In the rugged borderlands of Hailsnek, a realm fraught with danger and the constant threat of the Drugni—corrupted cousins of the sheltered elves—lived Easton, a scout of the Watchers. The Watchers, a magical dark-skinned race notable for their white hair and purple eyes, occupied the Bysantim Mountains, a bastion of civilization that stood as a bulwark against the tribes of evil.
Easton hailed from a long line of powerful mages, each generation surpassing the previous in magical prowess. His parents, renowned for their mastery of the dimensional arts, had high expectations for Easton, expecting him to carry on the family legacy. But Easton despised magic. The pressure and constant comparisons to his siblings and ancestors had left him resentful of the very thing that defined his lineage. From a young age, Easton had been forced to be his parents' tool, used for their own gain and glory in the magical community.
Determined to carve his own path, Easton had turned away from magic entirely, vowing never to use it. Instead, he trained to become a scout—a position often regarded as fit only for the talentless. Scouts were the eyes and ears of the realm, tasked with patrolling the borders, gathering intelligence, and ensuring the safety of their people. It was a humble role, far removed from the grandeur of a mage, but it was Easton's way of asserting his independence and rejecting the life that had been chosen for him.
Easton's decision had not come without consequences. His family had been deeply disappointed, viewing his choice as a waste of his inherent potential. Disowned and ridiculed, he was jeered at and scowled upon by those who had once looked at him with hope. But Easton didn't let it deter him. He had made his choice and, though it came with a steep cost, it also brought him a sense of freedom he had never known before.
Hailsnek was a harsh and unforgiving land, far from the safety of Bysantim. The scouts stationed there lived a life of constant vigilance, always alert to the dangers that lurked in the shadows. As a scout, Easton's days were filled with perilous missions, tracking the movements of the Drugni and reporting back to his superiors. It was a life of relentless pressure, but it gave Easton a sense of purpose that he had never found in the study of magic.
One brisk morning, Easton stood atop a rocky outcrop, his keen eyes scanning the dense forest below. The sun had just begun to rise, casting a golden hue over the rugged landscape. Easton felt a strange sense of peace in these early hours, before the day's dangers fully revealed themselves.
As he surveyed the terrain, Easton's thoughts drifted to his family. He wondered if they ever thought of him, if they still hoped he would one day return and embrace his magical heritage. Shaking his head, he pushed the thoughts aside. He had made his choice, and there was no turning back.
A rustling in the underbrush below caught Easton's attention. He crouched low, his hand instinctively reaching for the dagger at his belt. Peering through the foliage, he saw a group of Drugni moving stealthily through the trees. Their twisted forms and glowing eyes were a stark reminder of the dangers that lurked in Hailsnek.
Easton signaled to his fellow scouts, who quickly took up positions around him. They watched in silence as the monsters passed, their movements erratic and unsettling. Once the threat had passed, Easton let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Good job, everyone," he whispered to his team. "Let's move back to camp and report this."
As they made their way back, Easton couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. He had chosen his path and found his place in the world, despite the expectations and pressures from his past. The life of a scout might not have been glamorous, but it was his, and that was enough.
Back at the camp, Easton prepared his report for the Watcher commander. As he wrote, he felt a renewed sense of determination. He would continue to protect Bysantim, to defend his home and his comrades, regardless of the dangers that lay ahead. He might never be the mage his family had hoped for, but he had found his own way to make a difference.
As the sun set over Hailsnek, casting long shadows across the camp, Easton looked out at the horizon. He was far from Bysantim, deep in the heart of Hailsnek, where the dangers were constant, and the safety of home seemed like a distant memory. But here, among his fellow scouts, he had found a place where he was respected for who he was, not what others wanted him to be.
Later that evening, as the camp settled into the quiet routine of night, a few of the scouts gathered around a small fire. They shared stories and jokes, the tension of the day easing in the warmth of camaraderie. Easton was among them, his usual stoic demeanor softened by the friendly atmosphere.
"Easton," one of the scouts, a wiry watcher named Kalen, said with a grin, "you really had those Drugni on the run today. If you keep this up, you'll make us all look bad."
The group laughed, and Easton allowed himself a small smile. "Just doing my job," he replied modestly, though he couldn't help but feel a flicker of pride.
Another scout, a female named Lyra, nudged him playfully. "Don't be so humble. You've saved our skins more times than we can count. If anyone deserves a break, it's you."
The commander had strict rules about maintaining discipline and quiet at night, but as the conversation grew livelier, the scouts began to relax. Someone pulled out a flask of strong drink, and soon, a small, impromptu celebration was underway. Despite the dangers that surrounded them, there was a sense of relief and togetherness that night—a rare moment of joy in the bleakness of Hailsnek.
Easton looked around at his comrades, feeling a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the fire or the drink. These were his people, and they respected him for what he had chosen to become. For the first time in a long while, he felt at peace with the path he had taken.
As the night wore on and the fire died down, the scouts began to drift off to their tents. Easton stayed by the embers for a while longer, staring into the dying flames. He knew that tomorrow would bring new challenges, new dangers, but for now, he allowed himself to simply enjoy the moment.
As Easton lay down in his tent, pulling the rough blanket over himself, a strange sensation began to creep over him. The sounds of the camp, the distant crackling of the fire, and the murmured voices of the other scouts faded into silence. A deep, unnatural darkness enveloped him, pressing in on all sides. He tried to move, to sit up, but found himself paralyzed, as if some unseen force held him in place.
Suddenly, he was no longer in his tent. The familiar world of Hailsnek had vanished, replaced by an endless black void. Easton floated in the emptiness, his heart pounding with fear and confusion. The darkness was absolute, oppressive, and cold, but then, two massive, glowing eyes appeared before him, piercing through the void like twin suns.
The eyes were ancient and unfathomable, filled with a power that made Easton's blood run cold. They stared into him, seeing through his very soul, and he felt a voice, not spoken but resonating deep within his mind.
"Go north," the voice commanded, deep and resonant, echoing in the vast emptiness. "Go to the realm of Gethren, the land of fire and demons."
Easton tried to speak, to ask who or what was addressing him, but no words came. The eyes watched him, unblinking and all-knowing, and the command echoed again, louder, more insistent.
"Chaos looms and beckons closer. The lord is coming."
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the vision ended. Easton jolted awake, gasping for breath, his heart pounding in his chest. He was back in his tent, the familiar sounds of the camp returning to his ears. The fire crackled softly in the distance, and the other scouts were still murmuring quietly in their sleep.
Easton sat up, his mind reeling. The vision had felt so real, so vivid. The words echoed in his head, impossible to ignore. He knew of Gethren, the land of fire and the demons, a place of legend and terror. It was a realm that no one ventured to willingly, a place where even the bravest warriors feared to tread. But chaos loomed?
Easton had heard tales of a destetude, a champion of the savage world and the subjugator of millions who thousands of years ago forced an alliance between the kingdoms of man, elf-kind, the fairies, dwarven men, the colossal bugs (the Ente), and his kind. For one to become such a lord, is needed to forsake all possessions including body and soul to the beings above and bring together all the forces of chaos.
While he refused to believe such a monster would be reborn, he looked into the dazzling blue sky and whispered, "To Gethern." By morning, he would march north to find the source of this "evil".