The sun set low across the ancient kingdom of Eldoria, casting shadows over the cobblestone streets like long fingers. In a small village of Morrigan between mist-laden hills and dense forests, lived an apprentice blacksmith by the name of Aiden. Though he spent his life tending fires and forging steel, Aiden had always thought he was supposed to be something more, as inevitable as the weariness in his bones after a long day at the forge.

Tonight was different.

A strange, silver mist crept over the village, shrouding familiar paths and twisting them into unfamiliar shapes. Homebound villagers hurried to slam their doors shut, talking of "the Old Times" and "dark omens." Aiden fought his better judgment, feeling called toward the edge of the forest, to a grove where ancient stones had marked the passing of centuries. The air was heavy with an unexplainable energy, a whisper of something half-remembered.

When he finally reached the grove, he noticed the largest of the standing stones was glowing faintly-a pale blue light in all that somber landscape-but the sight that brought the most reaction from him would come later: at the very bottom of the thing he found at its base - an object, half swallowed in earth, the grip wrapped in faded leather-a sword. Across the pommel inscriptions seemed drawn in letters of pure, silvering moonlight runes.

He is drawn closer. His hand reaches out as if acting on its own accord, his fingers brushing against the hilt of the blade. Immediately, he hears in his mind the echo of the voice:

"He who draws the blade from the stone shall awake Eldoria's power."

With that, the world of Aiden will never be the same as the sword slices free from the stone.