And so, a year had already passed since my arrival. Nothing noteworthy had happened during that time: Silas still lived in the barn, Iris remained as childlike as ever, and my mother continued to treat me like a child. Yet, in just a year, my body had grown immensely. Although still tiny compared to my former self, still, I was certain I was bigger and stronger than any thirteen-year-old boy in all of Eldoria. In just a couple more years, I should attain a form similar to the one I once had, maybe even greater, thanks to all the training I have endured thus far.
The past year had been quite uneventful, but in exchange, I had learned a great deal about the world of Eldoria. Much of this knowledge was gleaned from the dusty tomes of Emberfield's ancient library rather than firsthand experiences, but it was valuable knowledge nonetheless.
Let's see: the fairies, known as the fey folk, rule over most of the eastern realms, including Emberfield. On the opposite side of Eldoria, the western realms are home to powerful wizards and witches, while the mighty beast people dwell in the north. To the south, mysterious elves grace the lands, while humans are scattered all over, with the kingdom of men situated in the middle of Eldoria, surrounded by the four great realms.
However, some kingdoms have their own rule and don't indulge in the politics of the outside world, such as the great dwarven kingdom and many other lesser-known ones.
Living in the eastern lands, it saddens me that I have yet to encounter a single fairy. Further east, lies the sprawling expanse of the magnificent Silverleaf Forest, a haven for fairies and their kingdom Feyndor.
When night falls, I often venture beyond the confines of our village. Under the cover of darkness, I spread my wings and soar freely as my heart desires. I have kept my powers a secret, unwilling to draw any attention to myself, especially to my family. I am certain that tales of a dark-winged boy would spread far and wide, attracting both good and bad.
So, like many nights before, I take to the skies once more. High above the ground, beyond the reach of human sight, I traverse familiar landscapes illuminated by the moonlight. Emberfield stands as the sole settlement in the vicinity, surrounded by farmlands, rivers, forests, and distant mountains. It feels as though we are isolated from the rest of the world.
"I wonder what lies beyond those mountains," I mused to myself as I hovered in the air.
As I faced east, my gaze fell upon the magnificent expanse of the Silverleaf Forest, stretching as far as the eye can see. A soft, enchanting melody seemed to emanate from within its depths, drawing me closer, and tempting me with its magical allure. Yet, I knew better than to succumb to its seductive call. The entrance to the Silverleaf Forest remained strictly off-limits to all but fairies themselves, unless, one was fortunate enough to receive their rare invitation, an occurrence that had not taken place in centuries.
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Legends whispered of the fabled hero, Cyrus, the last mortal granted access to the sacred kingdom of the Feyndor. His heroic deeds were etched in history books, for he had saved the fairies from the clutches of a devastating demon invasion. In a selfless act of bravery, he had sealed the very gate that connected their world with ours, sacrificing much of himself in the process.
Countless ages had passed since then, and Eldoria had enjoyed a prolonged era of peace.
"It's time to return," I murmured to myself.
As I made my way back, a distant roar accompanied by the clamor of battle cries pierced the air, originating from the direction of Emberfield.
"No, it can't be!" I gasped.
With a single powerful beat of my wings, I propelled myself toward my home. Urgency gripped me, my breath growing more ragged with each flap of my oversized wings. They were too large for the body of a child, and maintaining flight demanded a considerable amount of energy. Yet, I pushed myself to fly faster, driven by the growing certainty that Emberfield was under attack. The cacophony of clashing steel grew louder with each passing moment: Emberfield was under attack.
But why would anyone target such a small, insignificant village that held no importance or riches? What could they possibly hope to gain from this attack? Emberfield had never faced any significant threats beyond occasional natural disasters like floods or harsh winters, and even then, no lives were ever in danger. I could only hope that Mother, Iris, and even Silas were safe and unharmed.
"I shouldn't have left the village! I never should have left!" I berated myself as I hurried back home.
At last, the familiar sights came into view. The farmlands and forests were ablaze, with the most intense flames emanating from the heart of the village. The fire cast an eerie glow over Emberfield, illuminating the chaos unfolding beneath the darkened skies. Perched atop one of the roofs was a colossal green wyvern, its back occupied by a towering orc wielding a giant axe.
It was a raid—a dozen orcs marauding through the village, leaving destruction and death in their wake. A small line of villagers had formed, armed with whatever makeshift weapons they could find: pitchforks, hatchets, sickles, and even kitchen utensils. A village blacksmith, amidst the flames, distributed swords and hammers to every able-bodied man, woman, and child he encountered.
"To every able-bodied man and child over the age of fourteen, take up arms and defend our home!" the blacksmith bellowed as he moved through the chaos, equipping anyone willing to fight.
As selfish as it felt, I couldn't bring myself to aid those in peril until I found my family. It didn't take long; near our house stood four figures—Mother, Iris, an orc, and a lone man with a lute, valiantly guarding them.