A Forgotten End, A New Beginning

Darkness. Cold, suffocating, endless.

A young man drifts in the void, his mind fragmented. His past is a blur—flashes of battle, destruction, regret. A name lingers on his tongue, but it slips away like sand in the wind.

"Was this how it ends?"

A whisper slithers through the void. A voice ancient, chilling.

"Not yet."

A sudden force pulls him downward, burning through his very essence. He struggles, but there is no escape. The void collapses around him—then, there is warmth. Light.

And a wailing cry that he only realizes is his own.

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The First Awakening

His vision is hazy, his body impossibly small. Blurred figures hover over him, speaking in a tongue both foreign and strangely familiar.

A woman with silver hair holds him close, her touch gentle.

"Eryndor…" she whispers.

The name resonates deep within him. He is Eryndor now. The past is gone, yet echoes remain.

A man—his father—lifts him next. His grip is firm, his voice proud. He is strong, a warrior.

"Our son will be great."

Eryndor wants to speak, to question, but his body betrays him. His mind is intact, but he is powerless. A prisoner in this fragile form.

"This… is real."

And so, his new life begins.

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Memories and Whispers of the Past

Days turn to months. Eryndor grows in body, but his mind remains far beyond his years. His parents see him as a bright, observant child, unaware of the memories locked within him.

But something is wrong.

At night, he dreams—not of this life, but of another. A warrior clad in black armor. A battlefield soaked in blood. A throne wreathed in shadow. And always, the whisper.

"Remember."

He does not know what it means. He does not want to know.

But the past does not let go so easily.

---

A Glimpse of Power

At three years old, the first incident happens.

It is a quiet afternoon. Leaves drift through the air as Eryndor watches from the doorstep of his home. One falls toward him. Without thinking, he reaches out—not with his hand, but with his mind.

The leaf halts midair. Floating. Suspended.

His mother gasps. His father stiffens. They exchange a glance, unsure whether to be amazed or afraid.

"Magic…?"

Eryndor does not understand why, but his chest tightens. He has done something unnatural. Something familiar.

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The Village and the Watchful Eye

The village of Valmere is small, peaceful. Farmers and merchants live simple lives, untouched by war. But among them, one man is different—Eldrin Faelor, the village's lone mage.

A recluse, an observer. And now, his gaze is set on Eryndor.

Rumors of the child with unnatural talent reach him, and for the first time in years, Eldrin steps forward. He visits the family, eyes sharp, calculating.

"Let me test him."

Eryndor's parents hesitate but agree. Eldrin leads the boy to his study, a dimly lit room lined with ancient scrolls. He places a small crystal before him.

"Channel your will into this. If magic flows within you, the crystal will glow."

Eryndor hesitates. A part of him knows this is a mistake. But curiosity, or perhaps fate, urges him forward. He places his hand on the crystal.

It glows—not blue, not gold, but deep, unnatural black.

Eldrin steps back, eyes wide with fear.

"Impossible…"

Eryndor barely hears him. A sharp pain lances through his skull. Images flood his mind—war, destruction, a name he still cannot grasp.

And the whisper, no longer faint.

"You are awakening."

For the first time since his rebirth… Eryndor feels afraid.

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End of chapter 1