Chapter 1: Echoes of the Past

A chilling wind swept across the ruins of an ancient battlefield, carrying with it the whispers of warriors long since fallen. Shattered weapons lay embedded in the scorched earth, rusted relics of a war forgotten by time. A lone figure stirred amidst the wreckage, his body half-buried beneath the dust of ages.

Kael Veyrith awoke with a gasp.

His lungs burned as he inhaled the cold air, his vision swimming as he tried to process his surroundings. His body ached, every muscle sore as if he had been through a thousand battles. He tried to recall how he had ended up here, but his mind was an empty void—a vast abyss where memories should have been.

Panic set in. Who was he? Why was he here?

Staggering to his feet, Kael surveyed the wasteland before him. The sky above was fractured, bands of ethereal light twisting through the heavens, illuminating the jagged floating landmasses in the distance. The Fractured Realms—he recognized the name, but the knowledge felt distant, as though it belonged to someone else.

A sudden, sharp pain lanced through his skull, and with it came a flood of fragmented images. A city in flames. A towering citadel reaching toward the heavens. A figure cloaked in darkness, eyes burning like embers. And then—nothing. The images faded, leaving him with more questions than answers.

"You're awake."

Kael spun, instincts kicking in before his mind could process. A blade of crackling blue energy materialized in his hand—a reaction born not from thought, but from something deeper. The man before him raised his hands in surrender, a wry smile on his face.

"Easy there, stranger. I mean no harm."

Kael hesitated, taking in the man's ragged clothing, the twin daggers at his belt, and the gleam of intelligence in his storm-grey eyes. A survivor, just like him.

"Who are you?" Kael's voice was hoarse, unfamiliar even to his own ears.

"Name's Renn," the man said. "And you're in the middle of the Iron Reach—a place you don't want to be alone in for too long. Raiders will be coming soon, drawn to the Etherflow left behind by the dead."

Etherflow. The word struck a chord deep within Kael's soul. The very energy that bound existence together, the power of warriors past and present. He could feel it coursing through his veins, alive and waiting to be wielded.

Renn eyed the blade in Kael's hand. "Judging by that little trick of yours, I'd say you're not an ordinary traveler. And from the look on your face, I'd wager you don't remember much either."

Kael tensed. "What do you know about me?"

"Not a damn thing," Renn admitted, "but I've seen that look before—people waking up in the middle of nowhere, lost and confused. The Fractured Realms are full of ghosts, friend. Some of them just haven't realized they're dead yet."

Before Kael could respond, the air shifted. A presence, dark and oppressive, descended upon them. From the shadows of the ruins emerged figures clad in mismatched armor, their eyes glinting with predatory hunger. Raiders.

"Looks like we've got company," Renn muttered, reaching for his daggers.

Kael tightened his grip on the crackling energy blade in his hand. The whispers of warriors past echoed in his mind, guiding his stance, his movements. He had no memory, no past—but in this moment, he had purpose.

And he would carve his own path, one battle at a time.