I jolted awake, my heart pounding against my ribs like a caged bird. For a moment, I was disoriented, the unfamiliar surroundings sending a spike of panic through me. Then the memories came flooding back—the attack, the fall of Rivendale, the mysterious riders. I found myself in a small tent, my wounds tended to, though my body still ached with every movement.
Despite the protests of the other survivors who had pulled me from the rubble, I insisted on returning to Rivendale. I had to see it for myself, to face what had happened. They reluctantly agreed, warning me of the dangers that might still lurk in the shadows of our fallen home.
The cold morning air bit at my skin as I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders. Rivendale lay quiet before me, a smoldering shadow of what it once was. My stomach twisted as I stepped forward, my boots sinking into the blackened earth. Smoke still curled from the remains of homes, the acrid scent of burning wood and memories filling my nostrils. I had fought to protect this place, bled for it, and now... now it was gone.
I crouched in the ashes of a collapsed house, staring at what remained of Mira's home. My hand trembled as I brushed away the debris, uncovering what was once her hearth. Charred remnants of wood, shattered pieces of pottery, the faintest outline of where we'd shared meals, laughed, and lived. My throat tightened. Everything about this place—every corner of Rivendale—held memories, and each one now felt like a dagger to my chest.
I had failed them. All of them.
I swallowed hard, forcing the lump in my throat down as I rose to my feet. There was no time for mourning. My fingers grazed the hilt of my sword for comfort, the familiar grip grounding me. But as I moved through the ruins, sifting through debris and scanning the rubble for survivors, something about the air shifted. It was subtle at first—an unnatural stillness that wrapped around me like a cloak of dread.
I froze, my pulse quickening as unease crept over my skin like ice. Something was wrong. The air... it felt thicker, heavier than before, as though the very atmosphere was charged with energy I couldn't quite explain. My heart skipped a beat. I instinctively tightened my grip on my sword, my gaze darting to the horizon. There was no movement, no sign of life, and yet... something was watching.
I inhaled sharply, trying to brush it off, trying to tell myself it was just the trauma, just the aftermath of everything I had endured. I was tired. That was all. I'd barely slept since the attack, and I was sure my mind was playing tricks on me.
But that didn't stop the growing sense of dread.
I pressed on, forcing my legs to keep moving through the ruins, picking through the remnants of homes that once stood tall. As I crouched again to sift through what remained of the baker's shop, my fingers brushed against something smooth beneath the ashes. I paused, my brow furrowing as I uncovered a stone half-buried in the debris. It was untouched—completely unscathed by the destruction around it.
The moment my hand made contact, a jolt shot through me.
I gasped, jerking my hand back, but it was too late. A shock of warmth traveled up my arm, seeping into my chest. It wasn't just the warmth—it was a pulse. Something ancient, something powerful. I stared at the stone, my heart pounding in my chest as a quiet hum filled my ears.
My eyes widened. What in the name of the gods was this?
I stumbled back a step, my hand still tingling from the touch. I felt... connected. Not just to the stone, but to something deeper. Something vast. My pulse quickened, and a sharp ache gripped my temples. My knees buckled, and I fell to the ground, clutching my head as the sensation overwhelmed me. It was as if the land itself had come alive beneath my feet, its energy pulsing through my veins. I could feel it—roots stretching deep into the earth, the hum of power threading through the world around me.
But it wasn't comforting. It was terrifying.
I pushed myself up, shaking my head, trying to clear the fog from my mind. This... this wasn't normal. I couldn't explain it. I didn't want to explain it. Whatever power I had felt, I didn't want any part of it. I wasn't meant for this.
"Get it together," I muttered to myself, forcing my breathing to steady. "It's just exhaustion."
But no matter how much I tried to convince myself, the warmth still lingered in my chest. The hum of power hadn't faded.
I had to keep moving.
With deliberate steps, I made my way toward the village square, where the survivors had gathered. Most of them were huddled in small groups, tending to the wounded and assessing the damage. Their faces were pale, haunted by the same sense of loss and devastation that gnawed at me. They looked up as I approached, their eyes filled with silent questions, hope, and fear all rolled into one.
They were looking to me for answers.
I swallowed hard. How could I give them any when I was as lost as they were?
As I made my way toward the village square, a sharp cry echoed through the air. I turned on instinct, my sword half-drawn. A few villagers were huddled near the remnants of the well, one of them clutching his leg, his face twisted in pain. It was—Kaden. He'd always been one of the village's strongest, but now, even he looked broken.
I crossed the square quickly, my boots crunching through ash and debris, and knelt beside him. "Hold still," I said, my voice steady despite the chaos still churning inside me.
His leg was badly wounded, blood seeping through a crude bandage. I worked swiftly, tearing off strips from my cloak to wrap around his wound, my hands moving with precision. But as I bent over him, the nagging sensation returned, creeping up my spine, curling in the pit of my stomach. That same, unsettling energy from earlier. It was faint now, just a whisper, but it refused to leave me alone.
I pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand. "You'll be alright, Kaden," I murmured, even though the uncertainty in my chest gnawed at me. "Just hold on a little longer."
He nodded, though his eyes were filled with pain. "Selene... we didn't stand a chance, did we?" His voice was weak, filled with a sadness I couldn't bring myself to acknowledge.
I didn't answer right away, couldn't. My fingers tightened around the bandage, securing it as best I could, even as the weight of his words pressed on me. No, we hadn't stood a chance. The creatures had come too fast, too strong. We weren't prepared.
"We'll rebuild," I said finally, though the words felt hollow. "We'll find a way."
Kaden closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling unevenly. "I hope you're right."
I stood up, scanning the area again "Everyone okay here?" My voice sounded steadier than I felt, which was a small victory.
"Some of us," answered one of the elders, his leg wrapped in a bloodied cloth. He grimaced as he shifted his weight, pain etched deep into his features. "Others... not so much."
I crouched next to him, checking the wound. It wasn't good, but it wasn't fatal either. "You'll live," I said, trying to offer some small measure of reassurance, though my hands shook as I tightened the bandage.
As I worked, the lingering sensation of that strange power buzzed at the back of my mind. I forced it down. These people needed me focused, not distracted by whatever unnatural force had tried to latch onto me
I stood up, scanning the square one more time. This time around more villagers were gathering now, those who had managed to survive. Their faces were a mixture of shock, fear, and despair, but their eyes all turned to me. They expected something—hope, direction, answers. Things I wasn't sure I had to give.
The weight of their gazes pressed down on me, heavier than any sword I'd ever wielded. I wasn't a leader. I was a fighter, trained to defend, not command. But here, now, there was no one else to turn to. They believed in me, even when I didn't believe in myself.
Taking a deep breath, I lifted my chin. "We need to regroup," I said, my voice clear and firm. "Anyone who's able should help the wounded. Start gathering supplies, food, water—anything we can salvage. We'll stay here until we figure out our next move."
A few nodded, others just stood there, shell-shocked. I didn't blame them. I barely knew what to do myself, but I couldn't let them see that. Not when they were counting on me.
As I moved among the survivors, checking wounds and offering what little comfort I could, that strange energy continued to pulse within me. It was as if the land itself had come alive, its power threading through my veins. I tried to ignore it, to focus on the immediate needs of my people, but it was becoming harder to deny that something had changed within me.
Just as I was about to turn away, without warning, a gust of wind swept through the square, kicking up ash and debris. The wind carried something strange—almost like a whisper, though no words could be made out. I shot to my feet, my eyes narrowing as I scanned the horizon. The air around us shifted again, just like it had in the ruins.
"Stay together," I ordered, my voice sharper now, the edge of tension creeping in. "Something's coming."
I didn't know what it was, but the wind had changed, and so had the air around us. It was no longer just the aftermath of the attack—there was something more, something deeper. And whatever it was, I wasn't sure we were ready for it.
Movement flickered in the distance. At the far edge of the square, beyond the broken remnants of the blacksmith's shop, a figure emerged from the smoke. Cloaked in deep green, with silver hair that seemed to catch the light even in the gloom, the stranger moved with an unsettling grace. Each step was deliberate, unhurried—too calm for someone walking through the wreckage of what was once a thriving village. My instincts flared, and my hand flew to the hilt of my sword, every muscle tensing. The villagers, sensing my reaction, turned their attention toward the figure as well, a collective unease rippling through the group.
He wasn't from Rivendale. That much was clear. He didn't carry the urgency or grief of someone who had just survived an attack. No, this man was different. He seemed to glide through the destruction as if he had expected it, as if the smoldering ruins and fallen bodies were nothing more than scenery on a stage he had long prepared for.
I stepped forward, putting myself between the stranger and the survivors, my sword still in its sheath but ready to be drawn at a moment's notice. The way he moved didn't suggest an immediate threat, but there was something about him—something in the air around him—that made every instinct in me scream to be cautious. I didn't know if I should strike or listen.
He stopped at the edge of the square, his gaze sweeping across the devastation, taking in the fallen structures, the wounded, and the ash that still fell like snow. For a long moment, he just stood there, surveying the scene as if weighing it, calculating something beyond my understanding.
And then his eyes locked onto mine.
The intensity in that gaze was unnerving. It was as though he saw right through me, past the dirt and the blood, past the exhaustion that threatened to pull me under. I straightened, every part of me bracing for what was coming next.
"Who are you?" I demanded, my voice carrying the edge of the blade I hadn't yet drawn. The weight of the villagers' stares pressed against my back, waiting, trusting me to handle whatever this was. I couldn't afford to show hesitation.
The figure didn't answer immediately. He studied me, his eyes flickering with a faint light that seemed both ancient and sharp, as though he had seen far more than I could imagine. His lips parted, and when he spoke, his voice was low, steady. It cut through the air like the wind before a storm.
"I'm looking for the Heir," he said simply.
The word hit me like a physical blow. The Heir. It echoed in my mind, settling somewhere deep in my chest, sending a shiver down my spine. I didn't know what it meant, but something about it felt... heavy. Important. It stirred something I couldn't quite name, but I wasn't about to show him any sign of weakness. Not now. Not with everyone watching.
I narrowed my eyes, keeping my voice steady. "The Heir?" I repeated, frowning. "What are you talking about?"
The stranger didn't flinch, his gaze unwavering. "You don't know, do you?"
Frustration flared in me, quick and sharp. "If you're looking for someone, you're wasting your time," I snapped. "There's nothing left here for you. We're barely standing after what just happened."
He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable, but his silence held weight. It was as if he knew something I didn't, something that gnawed at the edges of my consciousness but refused to come fully into view.
"You don't understand," he said after a pause, his voice as calm as before. "But you will."
I took a step closer, my hand tightening around my sword. "I don't have time for cryptic riddles. People are dead. My home is gone. If you're here to cause more trouble, you'll regret it."
The stranger's lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm not your enemy, Selene."
The sound of my name coming from his lips sent a jolt through me. How did he know my name? My grip on the hilt of my sword tightened, and I had half a mind to draw it and demand answers by force. But something held me back—something in his calmness, in the way he stood there amidst the chaos as though none of this fazed him. It wasn't fear, and it wasn't arrogance either. It was something... else.
"What do you know about this?" I asked, my voice dropping lower, more dangerous. "About what happened here?"
He finally broke eye contact, his gaze drifting to the ruins of the village. For the first time, I saw a flicker of something like sadness pass over his features, though it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
"This is only the beginning," he said softly. "And the Heir is the key to what comes next."
I scowled, not in the mood for vague prophecies. "And where is this so-called Heir? Because right now, we don't have time for legends or stories. We need help."
The stranger—though I didn't know his name yet—turned his gaze back to me, and for a moment, it felt as though the entire world had narrowed to just the two of us. His next words were quiet, but they held the weight of a thousand battles. "You are the Heir, Selene."
The ground beneath my feet seemed to shift. I opened my mouth to protest, but the words stuck in my throat. It couldn't be true. I was just a fighter, a villager who had trained to protect her home. I wasn't... whatever this stranger thought I was.
"No," I finally managed, shaking my head. "You've got the wrong person. I'm not—"
"You are," he interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. "You just don't know it yet."
I stared at him, the weight of his words settling over me like a shroud. The villagers behind me murmured, their confusion matching my own. I didn't want to believe him. How could I? But deep down, something inside me stirred in response to his words. Something old and powerful that I hadn't even known was there.
"I don't understand," I whispered, hating how small my voice sounded, how lost.
The stranger stepped closer, his gaze never leaving mine. "You will," he said again, softer this time. "In time, you'll understand everything."
Before I could ask him what he meant, another gust of wind swept through the square, carrying with it the faint echo of those strange whispers I had heard earlier. My heart skipped a beat, and I glanced around, half-expecting the dark creatures to return, to finish what they had started. But the wind passed, leaving only silence in its wake.
When I turned back to the stranger, I found him watching me closely, his expression unreadable. "You have a choice to make, Selene," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "The path before you is not an easy one, but it's one only you can walk."
I swallowed hard, my mind racing. I didn't want this. I didn't want to be part of whatever strange destiny he thought was mine. All I had wanted was to protect my home, to keep the people I cared about safe. But that had failed, hadn't it? My home was in ruins. My friends were dead or wounded. And now this stranger was telling me I was part of something bigger, something I didn't even understand.
"Why me?" I asked, my voice rough with exhaustion and grief. "Why now?"
His gaze softened, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of sympathy in his eyes. "Because the time has come," he said simply. "And you are the last hope."
I glared at him, the mysterious man who had appeared just when everything fell apart. He stood a few paces away, calm and composed, as though the destruction meant nothing to him. His eyes were fixed on me with an unsettling focus, and something about his presence unnerved me in a way I couldn't explain.
His words echoed in my mind: you are the Heir. But I wasn't about to let him distract me from what was important. There were still survivors out there, people who needed help. I didn't have time for his riddles.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, crossing my arms in front of me. My voice was cold, laced with suspicion. "Heir to what, exactly? Some forgotten legend you made up to scare people? I've had enough of cryptic warnings and prophecies. I have a village to save."
The stranger—who had finally introduced himself as Korin—didn't flinch at my tone. His gaze remained steady, calm, and that only made me angrier. Who was this man to come into my home, into my life, and start talking as if he knew more about me than I did? As if I were some puzzle he had already solved.
"You can resist the truth all you want," he said, his voice low and even. "But that won't change what's coming. What's already started."
I clenched my jaw, pushing down the surge of frustration building inside me. The urge to lash out, to shout at him and tell him to leave, battled against something deeper. A voice inside me—a quiet whisper—tugged at the edges of my mind, telling me he wasn't lying. That there was more to this, to me, than I wanted to admit.
No. I couldn't allow myself to get swept up in whatever story he was weaving. I had to stay focused. I couldn't let him—or anything else—distract me from the task at hand. People were counting on me.
"What's coming?" I challenged, taking a step forward. "More destruction? More death? You seem to think you have all the answers, so why don't you start making sense instead of standing there acting like you're in control of everything?"
Korin's expression softened, but it didn't change the guarded distance he maintained. He was watching me, evaluating me, and that only made me more uncomfortable.
"Selene," he began, "I'm not here to control anything. I'm here because the path you're on will shape the future of not just this village, but the entire realm. You are tied to forces you don't yet understand, but you will.
After Korin's revelation about me being the Heir, I found myself torn between disbelief and a growing sense of... something else. Something I couldn't quite name. The energy that had been thrumming through me since I'd touched that stone in the ruins seemed to respond to his words, growing stronger, more insistent.
"The sooner you accept that, the sooner you can take control of your destiny," Korin said, his eyes never leaving mine.
I scoffed, shaking my head. "My destiny? Is that what this is about? Some grand fate I'm supposed to fulfill? Because if that's the case, you're talking to the wrong person. My only concern is my people. What destiny I may or may not have doesn't matter right now. What matters is making sure they survive."
His eyes didn't waver, and his voice was maddeningly calm. "That's exactly why it matters."
I stared at him, trying to figure out if he was playing some sort of twisted game. His words grated against the harsh reality in front of me—houses burned to the ground, children weeping over their lost parents, the air thick with the stench of death. All of it was so real, so immediate. And here he was, talking about things I couldn't grasp.
"I don't have time for this," I said, the edge in my voice sharpening. "I don't trust you, Korin. You appear out of nowhere, speaking in riddles about heirs and destinies, while my home is burning. I don't know what you want from me, but I'm not interested."
A flicker of something crossed his face—regret, maybe. But it was gone before I could name it. "I know it's hard to trust me," he admitted, his tone shifting slightly. "But I'm not your enemy, Selene. I came here because I've been searching for you. Because I knew this day would come."
"Searching for me?" I repeated, my frustration rising to the surface. "Why? What could I possibly have to do with any of this?"
He hesitated, as if weighing how much to tell me. Then, after a moment, he spoke with deliberate care. "There are forces at play beyond what you see here, beyond this village. Ancient forces, tied to your bloodline."
I laughed, the sound bitter. "My bloodline? I'm the daughter of a farmer, Korin. There's nothing ancient or special about that."
"You're wrong," he said softly. "Your family—your true lineage—goes back much farther than you know. You come from a line of dragon shifters, Selene. You are the last of them."
I blinked, the words washing over me like a cold wave. Dragon shifters? It was impossible. The stuff of myths and stories told around fires on cold nights. Yet something in his voice—something about the way he said it—made the air between us feel different, heavier. I wanted to dismiss him, to call him a liar, but I couldn't shake the pull of his words.
Dragon shifters. The idea clawed at something deep inside me, something I had long buried. Memories of strange dreams, of feeling different from the other children, of moments when I'd felt a connection to something greater than myself—they all came rushing back.
"No," I said, shaking my head. "That's not possible."
"It is," Korin said firmly. "It's in you, whether you accept it or not. You've already felt it—the power, the connection to something greater."
I clenched my fists, my mind reeling. He was referring to the surge of power I had felt during the attack, the moment when the ground seemed to pulse beneath my feet, when the air had shifted around me. I had pushed it aside, convinced it was a trick of the mind. But now, hearing Korin's words, I couldn't help but wonder if there was something more to it.
"I'm just... a warrior," I said, my voice quieter now, uncertainty creeping in. "I trained to protect this village. I'm not—"
"You're more than that," Korin interrupted, his voice steady but not unkind. "You were always meant to be more. But your path was hidden from you, buried beneath the simple life you thought you were destined for."
I stared at him, my heart pounding in my chest. Part of me wanted to scream at him, to tell him he was wrong. But another part, a quieter, deeper part, was listening. It was the part of me that had always felt... different. That had always known there was something else, something I could never quite touch.
"And why now?" I asked, my voice tight. "Why are you telling me this now, after everything's been destroyed?"
Korin sighed, a weight settling in his gaze. "Because the world is changing, Selene. Darkness is rising, and the forces that threaten this realm are growing stronger. Your power, your heritage, is the key to stopping it."
My heart hammered in my chest, my mind spinning. Could it really be true? Was I somehow connected to the ancient line of dragon shifters? And if I was... what did that mean for me? For Rivendale? For everything?
"I don't want this," I whispered, the weight of his words pressing down on me. "I just wanted to protect my home. I didn't ask for any of this."
"No one ever asks for their destiny," Korin said quietly. "But it's yours all the same."
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. Everything I thought I knew was unraveling. My life, my identity—it all felt like it was slipping through my fingers. I didn't know if I could accept what Korin was saying. I didn't know if I wanted to.
But deep down, beneath the fear and doubt, I knew that he was right. Something had awakened in me during the attack. Something I couldn't ignore, no matter how hard I tried.
Korin took a step closer, his voice gentler now. "You don't have to make a decision right now," he said. "But soon, you will. And when that time comes, you'll need to be ready."
I looked away, my mind racing. Ready for what? For a destiny I didn't understand? For a power I didn't even want?
"Think about it," Korin said softly. "And when you're ready, I'll be here."
I didn't respond. I couldn't. The weight of his words hung in the air between us, heavy and unavoidable.
As he turned to leave, I felt a strange pull in my chest, a connection to something larger than myself, something I wasn't ready to face. I stood there in the middle of the ruined village, my heart torn between the life I had known and the future Korin promised. And deep down, I knew that no matter how much I resisted, my path was already set in motion.
There was no turning back now.
As the weight of my destiny settled upon me, the world around us began to shift. The air grew thick with an acrid scent, and the silence that had fallen between Korin and me was shattered by distant cries. My moment of personal reckoning was cut short as a new, more immediate reality demanded my attention.