꧁༒☬𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓰𝓾𝓮☬༒꧂In ancient times before mortals recorded the world in memory, the gods emerged from the primordial void. Born of creation’s first breath, they were more than beings—they were power incarnate, shaping the raw chaos of the Cosmos into form and purpose. Among the pantheon was Aureon, god of light and justice, whose radiance illuminated the heavens and brought order to the shapeless expanse.Yet, creation was not enough. The gods sought something fragile yet enduring, something to reflect their magnificence. From their divine will came the mortals, fragile beings bound by the chains of time, created to live, love, and perish.Thus was born Nerathia, a realm where the immortal and the mortal coexisted. Aureon and his kin bestowed gifts upon this fledgling world: light, wisdom, protection, and the inevitability of change. For a time, harmony prevailed. The gods watched their creation flourish, and mortals grew under their guidance.But where light prevails, shado
꧁༒☬𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓭𝓪𝔂☬༒꧂The hacking shrill, relentless frenzied alarm from Lyra's room pierced early morning silence as if fingernails were being dragged down a chalkboard. It filled the room with that unmistakable sound of dread as it woke her from the bottom of her sleep into unwanted consciousness. Groaning, she fumbled for the snooze button, blind to shed herself from the warmth cocooning her beneath the blankets. The soft embrace of her bed was holding her tightly and didn't want to let her go, luring her into stealing at least some minutes more of the valuable sleep.But reality had other plans. Today was the first day of her final year at Evervale University. The weight of the realization hit her hard. She felt terrible. Of course, Ivy wouldn’t let her hear the end of it if they were late for class.As if on cue, Ivy’s voice cut through the apartment, sharp with annoyance. “Lyra! We’re going to be late!”There was a gentle clanging of pots and pans from the kitchen and a ra
The autumn chill wrapped itself around the Evervale campus, crisp and biting, as Lyra Donovan walked alongside her friends. Ivy’s laughter rang out in the cool air, echoing off the brick buildings that had stood the test of time. Though familiar, the atmosphere carried an energy, a charge, as if the start of their final year was heralding something new, something about to shift.Clusters of students buzzed around them, engaged in animated conversations about summer adventures or already lamenting the workload ahead. Skateboarders zipped by, expertly dodging a group of wide-eyed first-years who huddled together, trying to make sense of the campus map clenched in their hands.Lyra glanced sideways at Ivy and Harrison. Ivy’s arm was looped around his, her auburn hair bouncing with every step, while Harrison looked at her the way only someone madly in love could—like she was the center of his universe. They were that couple. The ones everyone admired, sometimes envied. High school sweethe
The hallway was gently buzzing with the low hum of talking students, soft thud of closed books, and footsteps echoing against the old tiled floor. There was something about this building, reeking with a feel of being from another era. Or, perhaps, the walls panelled in ancient wood, with dusty portraits lining every corridor of professors long forgotten, their eyes seeming so very stern, far away, and passing in silent judgment on the present.Ivy shivered, hugging her cardigan closer as she walked beside Lyra. "Ugh, I wish we could skip this class," she muttered. Ivy was worn out, and it showed in the lacing of tiredness within her voice. Surprisingly warm October weather outside hadn't stopped the chill of autumn from seeping into the building. "I'm already tired from the first class of the day. A nap sounds perfect right about now.”Rhett, striding ahead of them with his usual relaxed swagger, ran a hand through his dark hair. “We’re already here,” he pointed out, his tone resigned
The cafeteria was filled with the regular lunchtime excitement—students talking, trays being moved, and the smell of fatty French fries and suspicious pizza in the air. At the regular table, Lyra leaned into her chair, listening to Harrison going on about the history project with some of her attention while she looked around the busy cafeteria.The conversations around them blended into a dull hum, the world moving on blissfully unaware of the forty-percent history project looming over their heads.“Why couldn’t we have gone for something normal?” Lyra asked, interrupting Harrison’s passionate monologue about Nerathia’s forgotten gods. “You know, like Greek mythology? Zeus, Athena… all that Mount Olympus stuff. Everyone knows it, and we could probably churn out a paper on Zeus’ love life in our sleep.”Harrison’s eyes gleamed with that familiar light—the one he always got when he was about to dive into an explanation none of them had asked for. He rested his elbows on the table, his g
The wind howled through the night, whipping through the trees like a feral thing, its chill biting through even the thick layers of Lyra’s jacket. She zipped it up tighter, fingers brushing against the delicate tattoo on her wrist, the one that read “Lyra” in elegant, black ink. A small reminder of who she was, especially in moments like this when nothing seemed certain. She gazed out the window, watching the darkened shapes of trees blur by. The distant glow of Evervale was a memory behind them now, the town’s lights barely visible through the thickening clouds. The night had that sharp, biting cold only autumn could bring, and Lyra silently thanked herself for wearing the thick jacket and boots. The last thing she needed was to be underdressed for an ill-advised adventure into a restricted ruin. Her absent-minded fingers had pulled her sun kissed brown hair into a ponytail, attempting to keep it from whipping into her face. The wind had other ideas, though, and no matter how t
They stood at the threshold of the ruin where fragments of what had once been a towering structure now lay in crumbled heaps, overtaken by wild shrubs and moss. The air was colder here, sharper, as if the ruin itself carried the chill of its ancient past. Lyra instinctively pulled her jacket tighter around her body, trying to fend off the cold that bit through to her bones.Rhett, standing next to her, seemed unaffected by the wind. At six feet three, he loomed tall against the darkening sky, his broad frame almost motionless despite the gusts. Harrison, looking somewhat impatient as he bounced on the balls of his feet, his hands stuffed into the pockets. He surveyed the wreck excitedly, almost oblivious to the cold breeze that was blowing around.“Where’s the crew?” Lyra’s voice barely carried over the wind.Harrison shrugged, his gaze fixed on the ominous stone structure ahead. “Packed up for the night, probably,” he replied. “Not like they’re expecting company out here anyway.”R
Every step seemed an intrusion, as if they were treading a sacred floor that had not seen living souls in centuries. Lyra's boots crunched over the gravel-strewn floor, every sound sharp, far too loud against the eerie stillness of the ancient ruin. She stuck close to Ivy and Rhett, taking comfort in the nearness of the others, yet the weight of the ruin bore down upon her. It was as though the air had thickened with the history of the place, clinging to her skin and seeping into her lungs with every breath.Harrison led the way, practically buzzing with excitement. He moved with a reckless energy, the same kind that had gotten them into countless risky situations before. His flashlight beam cut through the darkness ahead, momentarily distracting Lyra from the oppressive weight of the place. But only for a moment.“Anything yet?” she asked, her voice cutting through the silence that had settled over the group like a suffocating fog.Harrison turned, his grin flashing in the dim light
Tharion carefully placed a weathered tome on the table, its aged leather cover showing cracks, accompanied by scrolls that exuded an equally ancient air. A solitary lantern illuminated the room, casting elongated shadows on the stone walls. Lyra and Viana, consumed by curiosity, leaned in closer, their eyes gleaming with interest. “Alright,” Tharion commenced in a scholarly yet eager manner, “let's delve into the fundamentals—how Nerathia came into existence.”Lyra, feigning composure despite the myriad of questions bubbling within her, rested her chin on her hand. The sense of anticipation surged through her, though she strived not to disrupt the narrative unfolding before her.Turning the fragile, yellowed pages of the book, Tharion's lips curled into a faint smile as his fingers delicately traced the text. It seemed as though he had traversed the tale countless times, yet still found marvel in its words.“An era preceding mortals, cities, or even the notion of time, Nerathia lay
Tharion guided Lyra and Viana through the winding corridors of Valestra, the soft echo of their footsteps reverberating against the ancient stone walls. The flickering glow of enchanted lanterns bathed their path in a pale, ethereal light. The day’s events had left Lyra’s muscles sore, but the faint smell of parchment and ink in the air brought a strange comfort, reminiscent of the library back home. They entered a modest chamber with three neatly arranged beds and a table cluttered with scrolls and ink pots. Tharion paused, gesturing around with a bright smile. “You’ll rest here. Not bad, eh? Well, as much as one can expect while journeying with a god of chaos.” He glanced around as if expecting Zarekth to appear from the shadows. When he didn’t, Tharion shook his head. “Where is he? Wandering off, I suppose. Typical gods, always mysterious.” He looked back at Lyra and Viana, his face alight with excitement. “Still, I can’t believe it. You’re traveling with Zarekth. Do
The towering gates of Valestra, the City of Scholars, loomed before them, their intricate carvings glinting faintly under the soft glow of enchanted lanterns. The gates were vast, an imposing wall of engraved knowledge and symbols of wisdom, as though every inch carried the weight of history. Beyond them, faint murmurs of life could be heard—footsteps, low voices, and the hum of magic weaving through the air.Zarekth, Lyra, and Viana approached cautiously, their journey weary yet purposeful. Two magicians, clad in flowing robes lined with silver runes, emerged from their posts near the gate, their staff glowing faintly with defensive magic. Their expressions were stern, their gazes sharp as they surveyed the strangers before them.“Halt!” One of them commanded, his voice as crisp as the cold night air. “Who seeks entry into Valestra? Strangers are not welcome without cause.”Lyra tensed, clutching her bow instinctively. Viana stepped closer to her, though her own knives were sh
The ruins stood like a forgotten monument, its jagged stones and crumbled walls offering shelter from the night’s chill. The distant wind whispered through the ruins, carrying the last remnants of the battle they had just escaped. Lyra’s breath came in shallow gasps, her body tired but her mind racing from the encounter. She had barely noticed the minor scratches that lined her arms and face, too preoccupied with the danger that had almost claimed them.Viana, ever the healer, moved swiftly to her side. “You’re lucky, Lyra. Nothing too serious here,” she murmured as her hands glowed with healing light, closing the shallow cuts with a practiced touch.Lyra nodded, grateful for the comfort, but her eyes drifted toward Zarekth. The god’s face was strained, his jaw clenched as he stood, trying to ignore the pain radiating from his side. The slash was deep, the blood oozing from the wound in thick golden rivulets. Lyra’s heart skipped at the sight—gods didn’t bleed red, as mortals di
The dwindling fire barely illuminated the camp, casting subtle, flickering shadows. The night remained tranquil, disturbed only by the occasional leaf rustling in the breeze and the soft crackling of the embers. Lyra and Viana rested on their bedrolls, swathed in their cloaks, the fire's warmth easing them into a profound slumber.Zarekth, ever vigilant, had drifted into a restless slumber, though his mind never fully left the surrounding woods. Even in sleep, his senses remained sharp, attuned to any threat that may arise.And something was coming.The unfolding events began with a mere whisper, a faint and fragmented murmur that hovered on the fringes of consciousness. Subsequently, the ambient temperature plunged, shrouding the camp in a chilling embrace, while shadows seemed to lengthen ominously. An array of peculiar sounds permeated the atmosphere: soft skittering, faint rustling, and indistinct murmurs, suggestive of a veiled observer, a silent presence lingering nearby. As
The forest was alive with the murmurs of dusk—leaves rustling in the breeze, branches creaking under the weight of night-dwelling creatures, and distant howls echoing in the cool air. Lyra crouched low behind a jagged stone, her fingers tightening around the smooth wooden shaft of a borrowed bow. Viana knelt beside her, whispering instructions that only half-registered in Lyra’s buzzing mind.“Steady your hands, keep your eyes on the target,” Viana murmured, pointing toward their prey—a deer grazing in a moonlit clearing not far ahead. Its ears twitched as if sensing danger, though it continued its meal, oblivious to the two figures hidden among the shadows.Lyra exhaled deeply, feeling her heartbeat resonate loudly as she pulled the string back. Her muscles quivered under the unfamiliar strain, yet her anticipation overshadowed any physical discomfort. Peering intensely along the arrow's path, she observed her breath forming mist in the crisp air. Her focus narrowed to a singular
The air reeked of sulfur and decay. Shadows swayed unpredictably on the uneven walls, driven by a restless, simmering fire casting erratic flickers in the heart of the chamber. Within the vast expanse, skeletal remains, devoid of flesh, stood in rows, their empty sockets giving an impression of a perpetual, haunting gaze.The oppressive heat of the place made even the darkness feel alive, writhing with malicious intent.From the depths of the gloom came laughter—low and guttural at first, then rising into a cacophony of voices, each more twisted and deranged than the last.“Awake. Awake!” one voice hissed, its tone dripping with mockery. “The son of Aureon lives again. Can you believe it?”Laughter rippled through the chamber, sharp and biting, like claws scraping against stone.“Foolish,” another voice sneered. This one was deeper, a slow rumble that seemed to shake the very ground beneath. “He should have remained buried, forgotten. Who dared disturb the seal?”A third voice join
The group rested beneath the canopy of stars, the firelight flickering low as the chill of the night settled in. Lyra and Viana had drifted into peaceful sleep, their figures wrapped snugly in soft, woven cloaks that bore the craftsmanship of Sylvaen’s villagers. The faint sounds of their steady breathing blended with the crackle of the dying embers and the occasional rustle of leaves stirred by the cool wind.Zarekth, seated a few paces away from the campfire, allowed himself to close his eyes. Just for a moment.He rarely afforded himself this luxury, knowing how vulnerable it made him. But tonight, weariness lingered at the edges of his thoughts, pressing down with a weight even he couldn’t ignore. His eyelids drooped, and in the obscurity behind them, remnants of something long concealed began to awaken. A whisper—initially faint and indistinct—intricately wove its way into his consciousness, gradually increasing in volume with each fleeting second.The words were foreign, sh
Zarekth scowled, his patience already wearing thin. He cast a cold glance at Viana, who stood before him with a determined look in her eyes and a travel bag slung over her shoulder. The sight of her preparing to join their journey only added to his irritation. It was enough that Lyra had been thrust into his path—an unexpected weight he hadn’t asked for—but now this? Another mortal tagging along? He released a quiet exhale, gently squeezing the bridge of his nose.“You should go back,” Zarekth said, his voice flat and commanding. “This journey isn’t for you. It’s dangerous, and you’ll only slow us down.”Viana tilted her head proudly, indifferent to the biting coolness of his refusal. "I'm no longer a child," she said in a steady tone.“Alda knows that, which is why she let me leave. I’m seeking a better future, and I’ll find my own path when the time comes. But for now, I’ll travel with you both.”Lyra, standing at Viana’s side, crossed her arms and looked at Zarekth with a raise