Kaelen's steps felt heavier as he walked out of the grove and started heading back toward the village. The air had grown colder, the mist thicker, curling around the stones like phantom hands. His thoughts felt fractured, the weight of Elara's words still pressing down on his shoulders. Aeron. His uncle. A name that felt like an unspoken curse, a tether binding him to something he couldn't quite fathom.

 

He held onto the stone, not knowing if he was going to be able to hold on much longer. It felt cold and now even more than it did earlier alive, pulling at his bones with its presence. Elara said this choice was coming to him, but he did not understand what choice could exist. He was as one leaf caught in a hurricane, a mere strand on a web of more immense things than he ever dreamed possible.

 

"Why Aeron?"."Why does this have to be my fight?"

 

The answer came in flashes, fragments of memories and questions, all of them distant, all of them tangled. His father had always been a quiet man, never speaking of family, always focused on his survival and Kaelen's safety. His mother's death had come when Kaelen was young, and after that, the village had become his world. Family had seemed like a distant thing something other people had, a luxury.

 

His uncle was Aeron. This was plain to see. Not clear, however, was why he'd gone down this road or why this path of his was somehow, seemingly so linked with Kaelen's. The name sat there in his mind like a shadow across his thoughts.

 

He left home at the very edge of dusk's creep over the village. The sun had gone, and the air was smudged gray; the fog still clung to the woods. His small hearth fire was warm as he entered, but it did little to push away the cold from his bones. His hands still trembled.

 

His stomach rumbled, and he hardened himself to cook a simple meal. He could not rid himself of the feeling that Aeron watched him, even from afar. That his uncle's presence lingered, hidden, always just out of sight.

 

He slept after eating, his hands tucked beneath the coarse wool blankets pulled tight around him. His dreams came quickly, a strange dance of memories and shadows. He saw himself in ancient ruins, stone pillars covered with markings and moss, firelight dancing across their surfaces. He saw figure warriors in dark robes, their hands raised as they muttered words that felt ancient and unyielding. Among them was a single figure, tall, imposing, his eyes cold, his voice commanding.

 

Aeron.

 

His hand pushed into it like roots to the earth, even though his body was unimportant. His breath came so quickly, running faster and warmer. Then that face turned toward him.

 

Aeron's face looked razor-sharp and gray as his hair streamed back and whipped behind him in an icy gust of wind.

 

"You were always meant to find this," the figure spoke, voice cold and sternly commanding. "You always were."

 

Kaelen tried to say something, but nothing came. His voice felt heavy, his limbs powerless.

 

"You can choose, Kaelen," Aeron went on, his voice now whisper. But it all lies within your choice."

 

Kaelen tried to move, to fight against, but his body was heavy, locked.

 

"Do not resist it," Aeron whispered. It is already part of you.

 

Kaelen's breathing was coming quicker now. His fists were clenched, his body wracking as agony tightened his muscles. "No," he whispered through the dream, but Aeron was already gone.

 

Kaelen awoke sweating. His breathing was rapid, coming in jagged spurts. The dream lay with him, thick with the feel of reality, drawing its pull upon him slowly. He could feel it inside him still - that other person in his body, that shape in his mind, the darkness that had engulfed him.

 

He had nowhere to run.

 

The choice was coming, but what choice did he have? Could he choose destruction? Could he destroy the Heart? Or would the pull of power prove too strong? His mind wrestled with these questions as he sat in the bed, the stone cold and pulsing in his hands.

 

He had to learn more.

 

 The following day, Kaelen was pulled back to the ancient grove, instinct, and veins drawing him. The sun was weak, and mist lingered at the base of the trees. His mind was clearer this time, though questions persisted. He could hear his footsteps as he walked toward the ancient stones, the shadows between the trees alive and flickering.

 

When he reached the stones, he placed the Heart to the earth before him, unwrapped from the cloth. Symbols glowed faintly alive. Kaelen's breath came swift, his fingers trembling.

 

"What are you?" he whispered.

 

He got down on his knee, his voice croaked out. The symbols throbbed with half-light, patterns pulsing across the stone surface. As he looked at it, a noise seemed to be coming from the trees: a distant footfall. His heart jumped right into his throat, but he clenched himself steady.

 

The second dragged. The stone's luminescence intensified, and Kaelen felt that pull once more, sharp and alive. His vision went dark, and he was there again: ancient ruins, ash, and shadow, whispers of power. This time, he felt he could control it, but it was fleeting.

 

"Stop," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Stop!

 

He jerked himself back, and the glow faded. His hands shook. His breathing was uneven. What was it? Why had this stone chosen him?

 

Before he could think clearly, a sharp voice rang out behind him.

 

"You are learning too slowly."

 

Kaelen spun around, his hand already reaching for his knife. The figure stepped forward into view, tall, and imposing, with a sharp gaze and cruel intentions.

 

Aeron.

 

Kaelen's breath came fast, his legs trembling as he took in the figure standing there. Aeron's voice was sharp, cruel, and unyielding.

 

"You can't avoid me forever, Kaelen," Aeron said.

 

Kaelen froze. His hands were shaking. His uncle's gaze was cold as steel.

 

"I know who you are," Kaelen whispered.

 

Aeron took another step toward him. His smile was sharp. "Good. Because you will learn far more soon."

 

Kaelen didn't know if he could run, but his body felt like it was going to collapse. His choice was clear: face his uncle, face the pull of power, or face both at once.

 

The shadow in the blood was coming.