Chapter 2

The journey through the forest was eerily silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves and the clink of armor as the soldiers moved. Lucien—still struggling to grasp the reality of his situation—followed closely, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Every step he took felt both familiar and alien, as though the land itself recognized him, but he was still an outsider.

The leader, who had introduced himself as Captain Brax, remained alert, his eyes scanning the surroundings. The tension in the air was palpable, and Lucien couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding. As they walked, he tried to piece together the fragmented memories in his mind—bits of arcane knowledge, ancient battles, and the sensation of power that flowed just beneath the surface of his skin.

"Where are we headed?" Lucien finally asked, breaking the silence. His voice was calm, though he couldn't entirely mask the curiosity and unease he felt.

"To our camp, near the borders of the Fellwood," Brax replied without turning around. "We've been stationed there to keep watch over the area. These lands have become increasingly dangerous since the war began."

Lucien nodded, though the name "Fellwood" sparked no recognition in his mind. This world, Eldoria, was still a mystery to him—its history, its people, and the war that Brax had mentioned. He knew he needed to learn quickly if he was to survive, let alone find his place in this world.

As they continued, Lucien's thoughts drifted to the power he had unwittingly displayed earlier. The light that had emanated from his hand felt natural, as if it had always been a part of him. But what disturbed him most was the ease with which he had called upon it, despite having no conscious memory of how to do so.

The forest began to thin, and Lucien caught sight of a small encampment ahead, nestled between the trees. Several tents were set up in a rough circle, with a large bonfire burning in the center. A handful of soldiers milled about, sharpening weapons or tending to the fire, but they all looked up as the group approached.

Brax led Lucien to the largest tent, its entrance flanked by two stern-looking guards. "Wait here," Brax instructed, before ducking inside.

Lucien stood awkwardly by the entrance, his gaze sweeping over the camp. The soldiers gave him wary glances, clearly unsure of what to make of him. He noticed that the camp was modest, but well-organized—these were seasoned warriors, not mere foot soldiers.

After a few moments, Brax emerged from the tent, followed by a tall, imposing woman with striking silver hair and sharp, ice-blue eyes. She wore a suit of dark, intricately designed armor, and carried herself with an air of authority that commanded respect. This was someone who was not to be trifled with.

"This is Captain Elara Drakos" Brax said, stepping aside to allow the woman to approach Lucien. "She is in charge of our operations here."

Lucien's heart skipped a beat. Drakos—that name tugged at something in his mind, a half-formed memory that he couldn't quite place. He bowed slightly, unsure of the customs of this world but hoping to show respect.

"Lucien Valenheart, is it?" Elara's voice was smooth, yet laced with steel. She studied him with a penetrating gaze that seemed to weigh his very soul. "A name that carries weight, even after all these years. Yet, it's one that should not exist in this time."

Lucien straightened, meeting her gaze. "I don't fully understand what's happening," he admitted. "I woke up in this world with memories that aren't mine… but also are. I know that I am Lucien Valenheart, but I also know that I am someone else. I need answers."

Elara nodded slowly, as if she had expected such confusion. "The Valenheart line was thought to be lost," she began, her tone measured. "They were powerful mages, protectors of the realm. But after the cataclysm a hundred years ago, they vanished, and with them, a crucial part of our world's defense. If you truly are a Valenheart… then your return could change everything."

Lucien felt a cold shiver run down his spine. A hundred years ago? The thought was staggering. He had been pulled not only to another world, but another time entirely.

"I need to understand this world," Lucien said, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. "And my place in it. You mentioned a war—what is it we're fighting for?"

Elara's eyes softened slightly, her gaze shifting to the camp as she spoke. "Eldoria is on the brink of collapse. The war started as a conflict between the northern kingdoms, but it has spread like wildfire, consuming everything in its path. Old alliances have crumbled, and the dark forces that were once kept at bay by the Valenhearts have begun to rise again."

She turned back to Lucien, her expression grave. "We fight for survival—for the future of our world. But with your arrival, there is hope that we might find a way to turn the tide. You possess magic that has been lost for generations, Lucien. And we need it, now more than ever."

Lucien took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her words. This wasn't just about him anymore. He had been thrust into a world on the edge of destruction, and whether he liked it or not, he had a role to play in its fate.

"Then teach me," he said firmly. "Help me understand what I am capable of, and I will do whatever I can to help."

Elara studied him for a moment longer before nodding. "Very well, Lucien Valenheart. You will have your answers, and your training. But know this: the path ahead will be fraught with danger. And if you are truly the last of the Valenhearts, then you carry the weight of a thousand lifetimes on your shoulders."

Lucien nodded, determination hardening in his chest. "I understand. And I'm ready."

Elara turned to Brax. "Prepare a tent for him. He stays with us. And make sure he's properly equipped—he may be a mage, but he's still in a warrior's world."

Brax saluted and motioned for Lucien to follow him. As they walked away, Lucien couldn't help but glance back at Elara, who stood watching him with an unreadable expression.

As Lucien settled into the camp that night, he felt the enormity of his situation pressing down on him. But there was also a spark of hope—a sense that, despite the dangers, he might finally find his place in this world. And as he lay down to rest, his thoughts drifted to the name Drakos once more, that elusive memory tugging at the edges of his consciousness.

Who was Elara Drakos? And why did her name resonate so deeply within him?