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Chapter One – Not Alone

Lyrien raised his eyes, beholding the embodiment of his deepest dread. The impulse to flee surged within him, but the futility of escape was all too apparent. Trapped in the shadow of inevitability, he realized no mortal effort could deliver him. Only divine intervention could spare him from the harbinger of doom that loomed before him.

"So many are after my life," he thought, the weight of his plight pressing heavily on his spirit. Murmuring a desperate prayer as fate closed in, he felt the rush of an arrow slicing the air past his gaze. For a fleeting moment, hope stirred within him—perhaps a savior had descended to his aid. But as his eyes fell to the arrow embedded in his chest, the cold truth struck. Time seemed to still as his life unraveled before him in a cascade of memories, moments before the final darkness claimed him.

Lyrien jolted awake, drenched in sweat, his breath ragged and uneven. His heart pounded as though still fleeing some unseen force, his hands gripping the damp fabric of his cloak. The dream again. The same death. The same suffocating fear.

The room around him was dim, the only light coming from the dying embers of a small fire. Their shelter for the night was nothing more than an abandoned hunting cabin, its wooden walls warped with age, its roof barely holding against the heavy rain pounding from above. The scent of damp earth and rotting wood filled the air. Every creak of the structure felt like a whisper of something unseen lurking just beyond the storm.

He exhaled slowly, forcing his nerves to settle. Then, he saw her.

Elyreina stood by the narrow window, her slender figure illuminated by the occasional flicker of lightning. Her golden hair, damp from the humidity, clung to her shoulders, catching the faint glow of the fire. She was calm, still, watching the rain as if reading some hidden message in its fall.

"A dream again?" she asked softly without turning.

"Yeah," Lyrien muttered, running a hand down his face. "Except this time… I was dying. Actually dying. I can't say precisely what killed me; I just remember the arrow and… then darkness."

Elyreina finally looked at him, her emerald-green eyes sharp yet unreadable. "How many days do you have left?"

"About four, I think," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

She gave a small nod, her expression betraying nothing. Silence stretched between them, only the rain and distant rumble of thunder filling the empty space.

Lyrien sighed and lay back down, but sleep wouldn't come. Something felt wrong.

The storm outside had worsened, wind howling through the cracks in the walls, rattling the wooden beams like unseen hands were clawing to get in. Shadows danced along the corners of the cabin, shifting unnaturally with each flash of lightning. The storm felt too alive, as if something unseen lurked within its embrace.

Elyreina remained by the window, eyes distant. She had promised to take the first watch, allowing Lyrien to rest. But her mind wasn't in the present—it was trapped in the past.

The rain reminded her of a different night, long ago.

She saw them—her family—whole and unbroken. Their mother, a mage of unrivaled power, standing in their courtyard with an easy grace, conjuring illusions of fire and light, making them dance through the air as Lyrien laughed in delight. Their father, ever the skilled swordsman, practicing his precise footwork while the siblings cheered him on. She could still hear it—their laughter, their joy.

But then… the memories shifted. The colors darkened, the warmth vanished. That night… that terrible night when everything changed.

Her grip on the windowsill tightened, her nails digging into the old wood. The echoes of the past were suffocating, pulling her back into a moment she couldn't escape.

Then, a sound.

She blinked, the vision shattering as reality rushed back.

"Lyrien?" she heard his voice first, but it wasn't him who had made the noise.

A creak. Not from inside the cabin, but just beyond the walls.

She turned sharply, her senses on high alert. Lyrien sat up as well, his body tensed, his expression shifting from exhaustion to awareness. He had heard it too.

The storm continued to rage, but beneath it, something moved. Something that shouldn't be there.

The air inside the cabin suddenly felt too still.

Elyreina's hand instinctively went to the hilt of the dagger at her waist. Lyrien reached for his sword.

Another creak. Closer this time.

Then—silence.

The storm howled outside, the fire crackled weakly, but the noise—the movement—was gone.

For now.

Elyreina turned to Lyrien, her voice barely a whisper. "We're not alone."

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