The sun rose once more over Emberfall. In the heart of the city plaza, people moved about their daily business—until they noticed something strange.
The Hearthstone flickered.
Its light, usually steady and radiant, pulsed faintly. An uneasy buzz filled the air.
"Did you see that?"
"The crystal… it's dimmer than before."
Moments later, Head Mage Arshen arrived with a group of magisters, his commanding presence instantly drawing attention. Civilians stepped back, murmuring.
"There's no documentation of this behavior," one magister said, eyes fixed on the massive blue crystal.
"We charged it a month ago," added another. "It shouldn't need recharging for several more."
Arshen said nothing at first. He simply stood there, arms behind his back, gazing up at the Hearthstone's glowing form.
Something is wrong.
Far from the city, in the quiet depths of the forest, Alira stood with Schillian in a clearing between trees.
"Today's lesson is about shaping aether," she said, brushing strands of hair from her face. "Think of it like a canvas. We don't just call on fire or wind—we form it with intent."
She demonstrated. A flick of her hand summoned a puff of wind. Then fire, water, and a splash of earth from the soil.
"These are the four base elements. Combined, they form hundreds of spells. But shaping isn't easy. Precision takes time."
Schillian nodded and tried his hand. A small spark… then a huge wave. His expressions bounced between surprise and frustration.
"It's okay," Alira reassured him. "When I was learning, I once lit my own boots on fire."
They both laughed.
But from the trees beyond the clearing, someone watched. Hidden in black robes and a pale mask, they stood in silence—eyes locked on Schillian.
The boy paused mid-cast, eyes narrowing at the treeline. For a second, he was sure someone was there. But when he blinked, the figure was gone.
An hour passed.
Suddenly, birds erupted from the canopy, screeching in panic. The ground shook violently beneath their feet.
"Earthquake?" Schillian gasped.
"No…" Alira's voice dropped. "A monster."
Trees crashed down ahead. Branches splintered. The ground cracked.
A black boar stepped into the clearing—massive as a tree, with eyes that burned like fire. Its thick hide pulsed with something... unnatural.
Dark aether. "That thing, the aether around it, looks dark and... distorted." Schillian mumbles faintly. He is afraid. He never witnessed something like this before.
The boar was taller than the trees—larger than a house. Scarred across its face and body. Typical.
"Run into the woods!" Alira shouted.
Schillian froze. Fear locked his legs in place. Alira acted fast—casting a sudden gust of wind that blasted him backward, just as the boar charged.
It came straight for her.
She conjured a thick aetheric barrier. It held—but only for a second. The corrupted aether pouring off the beast broke it instantly.
Alira dove out of the way as the boar smashed through a cluster of trees. She began chanting again. She knew: brute force wouldn't be enough. A beast of this size doesn't fall that easily.
Far off, hidden between the trees, Schillian watched.
Terrified.
But also… captivated.
His legs trembled too hard to move. But his mind stayed sharp—he watched every spell, every chant. Fear and awe twisted together inside him.
Then the boar turned.
Its body erupted in flames.
It wasn't just a beast.
It was casting magic.
Alira's eyes went wide.
"monster, casting a spell…?" she whispered. "That's not possible…"
Schillian watched from the trees. "This isn't good…" he murmured.
The boar roared, flames curling around it. Alira responded in kind, summoning a wall of water out of thin air. It surged forward—a crashing wave. The flames hissed and died down, but the beast didn't stop.
Alira pivoted, sidestepped the charge, and slashed. An aether-forged sword shimmered into her hand—she cut deep into its side.
It bled. Badly.
She struck again, again—but the wounds weren't deep enough.
The boar, already exhausted and injured, roared again. This time, it cast haste—a wind spell.
Its massive body lightened, its charge quickened.
Alira was caught off guard.
By the time she reacted, the beast was already meters away.
"Is this it?" she thought. "I should've been more prepared for combat…"
A tear slipped down her cheek.
And then—
An ice lance soared in from the forest, glimmering blue, wrapped in spiraling wind.
Crack—
The impact tossed the boar sideways. It slammed through the trees and didn't get back up.
Alira's eyes widened. "What just happened?!"
She stared at the dead beast—then followed the direction the lance came from.
There.
Schillian stood, still frozen in the stance of his throw.
"Did—did you do that?!" she called out.
"Y-Yes, Miss…" Schillian replied, a nervous smile curling across his face.
Alira hurried toward him, her boots crunching over broken branches and scorched leaves.
Schillian was still breathing heavily, his fingers twitching from the lingering pulse of magic.
"You cast that without a chant?" she asked, almost breathless.
"I just... thought about what to do." His voice was small, uncertain. "I was scared. But I didn't want you to get hurt."
Alira crouched in front of him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.
"You idiot," she whispered. "You should've run farther."
"I know."
"…But thank you."
Her voice trembled—not from fear, but something else. A crack in her hardened shell.
"You saved me," she said. "And that was real spellwork. You combined ice and wind instinctively. That's not something even trained mages can do easily."
Schillian blinked, unsure how to respond. A quiet wind rustled through the trees, blowing away the tension.
Alira gave him a long look—half proud, half shaken.
"Alright," she said, standing up and offering him her hand. "Let's go home, hero."
He took it.
And for the first time, he felt something warm beyond fear or awe.
Trust.
After the fight with the boar, Alira clutched her right arm, wincing as she walked. Schillian noticed and stepped beside her.
"Are you okay, miss?" he asked.
She looked tired, her clothes torn and scorched from the battle. Even though the fight hadn't lasted long, Alira had used a frightening amount of aether to cast those advanced spells.
"I'm fine. Just... exhausted," she said, trying to smile.
They walked quietly through the woods, the silence between them filled only by the sound of distant birds returning to their nests. Alira glanced at him again.
"Thanks—again. If you hadn't fired that ice lance, I... might not be here."
Schillian blinked. He didn't feel heroic. He was still trembling inside. But he nodded and clenched a fist, quietly proud.
As they reached Emberfall's gate, two wardens standing watch widened their eyes at the sight of Alira's condition.
"Get the healers!" one of them shouted.
Moments later, two council medics arrived, summoning a floating stretcher. Alira lay down with a sigh, finally letting herself rest.
Before the medics floated her away, she looked over at Schillian. Her voice dropped low.
"Don't tell anyone about what happened today. Understand?"
He nodded.
She smiled. "Good. You're a weird little kid, you know that?"
And then she was gone.
When Schillian arrived at the inn, the sun had nearly set. Seralla stood by the doorway, arms full of sun-dried laundry. She looked up and beamed.
"Welcome back! How was your training?"
"It was amazing!" he said, eyes wide with excitement.
He didn't mention the monster.
Later that evening, they ate together at the inn's cozy dining area. Schillian animatedly described Alira's lessons, how she showed him fire and wind, how he tried to shape aether himself. Seralla listened, amused and proud.
"You've already done more than most adults could dream of," she said, ruffling his hair.
Schillian yawned halfway through his sentence. He barely remembered dragging himself upstairs before sleep took him.
That night, he dreamed of the forest again.
Only this time, it shimmered. Trees glowed faintly. Leaves floated mid-air, suspended like dust in a sunbeam. The world was soaked in drifting color — red, gold, and sapphire — all swirling like fog.
In the center of it all was a thread of light. It moved through the trees like it had a purpose.
Schillian reached out.
The moment his fingers brushed the glowing strand, the dream rippled. The colors collapsed like smoke sucked into a void.
He sat up, gasping.
The room was quiet. The moonlight through the window cast pale stripes across the wooden floor.
Far in the distance, beyond the rooftops and chimneys of Emberfall, the Hearthstone pulsed once — dim, and blue — like the beat of a heart. A crack, can be seen.