The village of Eldoria lay cradled in the embrace of emerald-green mountains, where golden fields stretched as far as the eye could see. The air carried the sweet scent of ripe wheat, mingled with the distant aroma of wildflowers swaying in the cool evening breeze. Eldoria was a place untouched by war, where the clang of the village blacksmith's hammer echoed louder than the tales of distant battles, and the greatest concern was the changing of the seasons.
For as long as he could remember, Gin had called this village home. He was a boy of fifteen, lean from years of labor, with raven-black hair that always seemed untamed no matter how much he tried to fix it. His sharp, amber-colored eyes often held a distant gaze, as if he were always searching for something beyond the fields and mountains.
Unlike the other village boys, who dreamed of becoming hunters or farmers, Gin had always felt a strange restlessness in his soul. He loved working at his father's forge, hammering metal into tools and watching the fire dance, but there was something inside him—a whisper in his heart—that longed for something greater. He just didn't know what.
The Arrival of the Stranger
The sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of crimson and violet. The villagers were gathered in the town square, where the scent of roasted meat filled the air. It was the eve of the harvest festival, a time of celebration, music, and dance.
Gin stood beside his father, Alden, a burly man with arms as thick as tree trunks. His father was the village blacksmith, respected and well-loved by all.
"Gin, pass me that carving knife," Alden said, preparing to cut into a roasted boar.
Gin handed it over absentmindedly, his thoughts drifting elsewhere. Just as the villagers broke into laughter over some old tale, a sudden gust of wind rushed through the square, causing the torches to flicker.
Then, the crowd fell silent.
An old man, draped in tattered robes, hobbled into the village square. His beard was long and unkempt, his face sunken with age. His steps were slow and heavy, as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. But it was his eyes that struck Gin the most—clouded by time yet burning with something ancient and urgent.
The old man stumbled forward, grasping the arm of the village elder, Eldon.
"The darkness…" he gasped. "It moves once more…"
Murmurs spread through the crowd.
Elder Eldon furrowed his brows. "Old man, who are you?"
The stranger inhaled sharply before speaking, his voice barely above a whisper.
"The seal… is breaking."
A chill ran down Gin's spine. He didn't understand what the old man meant, but a strange, sinking feeling settled in his chest.
Eldon's face darkened. "Come. We will speak in private."
Two villagers helped the stranger to his feet and led him toward the elder's home. The festival resumed, but the joyous mood had faded.
Gin's father muttered under his breath. "Trouble follows those who speak of seals and darkness."
Gin turned to him. "What do you mean?"
Alden shook his head. "Forget it, boy. It's best we stay out of things beyond us."
But Gin couldn't forget it.
That night, as the village slept, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling of his small room. The words of the old man repeated in his head like a haunting melody.
Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it.
A flickering light.
A Call to Destiny
Gin sat up, his heartbeat quickening. Through the wooden shutters of his window, he saw a faint glow in the distance. Deep in the forest that no villager dared to enter.
The Blackwood Forest.
A place of whispered legends. A place where travelers entered and never returned.
Gin hesitated. Every instinct told him to ignore it, to stay in bed and pretend he saw nothing. But the whisper in his heart grew louder.
Before he knew it, he was slipping into his boots, wrapping his cloak around him, and stepping outside. The village was quiet, the only sounds being the chirping of crickets and the distant hoot of an owl.
He moved swiftly, keeping to the shadows. His feet knew the path well, having explored the outskirts of the forest many times. But tonight felt different. The air was colder. The trees loomed taller.
The flickering light danced ahead, deeper into the trees.
Gin swallowed hard and stepped inside the Blackwood Forest.
The moment he crossed the boundary, the wind stopped. The air grew thick, heavy, as if the forest itself was holding its breath.
Gin's fingers brushed against the dagger at his waist. He had no real combat experience, but his father had taught him how to hold a blade.
He stepped cautiously, the glow drawing him forward. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
Then, the light stopped.
And in its place stood a figure cloaked in black, their back turned to him.
Gin's breath caught in his throat.
Before he could speak, the figure turned, revealing eyes that burned like molten gold.
A voice, deep and ancient, echoed in his mind.
"You are not ready… but you must be. The darkness has already seen you."
Then, everything went black.