The air was thick, charged with a strange electricity. Khai stood in the center of a deserted city, the houses twisted like shadows of a shattered memory. No wind, no sound—only the dull thud of his heartbeat, echoing in the stillness of the dream.
He had been here before. He knew it. But something was different.
This time, he did not run. He took a step forward, then another. The ground beneath him felt both solid and unreal, as if beneath the stone there was only emptiness.
He felt watched.
A shiver ran down his spine. He turned his gaze toward the dark windows of the buildings, but no one stared at him from behind the half-closed shutters. And yet, there was something. Someone.
Then, the sky split open.
A streak of light fell toward the earth, slicing through the silence. Khai instinctively stepped back as the object struck the ground, sending up a cloud of silver dust.
As the haze dissipated, he saw it: a sword hilt, dark as the night, veined with silver luminescence.
His heart pounded.
He crouched, slowly reaching out his hand. A voiceless whisper brushed against his mind like a forgotten memory.
His fingers touched the hilt.
A deafening roar erupted around him.
A shockwave slammed into him, the air turning searing hot. Before he could react, his body was hurled backward. He crashed into something solid, pain exploding in his chest.
Darkness.
Khai's eyes shot open, his breath ragged. The ache in his chest still pulsed like a distant echo, and sweat clung to his forehead.
He ran a trembling hand over his face.
Just a dream.
But the taste of dust still lingered on his tongue.
Khai dragged himself out of bed, weighed down by restless sleep. The dawn light filtered through the shutters, casting flickering shadows across the walls.
He washed his face with cold water, shivering at the chill, and stared at his reflection in a tarnished piece of metal. Dark circles under his eyes, tousled hair, a weary gaze.
He pulled on a dark tunic and a short, ash-gray cloak, its edges lined with silver stitching. Not elegant, but presentable.
"Khai, breakfast is ready!"
His mother's voice made him turn.
He descended into the kitchen, where the scent of sweet spices filled the air. His father was already seated at the table, sharpening a dagger with a focused expression.
"Did you sleep well?" Merial asked without looking at him.
"Enough."
His father glanced at him briefly but said nothing.
"The King will be at the ceremony today," his mother added, placing a plate before him.
Khai shrugged. "Doesn't seem that important."
Nadrak barely lifted his gaze. "You think it's just a formality?"
Khai hesitated. "I don't know."
The rest of breakfast passed in silence. As he stood to leave, his mother placed a hand on his arm.
"Be careful."
Khai looked at her, puzzled. "I will."
And he stepped outside.
Tristan clutched the medallion in his hands, running his fingers over the worn metal.
It was the last memory of his mother.
He had been only seven when illness took her from them. He could still hear the sound of rain drumming against the window, the dim candlelight casting trembling shadows in the darkened room. His mother lay in bed, her breath shallow, her face pale as the moon.
"Don't cry, my love."
Her hands, weak but still warm, had cupped his face gently. Then she had placed the medallion in his palm.
"Keep it with you. It will always guide you."
Tristan sighed, tightening his grip on the medallion.
Everything changes today.
The square was packed. Banners of the Kingdom of Solheim fluttered in the wind as the chamberlain took his place at the center of the stage.
"People of Solheim! Today, we celebrate the pilgrimage of the Pure Heart, the sacred mission that brings light against the darkness!"
The crowd listened in silence as the chamberlain told the legend of Valroth.
"Long ago, Valroth descended from the heavens with gifts beyond measure. But men, blinded by greed, waged war over his crystals. His fury turned the world to ash, until his son, Fabian, sealed him away in his lunar prison. But the seal is not eternal. Each century, a chosen one must renew it. That chosen one is the Pure Heart."
The chamberlain turned to the crowd. "I now invite our sovereign, King Aldebrand, to speak!"
The King stepped forward. Tall and imposing, his voice rang with authority.
"For countless generations, Solheim has watched over the Pure Heart. It is both an honor and a duty. Today, one among you will be chosen.
"It will be a long journey, fraught with danger and hardship. But it will also be a glorious mission, one that will determine the fate of our world.
The light of Fabian must not be extinguished. Let the will of the gods be revealed now!"
A long silence followed.
Then, the name rang out across the square.
"Tristan Moonhaven."
A chill ran through the crowd.
"A Moonhaven..."
"Let's hope he's worthy."
Tristan's father fell to his knees, hands trembling. Then, slowly, he rose and looked at his son.
"My son… come."
Tristan stood, legs heavy as stone, and walked to the stage.
Lord Moonhaven placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Your journey begins today. You must choose a companion."
A moment of hesitation.
Then a voice cut through the murmurs.
"Me!"
The crowd turned.
Khai was pushing his way forward. His heart pounded, his breath short, but his eyes burned with determination.
"I want to go with him."
A new silence fell over the square.
Lord Moonhaven turned slowly. For the first time, his cold gaze met Khai's.