The northern winds always carried a bite, but tonight they felt sharper—like the air was warning those who could listen. The tall grass of Nordveld’s cliffside bent under each passing gust, rippling like a frozen ocean beneath the dying light of evening.

  Viktor stood alone at the cliff’s edge, the world stretched out beneath him in layers of shadow and fading gold. At twenty years old he had the build of a young warrior—broad shoulders, athletic frame, the kind of strength earned from real training, not stories. His straight blond hair fell past his jaw, catching traces of the sunset, and his sharp blue eyes kept drifting across the horizon as though searching for something he couldn’t name.

  Nordveld was quiet. Too quiet.

  Viktor exhaled, the cold turning his breath into a thin silver mist.

  The day had been uneventful—training alone, as usual.

  He flexed his fingers around the wooden practice sword, knuckles still sore. Swing after swing, footwork drills until his legs shook, stance corrections, breath control. The routine kept him grounded; the silence kept him sane.

  Yet as the sky shifted from gold to bruised violet, a faint unease tugged at him.

  He couldn’t explain why.

  Maybe it was the way the clouds hovered—too still, too thin, too watchful.

  Maybe it was the way the wind had changed directions four times in the last hour.

  Maybe it was the quiet beneath the quiet.

  Nordveld was never silent.

  Not like this.

  He stepped closer to the cliff’s edge, letting the wind sweep through his long hair again. The sea of pine trees far below swayed in unison, a dark blanket stretching all the way to the city border. Lantern lights flickered faintly in the distance, soft and warm—a peaceful contrast to the cold wilds of Planea’s northern edge.

  He should’ve returned home by now.

  But something held him here.

  Something he could feel in his skin.

  The first tremor came quietly—a faint pulse in the air.

  Viktor froze.

  The wind paused. The grass stopped moving. Even the horizon seemed to tighten.

  “What…?” he whispered, his voice nearly lost to the void.

  Then the sky cracked.

  A thin line of light tore across the heavens—white at its core, wrapped in a soft halo of unnatural purple. It moved too straight to be lightning, too bright to be a star, too alive to be anything natural.

  Viktor’s eyes widened. A cold spike of adrenaline climbed his spine.

  That’s not right.

  The streak of light descended with impossible speed, ripping a fissure through the clouds. The glow washed over the cliffside, turning Viktor’s skin pale silver and staining the grass with violet light.

  The air trembled again—stronger this time.

  Then came the sound.

  A deep, thunderous roar that vibrated through the earth beneath Viktor’s boots.

  He staggered back a step. “A… meteor?”

  But even as he said it, he knew he was wrong.

  Meteors didn’t glow like that. Meteors didn’t leave shadows that bent unnaturally. Meteors didn’t make the air pulse like a heartbeat.

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  He tried to look away—but he couldn’t.

  The light grew brighter, burning, consuming the sky. The clouds evaporated around it, leaving a cavern of empty darkness as the purple-white flame streaked downward.

  Then he heard it.

  A faint, low hum. Almost like whispering. Almost like chanting. Almost like… calling.

  The meteor—if that’s what it was—hit the forest far below in a blinding explosion of violet light.

  A wave of air slammed into Viktor’s chest, knocking him onto one knee. The cliff shook. Stones broke loose and tumbled into the abyss.

  And as the dust rose—

  The world changed.

  Another streak tore across the sky. Then another. Then fifty. Then hundreds.

  The heavens ruptured, spewing burning trails of fire and light in all directions. Purple and orange streaks spiraled like divine arrows, crashing into forests, mountains, lakes, villages.

  The sky rained fire.

  A distant scream rose from the northern roads. Another from the far fields. Bells rang somewhere in the city—three quick chimes, a pause, then two more.

  The alarm. The one Nordveld used only for disasters the size of legends.

  Viktor stood on shaking legs.

  He’d seen storms. He’d seen lightning. He’d seen magic.

  But nothing like this.

  “What is happening…?”

  A tremor shook the earth. Branches snapped in the woods below. Fires bloomed among the trees like scattered torches.

  He ran.

  Down the cliff path. Boots pounding the dirt. Breath tearing at his lungs. Heart beating like a war drum.

  The heat from the falling meteors pressed against his skin, leaving the scent of smoke clinging to his clothes. The forest below roared with flames and fear.

  He sprinted harder.

  A meteor slammed into the road ahead. Viktor dove behind a fallen tree as a shockwave blasted through the air with earth-shattering force.

  “Ghh—!”

  He covered his head as stones and embers rained down. His cloak whipped around him wildly. For a moment he couldn’t hear a thing—just ringing, sharp and painful, drowning out the world.

  When sound returned, it came all at once.

  Screams. Crashes. Thunder. The crackle of burning wood. The unnatural hum of purple light. And something else—something faint, distant, and deliberate.

  A sound that didn’t belong to chaos.

  He forced himself up, coughing smoke.

  Through the haze, he saw it.

  Something… moving. Above the city. High in the sky between falling meteors.

  A silhouette.

  Large. Calm. Unmoving. Winged. Blacker than the smoke around it.

  It hung in the air like an omen carved into the heavens.

  No… no, that can’t be real.

  But the shape didn’t vanish. It didn’t blink. It didn’t fall.

  It watched.

  Viktor swallowed hard.

  Before he could understand what he was looking at, another flash lit the forest—brighter than the rest. A purple glow burst from a crater deeper within the woods. It pulsed like a beating heart.

  Viktor’s curiosity overcame his fear.

  He ran toward it.

  Branches whipped against him as he entered the burning forest. The ground cracked beneath his boots. Ash and embers clung to his hair. Smoke scratched his throat.

  The purple glow grew stronger.

  Then he stopped dead.

  Someone was already there.

  A figure stood inside the crater—a tall silhouette in a long dark coat, the hood obscuring all features. Fog curled around the stranger’s legs like living mist.

  The figure reached down.

  Toward something in the crater.

  Something small, glowing, and pulsing with each impact of distant meteors.

  Viktor’s breath caught.

  The stranger lifted the glowing object into the air, and the light washed over the fog like liquid.

  “What is that…?” Viktor whispered.

  The figure tilted their head slightly.

  As if hearing him.

  As if listening.

  As if they already knew he was there.

  Then—

  The figure vanished.

  A soft ripple of fog. A fading trail of purple light. No footsteps. No voice. No presence.

  Just absence.

  Viktor blinked, stunned.

  The object was gone. The crater was empty. Only the purple mist remained.

  “What… what did he take?”

  But there was no answer.

  Only the forest burning around him, the meteors raining down, and the mysterious silhouette still watching from the sky far above.

  Viktor clenched his jaw.

  Something had arrived in Planea tonight. Something foreign. Something powerful. Something dangerous.

  And he had seen it.

  The sky cracked again, splitting the night with a final burst of violet flame.

  Viktor looked up with wide, burning eyes.

  Whatever had fallen… Whatever had been taken… Whatever had awakened…

  This was only the beginning.

  End of Chapter One