The stars shimmered like ancient jewels scattered across the night sky, their distant light whispering forgotten stories to those who dared listen. On the edge of a forgotten village, nestled deep within the folds of towering mountains, lived a boy named Arin. His life had always been ordinary—too ordinary, it seemed. Every day, the same chores, the same conversations, and the same hollow dreams that faded with the morning light.
But tonight was different.
Arin stood alone at the village's outskirts, his breath misting in the cool air. His dark hair, tousled by the wind, shimmered with an otherworldly glow under the pale moonlight. Something pulled at him—a strange sensation that he couldn't place, as if the night itself was calling his name.
He tightened his grip on the old, leather-bound book his grandfather had left him. The book was ancient, its pages yellowed and brittle, the ink faded to an almost illegible scrawl. No one in the village could read it, and no one cared. But Arin had always felt that it held something important—something more than the trivial tales of heroes and gods that the elders used to recount by the fire.
With a glance over his shoulder, he took a step into the forest, the book clutched tightly to his chest. The forest had long been forbidden, shrouded in myths of vengeful spirits and unspeakable dangers. Yet tonight, Arin felt no fear. Only the urge to seek...something. His steps quickened, heart pounding in his chest as if racing against time itself.
As he ventured deeper into the forest, the shadows seemed to shift and twist, taking shapes that played tricks on his mind. The trees, tall and ancient, loomed like sentinels watching over a hidden realm beyond mortal understanding. He barely noticed the trail fading behind him, lost to the darkness as if the world he knew was being swallowed whole.
It wasn't long before he reached the clearing—the place the villagers only spoke of in hushed whispers. At the center of the clearing stood a monolith, towering over the trees, its surface etched with symbols older than the village itself. The symbols glowed faintly in the moonlight, pulsing like a heartbeat in sync with the wind. Arin's fingers trembled as he opened the book, its pages fluttering as if drawn by the energy in the air.
"The Veil awaits," he read aloud, his voice barely above a whisper. The moment the words left his lips, the symbols on the monolith flared, and the earth beneath his feet trembled.
Suddenly, the ground split open with a deafening roar, revealing a staircase spiraling down into the abyss. Cold air rushed up from below, carrying with it the scent of old stone and forgotten secrets.
Arin hesitated only for a moment before stepping forward.
This was it. The beginning of something far greater than himself.
The whispers grew louder.
And with a single step into the darkness, Arin descended into the Forgotten Realm.