spiraling into the eternal abyss between realms. He's taken refuge here, and in my mother's absence, raised me as his own, though he's no father to me.

Mother, always so consumed with her obsession over the Kingdom of Amerei, rarely visits. She is blinded by her desire to restore order, and in her chase for that dream, she's turned my life into a nightmare. She takes everything good and twists it into something unrecognizable. That's her true gift.

I nod toward Galagon, keeping my emotions in check. "Yeah, let's just say the Empress will have some trouble in the years to come."

He laughs, a hollow, knowing sound. "Good. And what of my brothers?"

I shake my head. "Muthos is at odds with Udis. The word is that Udis has uncovered something, information that he's not willing to share. I'm not fully aware of all the details, but I suspect we won't be dealing with either of them for sometime."

Galagon smirks, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Well then, I suppose that is great news. Son, tomorrow is a special day."

"I know," I reply, my tone steady. "But until then, there is much to do. I'm heading back to Naurus. There's something there I need to retrieve. I'll be returning soon."

"And what is that?" His voice takes on a low growl, a challenge.

"I've heard rumors while I was at the Palace of Celestria," I begin. "The royals believe they've uncovered an artifact of great power in the northern foothills. They speak of a blade. I wonder if it could be the one mother searches for so desperately."

Galagon stands from the throne, his face darkening as he paces back and forth. "I see. Keep your jaw locked on this information will you? We wouldn't want Udis or Muthos catching wind of such a discovery, would we? Am I right to believe you have what it takes to retrieve and safeguard this artifact?"

I nod. "You are, Galagon."

He smiles, a cold, calculated expression. "Good. But know this, if you fail, I will not be the one to take the blame for such actions."

I bow, suppressing my disdain. "Of course, my Lord. I can promise you the blade will be returned here safely and swiftly. There is nothing to worry."

Satisfied, he turns toward his chambers, his voice echoing down the hall as he leaves. "Do not fail me."

I grit my teeth. Such an ass. He's nothing more than a pawn in my mother's twisted game, so desperate for her approval yet unwilling to take responsibility for anything.

I turn and make my way toward the portal room, determined and unyielding.

I approach the gateway, its towering arch made of blackened stone and adorned with faintly glowing runes that pulse with a life of their own. The air around it crackles with energy, a quiet tension building as I draw near. As I place my hand on the cool surface of the arch, I hear the mechanical whirring of hidden gears deep within, slowly grinding to life. The sound reverberates through the floor beneath me, a low, rumbling hum that grows louder with each passing moment.

Suddenly, the center of the arch begins to shimmer, a ripple forming like a tear in reality itself. The portal materializes, swirling and pulsating with energy, its surface a churning mass of vivid colors, blues, purples, and greens, all blending and twisting together in hypnotic patterns. The hum intensifies, growing louder, as if the portal is calling to me, beckoning me forward.

I take a deep breath and step toward it. The moment my foot crosses the threshold, the ground seems to vanish beneath me. My vision blurs as the entire room spins, the stone walls of the grand hall twisting and warping around me as though being torn apart by some unseen force.

Colors rush past, swirling like a violent storm. The sensation is both exhilarating and terrifying, like being caught in a vortex, ripped from one reality and flung into another. I feel the pull of gravity disappear as I'm lifted, weightless, tumbling through a tunnel of light and energy. My body contorts, stretched thin by the immense force, yet somehow I remain whole.

For a brief moment, time ceases to exist. I am everywhere and nowhere, suspended in the swirl of vibrant colors. Then, with a sudden jolt, I feel the ground solidify beneath me, and I land on my feet. The swirling vortex fades, the colors dissipating into the aether.

I stand, disoriented, the world around me settling back into focus. The dense evergreen forest of Naurus comes into view, its towering pines and thick undergrowth stretching out before me. The portal behind me hums one last time before collapsing in on itself, leaving nothing but silence in its wake.

I take a breath and begin my journey forward.

In the distance, Grimhold Peak looms, a vast, jagged silhouette against the sky. Locals speak of it in hushed tones, for it dominates the heart of the Valoria Province, rising like an ancient sentinel at the center of the dense evergreen forest. Its massive foothills stretch for kilometers, though the trees, tall and thick as soldiers, hide much of their reach.

I move toward the mountain, navigating the forest until I step into a small clearing where thick, wild grass sways gently. The ground beneath slopes upward to meet the mountain's base, where a deep carve in the earth reveals a hidden doorway.

The archway, framed by ancient stone, is inscribed with runes from a forgotten civilization, one that vanished from this land centuries ago. As I draw closer, I hear faint whispers carried on the wind, as though the mountain itself is speaking to me. The voices of the past echo in my mind, a melody I've never heard before, soft, haunting, and unmistakably familiar. It calls my name, beckoning me forward, as though the ancient halls within know exactly who I am.