The wind howled through the village of Aelthorne, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine. Dorian, a young man of twenty winters, stood at the edge of his family's small farm, gazing toward the dark silhouette of the Brackenwood Forest. The woods had always been there, looming on the horizon like a silent sentinel, but something about them seemed different today—alive, almost beckoning.

For as long as Dorian could remember, the Brackenwood had been off-limits to the villagers. It was said to be cursed, haunted by creatures of darkness and spirits of the old world. The village elders spoke in hushed tones of men who ventured too far into its depths, never to return. But as Dorian watched the treetops sway and listened to the wind whisper through the leaves, he felt a strange pull, a compulsion that gripped his chest and refused to let go.

His father's voice broke the spell. "Dorian!" The gruff tone carried the weight of a man hardened by years of toil. "We've still got work to do. Those crops won't harvest themselves."

Dorian turned, seeing his father—an imposing figure with broad shoulders and hands calloused from years of labor—leaning against the wooden fence, a scowl etched across his face.

"I'm coming," Dorian muttered, tearing his gaze away from the forest. He trudged back to the fields, his feet heavy with reluctance. As he worked beside his father, cutting down stalks of wheat under the fading autumn sun, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was waiting for him in those woods.

Later that night, after the evening meal of bread and stew, Dorian sat by the hearth, staring into the dancing flames. His younger sister, Elara, sat beside him, humming a tune she'd learned in the village square. She was only fourteen, but already had the wit and sharpness of someone much older.

"You've been quiet today," she said, glancing at him with her big brown eyes.

Dorian shrugged, not wanting to admit that the forest had been haunting his thoughts. "Just tired."

Elara smirked, seeing through his deflection. "Is it the woods?"

Dorian's head snapped toward her. "What?"

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I saw you staring at them earlier. I know you've always wondered what's inside."

Dorian shifted uncomfortably. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing," she insisted. "I've seen the way you look at them. Like they're calling to you."

Dorian opened his mouth to argue, but before he could speak, the door to the cottage creaked open. A gust of cold wind rushed in, and with it, a man—tall and cloaked in a deep, forest-green mantle—stepped into the room. His face was obscured by the hood, but his presence filled the small cottage with an almost palpable energy.

"Who—" Dorian's father, who had been sitting at the table polishing a blade, stood up abruptly, his hand instinctively reaching for the sword's hilt.

"Peace, Alden," the stranger said, raising a hand. His voice was smooth, but with an edge of authority. "I mean no harm."

Dorian's father hesitated, his eyes narrowing. "Who are you?"

The stranger lowered his hood, revealing a face lined with age, but with eyes that sparkled with youth. His hair, long and silver, framed his sharp features. "My name is Kael," he said. "I've come to speak with your son."

"With me?" Dorian blurted out, confused.

Kael nodded. "You've felt it, haven't you? The pull of the forest."

Dorian's heart skipped a beat. He glanced at his father, whose face had turned an odd shade of pale, and then at Elara, who was watching the exchange with wide-eyed curiosity.

"I—I don't know what you're talking about," Dorian stammered.

Kael's lips curled into a knowing smile. "I think you do."

Alden stepped forward, his voice low and dangerous. "You have no right to come into my home and fill my son's head with nonsense."

But Kael did not flinch. "It is not nonsense, Alden. The boy is being called. Just as you were, many years ago."

Dorian's eyes shot to his father, who suddenly looked as if the weight of the world had been dropped onto his shoulders. "What is he talking about?" Dorian demanded.

Alden looked down, refusing to meet his son's gaze. "It's nothing," he said gruffly.

Kael stepped closer to Dorian, his presence commanding the room. "The Brackenwood is not just a forest. It is a gateway. A place where the old magic still thrives. There are those who are chosen to answer its call—those with the blood of the ancient ones in their veins."

Dorian's mind raced. Blood of the ancient ones? Chosen? It sounded like something out of the stories his mother used to tell him before she passed, tales of heroes and monsters, of forgotten kingdoms and lost magic. But this—this was real. And it terrified him.

"I don't understand," Dorian said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You will," Kael replied, his tone gentle but firm. "The forest has chosen you, Dorian. And if you do not answer its call, the darkness that stirs within it will consume everything."

Alden's fists clenched, his knuckles turning white. "No," he growled. "I won't let you take him."

Kael turned to face Alden, his expression softening. "I know what you fear. I know what happened to you when you answered the call. But this is different. The darkness is stronger now. It needs to be stopped."

Dorian's head spun with the weight of the revelation. His father had gone into the forest? Why had he never spoken of it? And why was this happening now?

"I won't go," Dorian said suddenly, the words escaping before he could stop them. "I'm not some hero from the old tales. I'm just a farmer."

Kael regarded him with a sad smile. "None of us are born heroes. But sometimes, the world needs us to become one."

A heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Alden finally looked up, his face a mask of pain and regret. "If he goes," he said slowly, "he might not come back."

Kael nodded. "That is the risk."

Dorian's chest tightened. He looked at his father, at the fear in his eyes, and then at Elara, who was clutching the edge of her tunic, her face pale. The idea of leaving them, of venturing into the unknown, terrified him more than anything he'd ever faced. But at the same time, the pull of the forest, the mysterious force that had been gnawing at him for weeks, was stronger than ever.

"I don't want to go," Dorian said, his voice trembling.

Kael placed a hand on his shoulder. "The choice is yours. But know this—if you do not answer the call, the darkness will find its way here. It will spread, and it will consume everything you hold dear."

Dorian swallowed hard. The weight of responsibility pressed down on him like a millstone. He didn't want this. He didn't ask for it. But if what Kael said was true, then staying here, doing nothing, was not an option.

He took a deep breath, his hands trembling. "When do we leave?"

Kael's eyes gleamed with approval. "At first light."

As Kael turned to leave, Dorian's father reached out, grabbing the old man by the arm. "If you take him," Alden said, his voice rough with emotion, "bring him back."

Kael looked at Alden with a solemn expression. "I will do everything in my power."

And with that, he disappeared into the night, leaving the family in silence. Dorian stood there, staring at the door, his heart pounding in his chest. Tomorrow, everything would change.

The call of the woods had come, and he had answered.