Ethan Vale died saving a child from a speeding car.
There was pain, sharp and sudden. A scream. Then… nothing.
No tunnel. No light. Just a strange moment of weightlessness—followed by the feeling of being pulled. Not by gravity, but something finer. A thread.
Silver. Glowing. It curled from his chest into the sky, tugging him forward like a tether made of starlight.
Then—
Light.
He woke lying on a bed of moss beneath towering trees that shimmered silver-blue in the sun. The air was cool and fragrant, humming with energy. Birds chirped with complex, musical calls. Flowers opened as he breathed.
And he wasn't Ethan anymore.
He sat up fast, startled by how smooth the motion was. His limbs were longer. Thinner. His skin shimmered faintly with a pale silver hue. His hair fell past his shoulders, golden-blond and soft like spun silk. But the most impossible detail was in the water nearby—his ears were pointed.
He stumbled to his feet and caught his reflection in a brook. This face wasn't human. It was... elven. Beautiful in an unearthly way.
And on his wrist: the silver thread. Still there. Glowing faintly under the skin, as if it had sewn him into this body.
"What the hell is going on?" he muttered.
The wind whispered through the trees in reply, like it understood him.
He wandered through the forest, overwhelmed by everything: the strange beauty, the way the trees seemed to watch him, and the way his new body moved with eerie grace. He didn't remember training, but his balance, his instincts—they were sharper than anything he'd known.
Then he heard it—a low growl.
Something lunged from the shadows: a creature made of smoke and bone, its eyes burning red. A nightmare come alive.
He ducked. Instinct took over. He grabbed a broken branch—and as he raised it, silver fire burst from it, forming a blade of light.
The creature hissed, but it was too late. One swing, and it exploded into ash.
Kaelen—no longer Ethan—stumbled back, heart racing.
"What was that?"
"Vraith," said a voice behind him.
He turned.
A woman stepped into view, tall and commanding, with silver hair and a bow slung across her back. Her armor was crafted from dark green leather and shaped like leaves. She moved like the forest itself.
Her blue eyes locked on the thread at his wrist.
"You carry the Thread of Return," she said.
He blinked. "Is that what this is?"
She studied him. "You're not from here."
"No."
"Then we need to move. More will come. The Thread doesn't just bring souls—it awakens things long asleep."
He hesitated. "Who are you?"
"I am Lirael of the Verdant Watch," she replied, offering her hand. "And if the thread chose you, you've returned for a reason."
He took her hand.
The thread glowed brighter.
Somewhere far away, something ancient stirred.