The village of Braelwood was the sort of place where nothing extraordinary ever seemed to happen. Tucked between rolling green hills and dense, misty woods, it was quiet, predictable, and utterly normal. The most exciting event of the year was the Maypole Festival, and even that was more about overcooked sausages and tripping over ribbons than anything else.
For 11-year-old Eren Ashford, Braelwood felt impossibly small. He often sat on the windowsill of his tiny attic bedroom, staring out at the woods beyond, wondering if there was more to life than the rhythm of chores, school, and listening to the same stories from old Mr. Tuttle at the bakery.
But today was different. Today, Eren was in trouble.
"Eren!" his Aunt Celia's voice echoed up the narrow staircase. "You haven't finished sweeping the kitchen! If I come up there and find you daydreaming again—"
"I'm not!" Eren called back, hastily grabbing the ancient broom that leaned against the wall. He gave the wooden floorboards a few haphazard sweeps for good measure, though he doubted it would make any difference to Aunt Celia.
Celia Ashford was a stern, thin-lipped woman with eyes like polished steel. She had taken Eren in after his parents' deaths when he was just a baby, but she rarely showed him warmth. To her, Eren was another responsibility—a mouth to feed and a pair of hands to keep busy.
"I'll be down in a minute!" he shouted again, but his voice wavered. He wasn't planning to go down at all, not yet. Not when something far more interesting had caught his attention.
Earlier that morning, while rummaging through the attic for an old quilt, Eren had stumbled upon a small, locked chest. It was tucked behind a pile of forgotten books and dusty blankets, its brass fittings tarnished and its wood darkened with age.
He knelt before the chest now, heart pounding as he turned it over in his hands. A strange marking was carved into the lid—a swirling, circular symbol that seemed to shift and shimmer when he tilted it toward the light. He'd never seen anything like it before.
With trembling fingers, Eren pressed on the lid. To his surprise, it clicked open easily.
Inside was a single sheet of parchment, folded neatly. The paper was smooth and unnaturally warm to the touch, as though it had been resting near a fire. Unfolding it, Eren's eyes widened as he read the elegant, looping script:
Dear Eren Ashford,
It is with great pleasure that we extend to you an invitation to join the Academy of Aetherwell, the foremost institution for the magical arts in Eryndor.
You may find this surprising, as your lineage has been kept hidden from you for reasons we cannot disclose in this letter. However, your heritage and talents make you uniquely suited to study at our academy. Enclosed is a charm that will guide you to Aetherwell when the time is right.
Be warned: the road ahead will not be easy, and the secrets you uncover may change everything you thought you knew. But we have no doubt you are ready.
Welcome to a world far greater than you can imagine.
Sincerely,
Headmistress Amara Wetherbane
Academy of Aetherwell
Eren blinked at the letter, his mind spinning. "Magic?" he whispered to himself. "Academy?" Surely, this was a mistake. Magic wasn't real—was it?
His hands shook as he reached back into the chest. Beneath the letter, there was a small object wrapped in deep blue silk. Carefully, he unwrapped it to reveal a pendant—a smooth, circular stone set in silver. The stone glowed faintly, pulsing with a soft, golden light.
Before he could fully process what he was holding, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed on the staircase.
"Eren Ashford!" Aunt Celia's sharp voice cut through his thoughts. "If you're not downstairs in ten seconds—"
Panic surged through him. Stuffing the letter and pendant back into the chest, he shoved it under a pile of old blankets. The attic door creaked open just as he jumped to his feet, broom in hand.
"What are you doing up here?" Aunt Celia demanded, her eyes narrowing. She glanced around the room suspiciously, but Eren gave her his most innocent expression.
"Just sweeping," he lied.
She sniffed, clearly unconvinced. "Well, you can sweep the kitchen instead. And don't think I didn't see those muddy footprints on the porch. You'll scrub them clean after lunch."
"Yes, Aunt Celia," Eren mumbled, following her down the stairs.
But his mind wasn't on muddy footprints or chores. As he swept the kitchen floor, his thoughts kept returning to the letter, the pendant, and the strange, glowing stone.
What if it was real? What if magic really did exist—and what if he was meant to be part of it?
For the first time in his life, Eren felt a spark of something he couldn't quite describe. It wasn't just curiosity or excitement—it was hope.
He had always dreamed of something more, and now, for the first time, it felt like his dreams might actually come true.