The village of Emberfall lay cradled between the arms of the Mistspire Mountains, shrouded in a perpetual haze of twilight. It was a place forgotten by time, where the hum of the river and the whisper of the pines were the only sounds that disturbed the stillness. Yet, on this night, a chill wind howled through the valley, carrying with it a whisper that no villager dared to acknowledge—a whisper that spoke of darkness stirring beyond the mountains.

Aedric Thorne sat on the edge of the riverbank, his boots muddy and his fishing net empty. The boy, barely eighteen, was lanky and unremarkable, save for his piercing gray eyes that seemed to see more than they should. He had spent the day as he always did, casting his net into the river and daydreaming about a world beyond the confines of Emberfall.

But tonight, something felt different.

The air was heavy, laden with an unnatural tension. The villagers had retreated to their homes early, barring their doors and muttering about old tales of the "Eclipsed Ones," shadowy figures who haunted the dark corners of the world. Aedric scoffed at the stories, calling them the ramblings of frightened old men. But deep down, even he felt the unease.

As the last rays of sunlight dipped below the horizon, the wind shifted. Aedric stood, brushing dirt from his tunic, and prepared to head home. Then he heard it—a faint, melodic hum that seemed to come from the forest. He froze, his heart pounding.

"Who's there?" he called, his voice cracking.

The humming grew louder, taking on a rhythm that was almost... familiar. Against his better judgment, Aedric stepped toward the tree line, his hand instinctively gripping the hilt of his knife. The forest loomed like a living entity, its gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal fingers.

"Aedric," a voice whispered, soft and inviting.

He spun around, his knife drawn. There was no one there. The voice had been a woman's, gentle yet commanding. It felt as though it had come from within his own mind.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice trembling.

The wind carried a laugh—cold and mirthless. Before Aedric could react, a faint glow appeared among the trees, pulsating with an otherworldly light. Against every instinct screaming at him to run, he stepped closer. The glow resolved into a figure cloaked in shimmering silver, her face obscured by a veil. She raised a hand, and the forest seemed to hold its breath.

"Aedric Thorne," she said, her voice resonating with power, "the time has come."

"For what?" Aedric whispered, unable to look away.

"To choose," she replied, her hand lowering to reveal an amulet hanging from her palm. The amulet glowed faintly, its surface engraved with intricate symbols that seemed to shift as he stared. "The fate of this world rests in your hands."