Kaelen stirred from his fitful slumber, with the aftertaste of the dream clinging to his bones. His fingers twitched as he worked on pulling on his boots, a faint ache in his chest reminding him of the shadows from his vision. The memory was obstinate, as vivid as ever: towering stones, their edges glowing faintly, ancient whispers promising truth and power.
Today would be a quiet day, he thought, just tending to his chores and the small daily rhythms of his life. The fog lingered outside his window, obscuring the hills and the woods in the distance. His hands trembled faintly as he secured his pack to his shoulder, and for a moment, Kaelen considered whether his restlessness was truly the effect of dreams. Perhaps there was something deeper waiting for him.
The moment he stepped out into the cold air, a sense of tension wrapped around his shoulders. He pushed it off as superstition, a remnant of his fears, and headed toward the familiar woods that bordered the village. Trees stood sentinel, their limbs gnarled and twisting in the fog. The scent of pine and damp earth filled his nose as he crossed the small path that led into the woods. He had been coming here to this place for a very long time, seeking some form of peace from it. The tangled roots, the old stones-the peace that these woods had offered were always present. This time, however, it was different.
He stopped at the foot of a huge, gnarled oak whose branches reached out to wrap themselves in the frost-like outstretched fingers. He shook as he grasped the little knife, an ancient relic of his father's and the only one he was allowed to carry. One moment of hesitation, unease but it passed.
Kaelen dropped to his knees and started pulling herbs from a thick tangle of green moss and ivy, their leaves shining with dew. His hands moved almost by rote, reaching down to pull small sprigs of sage and medicinal roots, the familiar scent sharp and grounding. He tried to ignore the growing sensation at the back of his mind: a prickling, uneasy pull, like the distant whisper of stone beneath his fingers.
He looked up, his breath catching.
There, half buried in the earth just at the edge of the path, something gleamed. His heart leaped into his throat. His fingers hesitated for a moment before he reached toward it.
It was a stone.
But not just any stone.
And in the moment that his fingers brushed against earth, he felt the pull again a sharp, sudden sensation, colder than anything he'd ever experienced. His body went stiff, his hand quivering. The stone was ancient, worn smooth by time and moss but unmistakably powerful. His breath came quick as he lifted it from the ground, its weight heavier than it should have been.
The stone was black, scored with strange carvings, their edges faintly glowing as if caught in some unseen light. Symbols danced beneath his hand, twisting and writhing, shapes that felt familiar and ancient but impossible to place. His heartbeat roared in his chest.
"What is this…?" he whispered.
Before he could set it down, before he could think, his vision blurred. A sharp pain split his skull, as if a thousand voices were speaking at once. His knees hit the ground, his head swimming. Images bombarded him: ancient ruins buried beneath ash and stone, figures clad in robes with voices low and reverent, chants weaving through the air. The whispers came in flashes of ancient prayers, curses, and promises.
The stone. It was alive.
Kaelen gasped as the pain grew worse, his vision shaking as if reality itself were coming apart. His fingers clenched around it, and his entire body felt as if it were being pulled into a vast, unknowable place. He could see shadows moving figures rising from the depths of stone and shadow, their voices whispering words of power and binding. Ash swirled in his mind, ancient symbols glowing. He tried to let go, but the stone wouldn't leave him. His body was drawn to it, a force both terrifying and unyielding.
His breath came ragged, his vision swimming, and then
The world exploded.
His body was thrown back upon the earth, which tore and shifted violently beneath his back. The air filled with a roar, replete with heat and smoke. His head was about to split open, his eyes unable to distinguish reality and vision in his mind. A sound like one he had never heard of before rumbled through the air.
The stone.
It was alive. It was moving.
Kaelen struggled, clawing at the earth with his hands. His breathing was shallow, and his vision came into focus, and before him, the air shimmered, the fog swirling like a living thing. He felt as though his chest was on fire, his body shaking. He looked down at his hands and saw the stone glowing, the faint wisps of red light coming from its surface. The ground beneath him trembled.
"What did I do?" he gasped.
His mind was racing. Something was very, very wrong. His body ached, and he could feel the heat of the artifact pulsing in his bones.
The pull had ceased, but the air was full of static with power. It seemed that all earth was alive at his feet. The stone was dangerous, and Kaelen knew he must be certain that touching it awakened something. The still woods were vast and alien, filled with sound and power.
"What is this?" he whispered again.