Three hundred years ago, in a time when thunder ruled the skies and the earth still whispered to those who dared listen, there lived a man unlike any other—Lioran. Born beneath the omen of a blood moon and raised by the ancient druids of the deep forest, he was chosen by fate to protect the balance of the realm.
His weapon was no ordinary blade. It was a staff—crafted from the heartwood of the oldest tree in the land, alive with the raw power of nature. It hummed with magic, a conduit for storms, rivers, wind, and earth itself. In Lioran's hands, the staff was more than a weapon—it was a bridge between the wild and the world of man.
Lioran fought not for glory or conquest, but to maintain harmony. He stood against invading armies, quelled unnatural disasters, and banished creatures born from darkness. Wherever the land was in pain, Lioran appeared—either to heal… or to unleash nature's wrath.
But power such as his drew attention from the darkest corners of the world. From the eastern wastes came a sorcerer named Varkul, a master of chaos who sought to shatter the fabric of reality and rebuild it in his own image. When they finally met, their battle raged across mountains and skies, shaking the very bones of the earth.
And then, Lioran vanished.
His body was never found. Only the staff remained—its power sealed, buried deep within the whispering forest, waiting for a new hand to wield it.
Centuries passed.
The legend faded… until now.
---
2035 – Southern Coast of Obryndor, Malins Jungle
The Malins Jungle was a world unto itself. Humid and lush, it stretched like a living beast along the southern coast of the Kingdom of Obryndor. Towering trees with thick canopies blotted out the sky, their roots coiling like serpents into the dark soil. Vines hung in the air like forgotten ropes, and colorful birds shrieked from the treetops. The air smelled of wet earth and old rain, the ground soft underfoot with moss and fallen leaves.
Monkeys chattered high in the branches—gibbons, langurs, macaques—all leaping and screeching with wild abandon. The jungle was alive, not just with sound, but with a presence. A breath. A watching eye.
At the edge of this untamed world, tucked into a clearing where the forest began to thin, stood a small, weathered house. Its walls were made of old timber and worn stone. Moss crept up its sides, and its slanted roof sagged under the weight of leaves. Vines curled along its window frames, and in the early mornings, mist drifted lazily past it like smoke from some forgotten fire.
This was where Elior lived.
Or rather—survived.
---
Elior had once been a boy with a smile, a dreamer who ran through the fields outside his parents' humble farm. But that life ended the day a wild beast tore his world apart. His parents had been working when it came—an enormous creature, fangs and fury—and by the time help arrived, there was nothing left to save.
At only seven, Elior buried his mother and father with trembling hands and tear-filled eyes. No relatives came, save one—his mother's sister, Velora. She took him in, not out of love, but obligation. And she made sure he never forgot it.
Her house, on the edge of the Malins Jungle, was no home. It was a prison.
Velora was cruel, sharp-tongued, and bitter. Her own children, Parker and Zackerel, mirrored her hatred. They made Elior their servant, their scapegoat, their personal slave. He cooked. He cleaned. He worked from dawn to dusk—and any mistake was met with punishment.
On one damp morning, heavy with mist and silence, Velora's voice rang out like a whip across the clearing.
"Parker! Zackerel!" she called as she walked down the muddy path toward the market.
The children ran to her, eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Where's that useless brat?" she demanded.
"He left," Parker said, shrugging. "Didn't even do his chores."
Velora's eyes burned. "Then when he returns, he'll wish he hadn't."
But Elior had heard every word.
He crouched behind the wooden shed, trembling. Something inside him snapped—not fear, not sadness—but a deep, quiet decision.
He ran.
---
He didn't look back. He didn't stop. He sprinted straight into the Malins Jungle, into the green unknown, heart pounding in his chest like a war drum.
By sunset, the world had changed. The air grew colder, the trees taller. The sun vanished beneath the canopy, and the forest became a place of shadows.
That night, curled beneath the roots of a tree as wide as a house, Elior tried to sleep. But something stirred.
A sound like silk slithering across stone.
Then—eyes. Gold and glowing, staring from the darkness.
A shape emerged—a serpent, vast and black as oil. It shimmered with something unnatural. It did not slither—it glided. Its body was solid one moment, shadow the next.
Elior's breath caught in his throat.
"Do not fear," the serpent spoke in a deep, calm voice. "You have come home."
Elior screamed and fainted.
---
He awoke moments later, the serpent still there. He screamed again. Fainted again.
This happened three times.
Finally, the serpent sighed and vanished into the shadows.
Elior lay shaking, unsure if he'd dreamed it. He staggered to a nearby banana tree and collapsed again.
And then—it returned.
"I mean you no harm," the serpent said gently. "I am called Seraphis. I have waited centuries for you."
Elior stared. "You can… talk?"
"I can do many things. I am not of your world, young one. I come from a realm known as Thal'Nora—a place of storms, spirits, and magic. And you… are the one I have waited for. The reincarnation of Lioran. The new bearer of the staff."
Elior blinked rapidly. "What staff? What do you mean?"
"You are the bridge once more. The child born to command thunder. The protector of balance."
"I'm no one," Elior whispered.
"No," Seraphis said. "You are everyone."
---
Elior asked question after question, his voice full of wonder and doubt.
"How long have you lived?"
"Over five hundred years."
"Why now?"
"Because the prophecy has awakened. Evil stirs again, and the world will need you."
"I want to see Thal'Nora," Elior said.
"You're not ready," Seraphis replied, almost sadly. "Lioran said those exact words when I first met him—right here, under this same sky."
Then the serpent looked up. "But I must go. The sun is near, and I cannot exist in your world once light returns. I will visit again at sunset."
"But wait—" Elior called.
Seraphis turned and spoke in a tongue long forgotten. The trees trembled.
From the canopy above, a small monkey dropped down—a wide-eyed, curious creature.
"This is Nminka. He will feed you. Watch over you. Until I return."
"Will you really come back?" Elior asked.
"I always return to my master," Seraphis replied. "Ask your questions tonight. And be ready—your destiny has already begun."
With that, Seraphis vanished into shadow.
Elior sat beneath the trees, the jungle humming softly around him, his heart heavy with fear and wonder.
The jungle had whispered.
And this time, he had answered.