The embers of Hallow’s End smoldered in the pale light of dawn. Arion stood at the edge of the village, looking over the wreckage of what had once been his home. His mother had insisted he leave with the survivors, but Arion couldn’t bring himself to go with them. Not yet.

He hadn’t been able to save them. The creatures from the storm had come too fast, too strong, and though something inside him had awoken—a power that burned with red fire—it hadn’t been enough. The village was destroyed, and many were dead.

Arion clenched his fists, frustration and guilt coursing through him. His sword, still faintly glowing with the strange magic from the night before, hung heavy at his side.

"You're lucky to still be alive."

The voice came from behind him, smooth and clear. Arion spun around, gripping his sword instinctively. Standing there, leaning casually against a tree, was a young woman dressed in dark leathers. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a braid, and her eyes, sharp and watchful, seemed to miss nothing.

"Who are you?" Arion asked, wary of this stranger.

"Lirael," she said simply, pushing off the tree and walking closer, her steps light and soundless. "You're the one they call Arion, aren't you?"

He hesitated, unsure how she knew his name. “What do you want?”

"I saw the light," Lirael replied, nodding to his sword. "And I heard the scream of the rift creatures. You're lucky I got here when I did."

"You were here last night?" Arion's eyes narrowed. "Then why didn't you help us?"

She shrugged, her face expressionless. "Wasn't my fight."

Anger flared in him, but before he could respond, Lirael stepped closer, her gaze intense. "But it might be now. If you're the one I think you are, we’ve got bigger problems than just this village."

"The one you think I am?" Arion asked, confused. "What do you mean?"

Lirael raised an eyebrow, as if surprised he didn’t know. “There’s a prophecy. An old one. It talks about a warrior from the mortal world who will awaken a power strong enough to seal the realms and stop the chaos spreading from the rifts. Word is that someone would come wielding a blade forged in the fires of another realm.” She eyed his sword, now pulsing faintly with red light. "Looks like you might be that warrior."

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Arion stared at her, his mind racing. A prophecy? A blade to seal the realms? He shook his head. "I don’t know anything about prophecies. I’m just a villager. That power—I don’t know what it is or how to control it."

"Doesn't matter if you don’t know yet," Lirael said, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "The power found you. It always does."

Arion lowered his sword slightly, though he still didn’t fully trust her. "And you? Why are you telling me this?"

Lirael's smile faded, and for a brief moment, Arion saw something in her eyes—something haunted, something old. "Because I’ve seen what happens if you fail," she said quietly. "And I’m not going to let that happen again."

"Again?" he asked, but she ignored the question.

"We need to leave," she said, glancing around the village as though expecting more creatures to appear any second. "The things that attacked your village? They weren’t just mindless beasts. They were looking for something—or someone."

"Me?" Arion’s voice was hoarse.

Lirael nodded. "The power you released last night… it’s like a beacon. More will come. Stronger ones."

The weight of her words settled on him like a stone. He looked out over the ruined village, remembering the faces of those he couldn't save. The idea of leaving, of running, felt like a betrayal. But deep down, Arion knew she was right. The power he had unleashed—whatever it was—was far beyond his understanding, and it had attracted the attention of forces far greater than anything he could face alone.

"Where do we go?" he asked, finally.

"To the city of Lysander," Lirael said. "There are people there who can help. There’s someone you need to meet."

"And who’s that?"

"A scholar named Thalric," she replied. "He’s spent his life studying the realms and the rifts. If anyone knows how to control your power or understand the prophecy, it’s him."

Arion took a deep breath. The thought of leaving his home, of abandoning everything he’d ever known, weighed heavily on him. But staying would only bring more death. The creatures would come again, and this time they might destroy more than just his village.

"Alright," he said, sliding his sword back into its scabbard. "I'll go with you."

Lirael nodded once, and without another word, she turned and began walking toward the forest at the edge of the village. Arion hesitated for only a moment before following her.

As they walked, Arion glanced back one last time at the smoldering remains of his home. The wind carried the scent of ashes, and the memories of the night before played in his mind like a nightmare.

But with each step he took, a new sense of purpose stirred inside him. He didn’t fully understand the power within him or the prophecy Lirael spoke of, but he knew one thing: he couldn’t let what happened to his village happen again. He couldn’t let the realms fall apart.

As they disappeared into the forest, the distant rumble of thunder echoed overhead, and the red glow in the sky pulsed one last time before fading into the morning mist.