The dense and enchanted outskirts of the Hidden Village were cloaked in mist, the towering trees veiled by an ethereal fog. The air hummed with an ancient magic, thick with the pulse of an unseen force. Somewhere, deep within the heart of the Enchanted Forest, a barrier stretched like a shimmering wall, keeping intruders at bay. It was a wall born of old, protective magic, woven into the very fabric of the land.
And Ezekeil stood before it—frustration gnawing at his every breath.
For the past two weeks, he had searched tirelessly, using his dragon senses to feel the barrier's pulse. A faint, vibrating hum resonated from the glowing lines that wound through the trees, an impenetrable shield that protected the Elven village. With every failed attempt to breach it, the wall pushed him back, as if mocking his determination.
Exhaustion weighed heavily on his shoulders, and yet he pressed on, his resolve unwavering. His cloak was tattered, his face shadowed by a weariness that even his dragon strength could not completely ward off. Sweat beaded along his brow, mingling with the dirt and blood of the forest. The barrier was a living thing, and it repelled him with every effort he made. Speed, strength, fire—nothing worked.
His dragon abilities, once reliable, seemed ineffective against the ancient magic that guarded the village. Every strike against the invisible wall was met with an invisible force that threw him back, the shock of impact leaving him gasping for air.
"I'll break you," he muttered under his breath, his voice raw with frustration. He stepped forward once more, his eyes narrowing at the shimmering lines that stretched impossibly high.
For a moment, he paused. A sense of doubt crept in—what if he was going about this all wrong? What if he couldn't break through?
No. He couldn't afford to fail. His mission was too important, and Mekeala's fate was too closely tied to his.
He clenched his fists, the pulse of his dragon blood igniting deep within him. His fingers twitched as golden scales began to shimmer across his skin. The pain in his chest grew, but he ignored it. He could feel the magic humming, sensing his presence as though the barrier were alive. The bond it recognized was as ancient as the magic itself, and the barrier knew him for what he was: a descendant of the Dragon Kin, and a being with a fate intricately tied to the world within.
Closing his eyes, Ezekeil focused, summoning the deepest well of his dragon power. His aura flared to life, swirling with purple flames that crackled and hissed.
With a growl that reverberated through the forest, he thrust his energy forward, sending a burst of flame and force into the heart of the barrier. The world around him shuddered as the explosion of power slammed into the shield. The barrier groaned and crackled, its ancient magic fighting back, twisting and distorting the air around him.
The forest seemed to hold its breath.
Ezekeil pushed harder, calling on his dragon heritage, his body radiating with heat and raw power. Golden scales burned across his arms, his muscles straining as he fought against the barrier's resistance. The air grew thick, charged with an almost unbearable energy. He had to break through, or everything would be for nothing.
Then, the barrier gave way—just a crack at first, a fissure running down its glowing surface. But that crack widened quickly, and with a violent tremor, the entire wall shattered. The ground shook, and a vortex of magical energy surged toward Ezekeil, pulling him toward the breach.
It was too much. His power, his exhaustion, everything, all collided in a single moment. Ezekeil's ring finger, the one bearing the mark, began to glow—a golden light that pulsed with the same power he had unleashed. His blood seeped from the wound, staining his hand as the magic responded, violently thrashing against him.
The bond. It had recognized the magic tied to him, the very essence of the bloodline. The barrier resisted harder, as if trying to reject the force it had just allowed through.
Pain shot through his body as the pull of the vortex grew stronger. He tried to resist, but the energy yanked him forward with relentless force. His body spun out of control, thrown through the fractured barrier like a ragdoll. The air twisted and stretched around him, and he was suddenly consumed by the forest's wild magic.
He crashed into the ground hard—his breath knocked out of him, his body lying crumpled on the cold earth beneath the towering trees. The Elven village was just beyond him, the hidden sanctuary where Mekeala lived. He could almost sense the village's ancient eyes watching him.
But the toll had been immense. Blood trickled from the deep gash on his side, and his body flickered in and out of its dragon form. His strength, drained by the attack, left him weak and vulnerable. His pulse was slow, uneven, and his consciousness wavered on the edge of darkness.
Ezekeil lay there, his body still, barely clinging to life.
The enchanted forest seemed to fall into an eerie silence. The birds ceased their songs, the wind stilled. Even the trees, ancient and wise, held their breath. As the magical tremors settled, there remained a faint glow—a golden light at the tip of Ezekeil's bleeding ring finger. It flickered weakly, the bond between him and Mekeala still very much alive.
And though he could not see it, the village felt it too. The magical forest had known the moment he passed through.
Somewhere, not far off, Esme stood, watching with narrowed eyes. Her heart clenched, sensing the disturbance in the magic, the disruption of the barrier. A low murmur passed through the trees, the ancient energy stirring, and Esme's hand gripped the staff at her side.
This was no ordinary intrusion.
Mekeala would soon know that the world beyond her forest had just been irrevocably altered.