"The day is near. You know what it means, don't you?" The voice was deep and heavy, echoing through the cold stone chamber filled with shadows.
At the center of the room stood a round table made of ancient wood. Around it, several hooded figures sat with tense expressions. Their faces were hidden beneath dark hoods, only their glowing eyes visible, watching one another with cautious intensity. The candles burning on the table cast dim light, their flickering flames forming dancing shadows on walls engraved with ancient symbols.
One of the figures, an old man with white hair cascading to his shoulders, leaned forward. His bony fingers touched the wooden table, and his voice carried a weight of warning. "Seven hundred years have passed since the last battle. The curse... it is weakening now."
The figure beside him, a woman with glowing green eyes that pierced through the darkness, interjected coldly, "And the dragons will rise again."
The room fell silent. The tension was palpable, pressing down as if the very air had become heavier.
The old man nodded slowly. "They will come. And when they do, this world will not be ready to face their wrath."
"But the sword still exists," said a young man sitting on the far side of the table. His tone was full of optimism, though his eyes betrayed his uncertainty. "The dragon slayer—the heir of the ancient bloodline—he will find the sword, won't he?"
The green-eyed woman chuckled softly, but there was no joy in her laughter. "The heir of the ancient bloodline? That child is nothing but a farmer. Do you really think he's capable of bearing such a burden?"
"He must," the old man declared, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. "His fate is written in blood. The sword will choose him, and he has no choice."
"Then we must ensure he doesn't fail," the young man said firmly, his voice hardening. "If he falls before the time comes, we are all doomed. This world... will turn to ash."
The woman narrowed her glowing green eyes at the young man. "And who will protect him? You? We all know how fragile he is. The sword may call to him, but that doesn't mean he's ready to face the dragons."
The old man stood, his trembling hand gripping a staff carved with intricate patterns. "We all have a role to play in this war. But remember, this is not just about him. The dragons threaten not just villages or kingdoms. They are the end of everything. And if that boy fails…"
His voice trailed off as he looked at each person in the room with sharp eyes. "Then there will be nothing left to save."
Silence enveloped the chamber once more, but this time it was more chilling. Outside, the wind howled, slamming against the stone walls, as though the world itself wept for the fate that was to come.
---
Elsewhere, far from that chamber…
Kaelan stood in a field of wheat, gazing at the reddening sky. He felt something strange in the air, something that made the hairs on his neck stand on end. His heart raced, though he didn't know why.
He didn't know that deep beneath the ground, dragons long buried were beginning to stir, reigniting flames that had smoldered for centuries.
And he didn't know that the ancient sword, hidden in his father's house, had begun to glow faintly, as if calling forth a destiny that could not be avoided.
But one thing was certain—Kaelan's life would never be the same again.