The medallion felt heavier in Erik’s hand than it had the day before, its dark runes more ominous in the pale light of dawn. Frail-looking, with pale skin and dark circles under his eyes, he stood by the window of his small one-room cabin, trying to gather himself.

As he fastened the medallion around his neck, a chill ran down his spine at its unsettling weight. He forced himself to ignore it. He didn’t have time for this. Not today.

Because today, on the first day of spring, all eighteen-year-olds across the world of Nelum faced the same question: Would their Awakening Ritual be their salvation—or damnation?

And his time had arrived. He was among those who would be undergoing this rite of passage. It allowed most people to Awaken a Talent, and wield extraordinary powers.

Still, he hesitated. His fingers brushed over the intricate runes etched into the dark metal. The medallion was the only keepsake he had from his parents, and despite its eerie engravings—a human skeleton flanked by a vulture—he couldn’t bring himself to leave it behind. A piece of his past he could still hold onto.

But lately, it had begun to feel like more than a simple memento.

Over the past eight nights, since his birthday, Erik had been plagued by nightmares. In his dreams, he became a bird flying among an endless flock, only to be swallowed by an ocean of feathers and beaks. No matter what he did, he couldn’t escape. Last night’s nightmare had been particularly vivid, its lingering presence clinging to his mind like a meal with a bitter aftertaste.

His gaze shifted to the two dolls, woven from sticks and dry grass, sitting on the windowsill—simple creations he had made to remember his parents.

“One day… I will make you proud,” he whispered to them, what had turned into a morning ritual. “I’ll join the Ulednar, just like you.” His voice carried a quiet but unwavering conviction.

He glanced towards the small rock on his nightstand. It had a rune on its surface that was slowly morphing into another one and glowing a lavender color, telling him the time of day.

“Not again, damn it!” Erik hissed, realizing he had spaced out for too long due to his lack of sleep and was now running late. The ritual would soon be underway. Missing it wasn’t just forbidden—it was punishable by death.

He quickly dashed out of the front door.

His house was positioned at the edge of the small city, the closest one to the graveyard, which was why it was so cheap. And since he worked there, it was convenient for him as well. But unfortunately, his destination, the explorers’ guild, was all the way on the other side of Skulheim.

Erik delved through its cobblestoned streets, which twisted like serpents, their edges lined with wooden houses etched with intricate carvings of animals and mysterious symbols.

The morning was in full swing, and as it was a special one, the city-folk usually started their day earlier than normal. But thankfully, the roads on his path were still sparse and nobody was getting in his way.

Posters were the only thing distracting him. They were a warning to the young man and women that they must absolutely undertake the ritual or face dire consequence. They loomed over him, stark and unforgiving.

Failure meant more than death—it meant shame, obscurity, and the end of everything he’d hoped for.

Sweating and huffing, Erik was just crossing one of the low bridges over the shallow river, that cut across the city, when he heard the heavy thudding of hooves behind him. He turned to see a group of riders approaching at a brisk pace, each of their gazes fixed straight ahead.

At their center rode a young man, most likely a noble, around Erik's age. Cloaked in pristine blue and white furs with a silver spear strapped to his back. It matched his silver-white hair that was neatly tied back. His posture was upright and unwavering. And every rider around him matched his intensity, their expressions alert and their focus unbroken.

As they drew closer, Erik edged to the side of the bridge to make room, thinking they would adjust their formation to avoid him. The noble’s gaze remained locked forward, his horse continuing in a direct line without a single glance in Erik's direction.

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“Clear the way!” bellowed the captain at the noble’s side, his voice slicing through the crisp morning air.

Erik scrambled further back, but the narrow space and lack of a parapet betrayed him. With a startled yelp, his foot slipped, and he plunged into the river below. The shallow drop barely softened the impact. The icy water tore the breath from his lungs, and pain shot up his side as he struck the riverbed.

He splashed around as the biting chill of the water and the pain shocked him awake, washing away his fatigue.

Slightly dazed, he saw that above him the riders continue without slowing, their silhouettes framed against the morning light. The noble cast a brief glance over his shoulder at his guards, his eyes sharp and assessing, as if checking that there was no further disruption to their progress. He then turned back, and the group rode on with practiced precision.

Erik observed them with barely concealed venom in his eyes. The blue crest with a snow fox that they bore reminding him of their status.

One day... they wouldn’t dare look past me. I’ll be the one they clear the way for. He swore to himself.

The riders seemed to be heading in the direction of the guild, which reminding him that he had to go as well. He quickly crossed the dozen feet to the shore, but just as Erik was about to rush off after them, he stopped in his tracks.

What the…? Wide-eyed, he was rooted on the spot.

The stench of death and decay filled his nostrils, making his hair stand on end.

He also felt that something was heating up around his chest, but he couldn't look away from what was in front of him.

There was a large, old tree towering over the surrounding houses and amidst its branches was a bird akin to a vulture with feathers as dark as midnight, as if swallowing the light around it. Its black eyes somehow gave off a dark glow. The tree and bird appeared ethereal, shrouded in a thin, dark mist, as if caught between worlds.

The feathered creature observed the riders as they sped down the road.

Where did they come from? He hadn’t noticed them before. It's as if they had appeared in between the blinks of his eyes.

Was he dreaming again? This vulture was the same one from his nightmares and the one engraved on his medallion. But this felt too real.

What if he wasn’t dreaming? For a moment, he thought the security of the city had failed and monsters had managed to get inside. But that had never happened before, and there were no alarms sounded.

The vulture’s gaze shifted, peering directly into Erik’s eyes. His vision blurred, and just before he passed out, a seemingly random thought crossed his mind:Why is my medallion so hot?

***

In a haze, a vision unfolded before him of a vast, endless swarm of shapeless birds, their wings beating in eerie harmony against a night sky filled with stars. They moved slowly in a massive circle spiraling down into a devouring abyss. But amidst the torrent of wings, one that looked like a vulture broke from the spiral, defying the pull.

It turned, rising toward the distant stars, only to be hemmed in by the others, their mass blocking its flight.

The black wings blurred together, a storm of shadows blotting out the stars. Undeterred, the vulture fought—feathers torn, talons slashing, beak striking—slowly pushing through the press of black wings, a battle that stretched on as if time itself had slowed.

Finally, it emerged, and with a croak sharp as thunder, it cried out to the sky triumphantly. And the stars above pulsed faintly, as if distant beacons of hope or... warnings of failure.

Then everything faded away...

***

Slowly, Erik’s vision started clearing. He found himself lying on the shore of the river, and the late afternoon sunlight made him squint. His mouth was dry, as if he had being walking through a desert.

“Ugghhh… what was that?” With a groan he sat up, and tried to make sense of his situation. It slowly came back to him. His head snapped towards the where he saw the vulture, but it, along with the tree, were gone.

The bird’s cry echoed in his mind, relentless and sharp. Erik clenched the medallion, its heat still faint against his palm. Was this a warning—or a test of his resolve?

It felt like the world was trying to tell him something, but he couldn't make sense of it.

Before he could think about it further, one of the city-folk crossing the bridge spat and muttered loudly under his breath, “Another no-good street rat polluting the river!”

Startled, Erik looked up in puzzlement. The bridge and surrounding streets had people going about their affairs. Then he remembered where he was going and realized how late it had gotten.

There was a pair of guards on one of the streets across the river that were talking and pointing in his direction. They then started making their way towards him.

Erik's stomach twisted. He shoved the medallion back into his shirt and dashed off towards the guild, cursing under his breath. When he glanced back, the guards slowed, exchanged a glance then turned back toward their post. Erik let out a shaky breath, knowing he wasn’t worth the trouble—for now.

The sunset painted the sky in bright, vibrant colors and illuminated the hill in warm orange as Erik arrived at his destination.

The guild hall, towering at four stories, was built from massive tree trunks and adorned with runes, incense burners, and trinkets. Carvings of mystical landscapes and hideous monsters lined its walls, each a glorious testament to the explorers’ exploits and legacies. And the building wore those proudly, like medals of honor.

In front of it, there was a dispersing crowd, many young adults with friends and relatives. Some were thoughtful, some crying, and some laughing joyfully.

Erik's gaze tunneled on the entrance of the guild.

“No,” he squeezed out when he saw the doors closed, and no staff present.