The sky broke into shades of crimson and gold, morning light spilling over the treetops like a waking fire. Drakar followed Taronis along a narrow forest path, each step sending a dull ache through his muscles. The roar of the waterfall faded behind them, replaced by the hum of the forest—a melody of rustling leaves, distant birdcalls, and the soft whisper of the breeze.
The trees here were ancient, their silver-barked trunks stretching high above, their branches interwoven like a canopy of glass. Shafts of light pierced through, illuminating floating motes of dust and pollen. Drakar's breath caught as he took in the beauty surrounding him. The forest seemed alive—not just in the way all forests were, but as though it was watching.
Taronis strode ahead, his movements as fluid as a stream winding through stones. "We have entered the Sylrin Veil, an ancient woodland. This place has seen wars older than any village or dynasty you have ever known."
Drakar glanced around, catching sight of carved stones half-buried beneath tangled roots. Time had weathered them, but faint markings of spirals and sigils remained—marks of a forgotten era. "What happened here?"
"Legends say the gods once walked among mortals, and this was their battleground." Taronis's voice softened, almost reverent. "Now, only the forest remembers."
The air grew cooler as the path darkened. The trees thickened, their branches twisting into shadowed arches. The world around them seemed to hush, as though holding its breath.
Then came the sound—a soft rustling from the underbrush. Drakar's instincts sharpened. His hand drifted toward the hilt of his dagger, its worn leather grip familiar against his palm.
Taronis held up a hand, signaling for stillness.
The bushes parted, revealing a figure clad in flowing green and silver robes. They moved like the wind, their long, pointed ears visible beneath intricately braided silver hair. Their emerald eyes shimmered with an unearthly glow.
An elf.
Drakar had heard tales of the Sylrin Elves, guardians of the ancient forests, but seeing one in the flesh was like witnessing a myth come to life. The elf's features were elegant, almost too perfect—high cheekbones, angular yet gentle, with skin that seemed to catch the light like polished stone."Taronis," the elf greeted, their voice like the murmur of a stream. "It has been many moons."
Taronis inclined his head. "Virelan. I had hoped our paths would cross."
Virelan's gaze drifted to Drakar, their eyes narrowing with curiosity. "And who is this...?"
"Drakar Vorn," Taronis replied. "A disciple who seeks to rise above the limits of fate."
Virelan's lips curved in a faint smile. "An orc, walking the path of balance and discipline? Uncommon."
Drakar straightened his posture. "Is that strange?"
"Not strange," Virelan replied, stepping closer. Their robes swayed as though caught in a breeze that didn't touch the surrounding leaves. "But rare. Your kind often seeks power through force alone."
Drakar met the elf's gaze without flinching. "I seek more than strength. I seek control."
Virelan chuckled, a sound like wind chimes in the breeze. "Bold words. We shall see if your resolve holds." They gestured toward the path ahead. "Be wary. Beyond this forest lies Hollow Ridge, where the winds carry the whispers of forgotten beasts."
Taronis nodded. "The Aurenbeasts?"
Virelan's expression darkened. "Yes. Creatures born of stone and storm. Their forms shift like the wind, but their hunger remains constant."
A shiver traced down Drakar's spine, but he forced himself to stand tall. "We will be ready."
Virelan gave a slow nod and stepped aside, fading into the shadows of the trees. "May your blade remain unbroken."
he forest grew wilder as they pressed on. Thick vines curled across the ground, and gnarled roots clawed their way out of the earth like bones reaching for the sky. The sunlight dimmed, and a faint metallic scent hung in the air.At last, the path opened onto a ridge of pale stone. The trees fell away, revealing jagged formations that jutted into the sky like ancient ribs. The air hummed with an unnatural energy.
Taronis stopped at the edge. "This is Hollow Ridge."
Drakar scanned the landscape, his eyes narrowing. The stones glimmered faintly, like embers beneath ash. Before he could speak, a low rumble shook the ground. The hum in the air grew louder.
From the shadows of the ridge, a massive form emerged. Its body shimmered like smoke trapped within molten rock, its limbs shaped from volcanic stone. Glowing amber eyes locked onto them, unblinking.
An Aurenbeast.
The creature's form twisted as it moved—half-solid, half-mist. Its molten veins pulsed with fiery light. The air around it crackled, the scent of scorched earth filling Drakar's nostrils.
Taronis remained calm. "Remember what I taught you. Fear is your greatest enemy."
The Aurenbeast let out a deep, resonant growl that sent vibrations through the stone beneath their feet.
Drakar's heart pounded, but beneath the fear was something else—exhilaration. His grip on the dagger tightened.
The beast lunged.
Drakar moved, his body a blur of instinct and training. He rolled to the side as the beast's claws struck the ground, sending shards of stone into the air. The impact reverberated like thunder.
Drakar rose to his feet, breathing hard but steady. He squared his stance, muscles coiled.
The Aurenbeast twisted, its eyes narrowing as its form pulsed with energy.
Let it come.
The ridge grew silent, the world holding its breath as the battle began.