The dawn of Kaelen Forrester's sixteenth birthday broke over the quiet village of Greythorn, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold. The forest surrounding the village stood tall and serene, as if watching over its inhabitants. Within the modest Forrester cottage, Kaelen stirred from his sleep, the faint smell of freshly baked bread wafting through the air.
Mirelle had been up for hours, kneading dough and stirring pots. Despite the simplicity of their lives, she always made Kaelen's birthday special. He emerged from his small room, stretching his growing frame. His half-Elven heritage was unmistakable—his ears tapered slightly, and his green eyes seemed to glow faintly in the morning light, a gift from the father he barely remembered.
"Morning, sleepyhead," Mirelle greeted, setting a plate of warm bread and jam on the table.
"Morning," Kaelen replied, grinning as he slid into his chair.
But something about this morning felt different. Mirelle had been unusually quiet for the past few days, her glances lingering on him as if she were waiting for the right moment to say something. And then there was the box—small, worn, and bound with silver thread—that she placed on the table in front of him.
"What's this?" Kaelen asked, tilting his head.
Mirelle hesitated, her hands resting on the edge of the table. "It's... something your father left for you. He told me to give it to you when you turned sixteen."
Kaelen blinked, his heart skipping a beat. "My father? Why now?"
She sighed, her expression soft yet sad. "He believed you'd be ready today. I don't know why, Kaelen, but he was always certain of it."
Kaelen stared at the box, his fingers trembling slightly as he untied the silver thread. Inside lay a leather pouch, the intricate stitching gleaming faintly in the light. He picked it up, feeling a strange warmth emanating from it.
"What is it?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Open it," Mirelle said gently.
Kaelen loosened the drawstring and tipped the pouch over. A set of cards fell onto the table, their surfaces gleaming with magical patterns that seemed to shift and swirl. Each card depicted a different creature—wolves, birds, serpents, and beings Kaelen couldn't even name.
"Cards?" he asked, frowning in confusion.
"They're more than just cards," Mirelle said. "Your father said they're part of his legacy. Part of you."
Before Kaelen could ask more, a commotion erupted outside. Shouts and cries echoed through the village square. Mirelle stiffened, her eyes darting to the door.
"Stay here," she said sharply.
"No," Kaelen replied, already on his feet. "I can help."
"Kaelen—"
"I'm not a child anymore, Mother," he said, gripping the pouch tightly. "I won't just sit here while others are in danger."
Mirelle hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. "Be careful."
Kaelen bolted out the door and toward the source of the noise. In the square, a group of bandits surrounded a merchant's cart, their weapons gleaming in the morning sun. The merchant, a frail man in his late fifties, stood trembling as one of the bandits shoved him to the ground.
"Just hand it over, old man," snarled the leader, a burly figure with a scar across his face. "We don't want to hurt you—much."
"Leave him alone!" Kaelen shouted, stepping forward.
The bandits turned, sizing him up. Their laughter rang out, cruel and mocking.
"Look at this one," the leader said, smirking. "A kid thinks he's a hero."
Kaelen's heart pounded in his chest. He wasn't a fighter—he'd spent his life helping his mother with the farm. But something inside him stirred, an instinct he didn't fully understand. His hand tightened around the pouch.
Without thinking, he pulled out the first card his fingers found—a wolf with emerald fur and glowing eyes. The patterns on the card began to glow as if responding to his touch. Words came unbidden to his mind, ancient and powerful.
"Rise, Guardian of the Green! Strike swift as the forest wind!"
The air around him shimmered, and with a burst of light, the wolf materialized. It was massive, its emerald fur shimmering, and its golden eyes fixed on the bandits with a predator's intensity.
"What the—" one of the bandits stammered, stumbling back.
The leader recovered quickly, drawing his sword. "It's just a trick! Kill the kid!"
The wolf moved before Kaelen could react, a blur of green and gold. It lunged at the nearest bandit, knocking him to the ground with a yelp. Another swung his blade, but the wolf dodged effortlessly, baring its fangs in a low growl.
Kaelen's adrenaline surged as he realized he could feel the wolf—its instincts, its movements, its raw power. It wasn't just a summon; it was a part of him.
The leader cursed and turned to flee, but the wolf snarled, cutting him off. Kaelen stepped forward, his voice steady despite the chaos.
"Leave now," he said. "Or you'll regret it."
The bandits didn't need to be told twice. They scrambled to their feet and ran, disappearing into the forest.
Kaelen exhaled, his legs trembling as the wolf turned to him. Its golden eyes softened, and for a moment, Kaelen felt a strange sense of gratitude emanating from it. Then, with a flicker of light, it vanished, returning to the card.
The merchant stared at Kaelen, wide-eyed. "That... that was incredible. Thank you, lad."
Kaelen nodded, still processing what had just happened. He looked down at the card in his hand, the wolf's image now slightly faded, as if it had expended some of its energy.
"Kaelen!" Mirelle's voice cut through his thoughts. She ran toward him, her face pale. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," he said, slipping the card back into the pouch. "But... we need to talk about this."
Mirelle glanced at the pouch in his hand, her expression unreadable. "Yes," she said quietly. "I think it's time you knew the truth."