Echoes in the Dark

A heavy silence filled the room. The dim glow of smoldering candles flickered against the stone walls, casting long, shifting shadows. The faint scent of iron and oil clung to the air.

Agor lay curled on the sturdy bed, wrapped in a thick woolen blanket. His body was exhausted, his muscles aching from the long journey, yet sleep did not bring him peace. His mind drifted in uneasy slumber, swallowed by a strange, formless void.

Then, from the depths of darkness, a voice— it was deep and commanding;

"Agor… Agor…

Agor Stormborn… Vāshādris veln'kaṭh var ēsh'tur."

The words slithered through his mind like a whisper and a roar at once, spoken in a tongue he never understood but only just recently heard from the lips of the vice commander. Yet somehow, they unsettled him.

To his very bones, he shivered

The sound of it carring weight and power.

Agor gasped in his dream, he struggled to open his mouth, to speak, to demand answers.

Many questions he wanted to ask the formless void.

But his body would not move. He felt bound, held by unseen chains.

The shadow loomed before him, massive and undefined, shifting like smoke yet pulsing like flesh. It had no face, but its eyes—crimson, burning like twin stars in the abyss—pierced straight through him.

Then, pain.

A searing, unbearable heat erupted inside him, spreading through his veins like liquid fire. His chest tightened, his breath caught, and a pulse—a heartbeat not his own—thundered in his ears.

Thud-thud. Thud-thud.

It wasn't real. It wasn't real.

"Agor… Stormborn... Ṭhal'resh vālem kah'ṛūm."

"The blood calls to you"....it finally spoke , this in a familiar tongue.

Agor screamed as she sprang up from his slumber.

His body lurched forward, his breath ragged, his heart hammering against his ribs as if it sought to break free. His hands gripped the blanket, drenched in sweat. The walls of the room seemed smaller now, the air thick, suffocating. His head spun as he struggled to make sense of what he had just experienced.

His entire body ached. His limbs felt alien. And yet… something stirred beneath his skin.

His fingers trembled as they brushed against his chest. The pain was gone, yet he swore he could still feel the fire burning inside him.

Agor exhaled shakily, forcing himself to breathe.

It was just a dream.

But why did it feel so real?

****************

The city of Eaglestone was quiet at this hour. Shadows stretched long under the moonlight, broken only by the occasional flicker of torchlight along the narrow streets.

Three figures moved through the alleys, silent as ghosts.

A girl and two boys.

They slinked through the maze of pathways, staying low, avoiding the main roads.

"You're sure it was him?" Ronan asked in a hushed voice, glancing warily over his shoulder. He was the tallest of the trio, his sharp green eyes flickering with doubt. He was quick-footed, sharp-tongued, always looking for an angle.

"It was him," the girl whispered back confidently. Lirien a wild-haired, amber-eyed, and utterly fearless young girl just above 9yrs. She was the brains of the trio.

"You only saw him from a distance," the second boy, Malik, grumbled. He was shorter than Ronan, broader in the shoulders, his thick brown hair messy from the night wind. "Could've been someone else."

"You think I wouldn't recognize Garrick?" Lirien scoffed. "I'd know that old bastard anywhere."

Ronan smirked. "And if he's back…"

"There'll be something worth taking," Malik finished, his grin wide.

They moved faster now, the promise of stolen goods driving them.

Garrick had always been good to them. He often chased them off jokingly, never scolded them when they "borrowed" things. If he had returned, there would be rations, maybe even sweet fruits of the wild —an impossible luxury they knew, but they had to home.

They had never stepped out of the walls of Eaglestone since birth so they had to rely on Garrick asides their parents for rare delights, even if it means stealing.

The walls of Eaglestine has made them tough.

As they neared Garrick's home, Ronan reached for the latch, his fingers barely grazing the metal when—

A scream.

It wasn't a normal scream. It was raw, terrified, like something being ripped apart from the inside.

The three of them froze.

Ronan's breath hitched. Malik took a step back. Even Lirien, ever fearless, hesitated.

A heavy silence followed, thick and unnatural. The kind that pressed against the skin, making every hair rise.

"What… was that?" Malik whispered.

Ronan swallowed hard. "We should leave,I don't think this is a good idea".

But Lirien wasn't listening. She stepped forward and pushed open the door.

The room was dim, the embers in the forge still glowing faintly.

And there, sitting on the edge of a bed, was a boy their age—drenched in sweat, his chest rising and falling as though he had just surfaced from drowning.

His eyes were wide with terror.

Lirien's sharp gaze swept over him.

Dark hair, tangled and damp. A thin but strong frame. Storm-colored eyes, distant yet intense.

"You're not Garrick," she said flatly.

Agor swallowed, his throat dry.

"Who… who are you?" He asked.

Ronan and Malik had already moved past the initial shock sensing there wasn't a cause for alarm began rummaging through the shelves in search of spoils.

Lirien ignored them, stepping closer.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," she observed.

Agor ran a hand over his face. "I—"

"What happened to you?" she pressed.

"I don't know." His voice was hoarse. "A dream… I think."

Lirien raised an eyebrow. "Must've been some on hell of a dream to make you scream like that."

Agor clenched his fists, embarrassed.

Ronan groaned. "Nothing here."

Malik kicked the leg of the table. "Tch. Thought we'd at least find sweets."

Lirien wasn't paying attention. She was still watching Agor, studying him.

"What's your name?" she asked.

A pause. Then, "Agor."

"Agor," she repeated, testing the name. Then she grinned.

"Well, Agor, you're one weird looking boy."

Before he could respond, Ronan grabbed her arm. "We're leaving. Garrick could be back any moment."

"Yeah, yeah."

Lirien glanced back at Agor. "Guess I'll see you around, then. Agor werid boy"

Something about her tone made him smile a little.

And then, just like that, they were gone.

Agor had barely begun to gather his thoughts when the door swung open again.

This time, it was Garrick.

The old soldier's face was unreadable, but there was something hard in his gaze. He shut the door behind him, exhaling sharply.

"They've called for us," Garrick said grimly.

Agor stiffened. "Who?"

"The Commander."

The weight of those words settled heavily in the room.

Garrick gave him a long look.

"Say nothing unless I tell you to," he warned.

Agor swallowed.

The air between them felt heavy, charged with something unseen.

Garrick turned toward the door. "Get some rest , soon we move , hopefully it's nothing too serious."

A long silence settled between them

As Agor layed back on the bed.