The night sky was a sea of ink, dotted with distant stars that flickered like dying embers. Beneath it, the ancient forest of Eldryn stood in silence, its towering trees swaying gently in the cool breeze. Somewhere in the heart of this vast woodland, a young woman knelt at the edge of a forgotten clearing, her fingers tracing the lines of a stone buried in the moss.
Eira's heart pounded as she brushed away centuries of dirt, revealing the strange symbols carved into the smooth surface. She had been searching for this—the Whispering Stone. Legends spoke of it, though few believed it still existed, hidden deep within the forest where no one dared to tread. Eira, however, had no choice. The whispers in her dreams had grown louder, more insistent, pulling her to this very spot.
She pressed her palm against the cold stone, half-expecting it to hum or glow, to burst into life as the tales promised. But nothing happened. The clearing was still, save for the soft rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl.
"Is this what I've risked everything for?" Eira muttered under her breath. Her voice sounded small and lost in the vast emptiness around her. Her mentor had warned her not to come. The old magic is dangerous, forgotten for a reason, he had said. But Eira couldn't ignore the dreams—the ancient language that only she could understand, the voice calling her by name. She had left her village, her family, and crossed into Eldryn alone, all for this stone.
Suddenly, the ground beneath her trembled. It was slight at first, barely more than a quiver, but it grew stronger, as if the earth itself was waking from a long slumber. Eira leapt back, heart racing, as cracks began to spider across the stone's surface. The symbols etched into it flickered, faintly at first, then brighter, until they glowed with an eerie silver light.
Eira's breath caught in her throat. She could feel it now—the pulse of ancient power radiating from the stone, so strong it made her bones ache. The wind picked up, swirling around her, carrying with it a faint whisper. The voice from her dreams.
"Eira…"
The sound was soft, barely audible over the roaring wind, but she knew it was real. The voice was no longer just in her head. It was here. It was alive.
Eira took a step closer, her hand trembling as she reached for the stone again. This time, as her fingers brushed its surface, the whisper grew louder. The symbols shifted, rearranging themselves into a pattern she hadn't seen before. The voice spoke again, clearer now.
"The gate is opening."
Eira's heart lurched. The gate? She had heard of it in the old stories—the Gate of Worlds, a portal said to lead to realms beyond imagination, sealed away long before her time. But those were just myths, stories told to frighten children.
Or so she had thought.
The ground shook violently beneath her feet, and a sharp crack split the air. The stone broke apart, its pieces falling away into the earth, revealing a dark, swirling void beneath it. Eira stumbled backward, her eyes wide as the darkness rose from the ground like mist, twisting and writhing in the air before her.
From within the void, a shape began to form—tall, shadowy, with eyes that burned like molten gold. The figure stepped forward, its presence overwhelming, ancient and powerful. Eira could feel the weight of its gaze on her, pinning her in place.
"You have called, and I have answered," the figure said, its voice deep and resonant, vibrating through her very being. It wasn't a man, not entirely. Its form shifted, blurred at the edges, as if it existed halfway between worlds.
Eira tried to speak, but no words came. Her mind raced. What had she done? This wasn't what she had expected. She had wanted answers, guidance. But this—this was something far older, far more dangerous than she had imagined.
The figure stepped closer, its golden eyes narrowing as it studied her. "You seek power," it said. "You seek the truth of what you are. But are you willing to pay the price?"
Eira's throat was dry. She could barely breathe, let alone speak. Power? She hadn't sought power, not in the way it seemed to mean. She had come because the voice had called her, because the dreams had promised her answers about the strange magic that had always lived within her, magic she couldn't control. But now, standing before this ancient being, she realized how little she understood.
The figure reached out a hand, its fingers long and clawed. "Choose, Eira of the Flame," it said. "The path before you leads to worlds beyond your imagining. But once the gate is opened, it cannot be closed."
Eira hesitated, her mind whirling. This was the moment—the moment she had been searching for, the moment she had been dreading. She could feel the pull of the void, the promise of power and knowledge, the answers she had sought for so long. But at what cost?
As the void swirled closer, the shadows tugging at the edges of her vision, Eira made her choice. She reached out, her fingers closing around the figure's hand.
The world around her shattered.