The morning sun stretched its pale fingers over the cobblestone streets of Lyranth, casting a soft glow across the quiet village. The last remnants of winter still lingered in the crisp air, but the marketplace hummed with the promise of spring. Dorin, his boots clacking against the stones, walked with his head down, his leather pouch of coins swinging at his side. He felt a strange disquiet today, a shadow creeping over the otherwise tranquil morning.

He wasn't sure what it was, but a nagging feeling of impending change clung to him like a second skin. His gaze swept over the usual sights: vendors shouting to sell their wares, children darting between the stalls, the elderly gossiping about the weather. Yet despite the ordinary scenes, Dorin couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. He glanced over his shoulder, but the street was as quiet as it had been moments ago. Just his imagination, he told himself. Nothing more.

Still, his steps quickened. He didn't need any distractions today. Calen, his adopted father and the village blacksmith, had already set him to task for the day. No matter how much time he spent hammering steel in the forge, it never seemed to get easier to ignore the weight of his thoughts. He'd been raised in this village, with Calen, the only family he knew. His life had always been about the quiet rhythm of the forge—the clang of metal, the heat of the fire, the strength of his hammering hands. There was safety in the familiar. There was comfort in knowing his place in the world.

But today, something felt different.

As he turned a corner toward the bakery, Dorin nearly collided with Selene, the one person who could always pull him from his restless thoughts. She grinned up at him, her golden hair catching the sunlight as she stepped back with a playful glint in her eyes.

"Out and about already, Dorin?" she teased, her voice light. "Wasn't expecting you before midday."

He gave her a quick, half-hearted smile, though her teasing tone eased his nerves a little. "Calen sent me on an errand. You know how he is."

"I thought he was getting old and grumpy. Isn't it more likely you're just trying to avoid work?"

Dorin rolled his eyes, though he couldn't help but laugh. "You know me too well."

Selene's teasing softened, her smile fading slightly as she looked at him more seriously. "You've been distracted lately. What's going on?"

He didn't know how to answer. Calen had raised him to work hard, to keep his head down and his thoughts in the here and now. But lately, Dorin had felt a strange pull in his chest, like something was calling to him, something he couldn't understand. It wasn't that he wanted more from life—he was content with the forge, content with his simple existence. But something gnawed at him, an unease that made him restless.

"I don't know," he admitted, his voice quieter than he intended. "It's like there's a storm brewing just out of reach. I don't know how to explain it, but… something's coming."

Selene studied him for a moment, her brow furrowing. "You always think too much. Maybe you're just anxious."

"Maybe," Dorin said, though he wasn't convinced. As they walked together toward the bakery, the nagging feeling stayed with him, like an itch he couldn't reach.

Later that afternoon, back in the forge, Dorin was hard at work. The rhythmic clang of hammer on metal was usually enough to clear his mind, but today, the noise felt hollow. Calen worked alongside him, his massive frame moving with ease as he shaped a piece of steel into something useful. Despite the years of experience, Dorin could tell that the old man was aware of his distracted state. It was in the way his eyes flicked toward him occasionally, in the way he took longer pauses between strikes.

"You're not yourself today," Calen said finally, his voice rough and low.

Dorin glanced at him, then quickly returned his focus to the metal. "Just tired, I guess."

Calen grunted, not buying the excuse. "Tired, eh? You haven't been tired in a decade, boy. You've got the heart of an ox."

Dorin didn't answer, knowing it was pointless. Calen could see right through him, and it wasn't something he wanted to admit. He didn't want to talk about how uneasy he felt, how something deep inside seemed to be stirring. How the strange dreams had been coming more frequently, dreams of places he didn't recognize and names that echoed in his mind but meant nothing to him. It was madness, he told himself. He was just imagining it.

But as the hours passed, that feeling didn't fade. In fact, it grew stronger.

As evening settled over Lyranth, the distant sound of hooves broke the quiet. Dorin looked up, sensing something wrong. The sound wasn't familiar—no merchant caravans came through the village at this hour. His heart skipped a beat as the thundering of hooves grew louder.

"Calen," he said, his voice low with an urgency he hadn't expected. "Something's coming."

Calen's expression darkened instantly. "Get inside," he commanded, his voice sharp. "Now."

Dorin didn't hesitate. He turned on his heel and sprinted toward the back of the forge, where the small wooden door stood ajar. As he ducked inside, he caught sight of the blacksmith moving toward the front of the shop, his heavy footsteps purposeful.

The sound of horses grew louder, until it seemed to surround the village. The familiar voices of villagers began to fade, replaced by the steady rhythm of the soldiers' arrival. Dorin pressed himself against the wall, his pulse quickening. The last time soldiers had come to Lyranth was years ago, when they had demanded food for their army. This felt different.

He stayed hidden in the shadows, watching through a crack in the wooden wall. The soldiers were clad in armor that gleamed like metal in the fading light. At their head, a tall man with sharp features and a cold gaze rode at the forefront. Dorin's heart clenched, and for the first time in his life, he feared the soldiers.

The officer dismounted and raised a hand, signaling the troops to stop. His gaze swept over the crowd like a predator scanning for prey. His eyes flicked toward Dorin for a moment too long, and a strange recognition flashed in his gaze, though it was quickly masked.

"People of Lyranth," the officer called, his voice crisp and commanding. "We are here on official business. Any individuals fitting the description of those marked by the old gods should step forward. We seek those who bear the sign."

The words sent a chill through Dorin's chest. A sign? What did he mean? Could it be… him?

He couldn't think. He wanted to run, to disappear into the shadows, but something held him in place. He had no idea what sign the officer referred to, but instinct told him it had something to do with him—something dark, something that he could not yet understand.

Calen's grip on his shoulder was firm, a silent command to remain calm. "Stay here, lad," the blacksmith muttered, his eyes sharp as he stood beside Dorin, blocking him from view. "Do not let them see you."

Dorin nodded, though his mind raced. There was more to this than he understood, something terrible that was closing in on him.

That night, alone in his room, Dorin lay in bed staring at the ceiling, his thoughts spinning. The officer's words haunted him, echoing in his mind. Marked by the old gods… He wasn't sure what that meant, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the soldiers were looking for someone just like him. Someone different.

He heard a soft knock on the door, and before he could speak, it creaked open. Selene stepped inside, her face pale in the dim light.

"You heard them, didn't you?" she asked, her voice low.

Dorin sat up, rubbing his eyes as the weight of the day settled over him. The knock on the door felt like a reminder that the world had shifted, and everything was about to change. "What does this mean, Selene? Why are they looking for me?"

She stepped closer, her eyes filled with concern. "I don't know. But whatever it is, I'll be here. You're not alone, Dorin."

And for the first time that day, Dorin felt a small flicker of comfort. But the shadows outside, those whispers of danger, refused to let him rest.