the crimson dawn

The screech of tires ripped through the humid afternoon air. Jason saw the little girl, no older than five, chasing a bright red ball into the street. He didn't hesitate. Time seemed to slow, the honking of the truck blurring into a distorted drone as he sprinted forward, a primal roar escaping his lips.

He shoved her, he got to her in time thankfully, felt the brief, solid impact of his shoulder against her tiny frame. He tasted asphalt, felt the searing pain explode across his body.

Then, nothing. Just a profound, echoing silence.

He wasn't afraid. He was…content. He had saved her. He had done something good in this life.

A blinding light enveloped him. He felt weightless, drifting. Then, voices. Which he didn't recognize at first as Not human voices, but something resonant and ancient, echoing with power that made his very soul tremble.

"Such a selfless act…a spark of true goodness, extinguished too soon."

"A pity. Think he deserves a reward, a second chance maybe."

"You know We cannot interfere directly. The balance must be maintained. But…maybe a blessing. One from all of us ,A subtle nudge."

"Agreed. Let him be reborn. Let him carry a spark of our power within him, a 'God Aura' to guide and protect him. You have been needing more champions in that your world, But…he must be warned. Its misuse could have dire consequences."

The voices faded, leaving him alone in the void. Then, a pull, a dizzying rush, and…darkness again. But this time, it smelled of stale milk and perfume, and a high-pitched wail pierced the silence.

Jason woke to a world of muted colors and constant discomfort. His limbs were clumsy, his vision blurred, and his only form of communication was a pathetic cry. He was a baby again.

Terror clawed at him. Was this a nightmare? But the sensations were too real, too visceral. He was trapped in a tiny, helpless body. He was a baby, or maybe it was the accident.

He soon understood the truth. He had been reincarnated. Reborn into a world that was nothing like his own.

His name was now Elian, and he was the youngest son of Lord Theron, a minor noble in the kingdom of Aethelgärd. The family estate was small, the land unremarkable, and the title held little power. They were, in essence, landed gentry, relying on meager harvests and occasional commissions from the crown to survive with the occasional inspection from the crown that was an excuse to have members of the royal family hide away.

As he grew, he observed his new surroundings with a mixture of fascination and dread. This world was steeped in magic. And He saw it everywhere, in the flickering torches fueled by enchanted oil, in passing whispers of healers and warriors wielding arcane abilities, and in the very air itself, thrumming with an energy he couldn't quite grasp as yet. But Mana was all around and he could feel it.

He also sensed something else, something hidden deep within him, a radiant warmth that resonated with the memory of the voices in the void. The God Aura. When he tried to see what it was he would seep into the alternate plan.

But the voices had warned him. Misuse could have dire consequences. What those consequences were, he didn't know, but the feeling of impending doom was enough to make him cautious.

He learned to control it, to suppress it, to hide it. He pretended to be a normal child, observing the rituals and customs of his new life with feigned disinterest. He learned the language, memorized the family history, and listened intently to the stories of heroes and monsters that filled the long winter nights.

His family, however, was less than encouraging. Lord Theron was a stern, distant man, more concerned with managing his estate than nurturing his children. His mother, Lady Anya, was a creature of social graces and delicate health, more interested in securing a good marriage for her eldest daughter than tending to the needs of her youngest son.

His elder brother, Elijah, was the heir apparent - arrogant, and physically gifted. He saw Elian as a weakling, a new burden on the family's already strained resources. Elijah excelled at swordsmanship and horseback riding, everything Elian seemed incapable of grasping.

"Look at him, Father," Elijah would sneer, pointing at Elian struggling with a wooden sword. "He'll never be a warrior. He's good for nothing but books and prayers."

Lord Theron would merely sigh and shake his head. "Perhaps. But even the smallest pebble can find its place in the right foundation."

His only solace came from the family tutor, Master Silas, a wizened old man with a sharp mind and a kind heart. Silas recognized Elian's keen intellect and nurtured his love for learning, teaching him history, philosophy, and the rudiments of magic, runes and spirits – all while stressing the importance of discretion in their age when the kingdom had banned the use of magic.

"Knowledge is a weapon, Elian," Silas would say, his eyes twinkling. "But a weapon is only as good as the hand that wields it. And some weapons are best kept hidden, lest they draw unwanted attention."

Silas had dreamed once about the kid enough to suspect something about Elian, some hidden gift, but he never pressed him. He simply guided him, preparing him for a future he himself couldn't predict but felt sure would come.

The kingdom of Aethelgärd inscripted highly magic affinities persons to the army marrying them to nobility to keep the system running.

The threat to Elian's survival wasn't war or famine, but the intricate web of courtly intrigue and familial ambition. He learned not long before his 8th birthday that vulnerability was a death sentence visiting the capital. He had to hide his abilities, his knowledge, and most importantly, his God Aura. He had to blend in, to be invisible. He had to survive at the academy as a nobody until his eighteenth birthday, a milestone that marked the end of his legal childhood and the beginning of true independence.

Only then, he believed, would he be free to forge his own destiny.

What He didn't know, instinctively, that his eighteenth birthday held some significance, a turning point connected to the God Aura. What that significance was, was an unnatural showing of each blessings showing.

But before then He had to be patient. He had to be clever. He had to be ruthless, if necessary.

Elian, the boy cursed and blessed with a divine spark, would learn to play the game. He was learning to survive in the shadows of privilege, waiting for the crimson dawn that would herald his own emerald soul.

Years passed, etching themselves onto Elian's face and hardening his heart. He continued to cultivate his facade of mediocrity, training at night but deliberately failing at physical tasks and feigning a lack of interest in courtly affairs. He became a master of understatement, a chameleon blending seamlessly into the background.

His brother, Elijah and his ambitions, continued to rise in prominence. He was said to be everything Elian wasn't - strong, charismatic, and destined for greatness. He trained relentlessly, honing his combat skills, even stooping low enough to duel his brother every once in a while, and earning the favor of the local lord, Baron Vicadius, a powerful figure with a reputation for cruelty whispered in the dark halls.

Elijah's ambition was palpable; he craved recognition, power, and influence. He once saw Elian as a threat to his inheritance, but over time with his help, Elian had made it abundantly clear he had no interest in claiming the estate. The suspicion between them simmered just beneath the surface, a subtle tension that filled the household.

Meanwhile, Elian delved deeper into his studies with Master Silas. He mastered ancient languages, deciphered forgotten texts, and explored the arcane arts through theoretical exercises. He learned about the history of Aethelgard, the rise and fall of empires, and the legends of powerful mages who had shaped the course of history.

Silas also tried his best to teach him practical skills, such as herbalism, alchemy, and basic healing techniques. He emphasized the importance of understanding the natural world, the interconnectedness of all living things, and the dangers of disrupting the delicate balance.

"Magic is not a toy, Elian," Silas warned, his voice grave. "It is a force of nature, wild and unpredictable. It must be treated with respect and caution, lest it consume you. Following in the footsteps of the Draconian empire"

Elian understood the weight of his words. He felt the power of the God Aura within him recognize that name,as he thought "a vast reservoir of energy that could be used for good or evil".

He now had a new found drive, he had to be in control, to master its potential before it consumed him.

One sweltering summer afternoon, while exploring the ancient woods bordering the Theron estate, Elian stumbled upon something unexpected. For years, He had always felt a strange pull towards that part of the Wildwood, nudged by a sense of familiarity that he couldn't explain. It was as if the trees themselves were calling to him, whispering secrets on the wind.

As this day would have it, the whispers had grown too audible to ignore, and thought to cure his curiosity.

He discovered a hidden clearing, bathed in an ethereal light that filtered through the dense forest. In the center of the clearing stood an ancient oak, its gnarled branches reaching towards the sky like supplicating arms. Around the base of the tree, strange symbols were carved into the roots, glowing faintly with an inner light. Could this be the world tree he had read about as guessed by many philosophers prior?

As Elian approached, he felt a surge of energy pulsing through him, resonating with the God Aura within him. The symbols on the tree seemed to vibrate, humming with an ancient power.

A voice echoed in his mind, not spoken aloud, but directly implanted into his consciousness.

"Welcome, Walker of Two Worlds. You have been chosen."

Elian froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He scanned the clearing, but saw nothing. He was alone. Or was he?

"Do not fear. I am the Guardian of this Wood, a protector of ancient secrets."

"Who are you?" Elian thought, his mind racing. "What do you want?"

"I have watched you, Elian Theron. I have knowledge of the power within you, the spark of the divine. You, my friend, are destined for greater things, but you must first prove yourself worthy."

"Worthy?! Worthy of what?" Elian asked, his voice trembling.

"Worthy of wielding the power to shape your destiny. A darkness is rising, Elian, a shadow that threatens to engulf Aethelgard. You shall face it."

The voice instructed him to place his hand on the oak's trunk. As he hesitantly complied, the carved runes flared with blinding light, surging through his body. He felt pain, intense and agonizing, as his own power danced with the tree's ancient magic.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it ended. The light faded, the voice disappeared, and Elian was left trembling, drained, and utterly confused.

He looked down at his hand. The palm glowed faintly with a green luminescence, the same color as the ancient runes. He felt a connection to the wood, a deep sense of understanding and belonging, his mind flooded with scrolls of the ancients.

The Guardian of the Wood had awakened something within him, something that resonated with the God Aura and amplified its power. Could it be the runes? Did they have an upgrade effect? He felt stronger, more confident, but also more vulnerable. He knew that he had taken a step into a world he couldn't fully comprehend, a world filled with danger and uncertainty.

He kept his encounter a secret, not even confiding in Master Silas. He knew that revealing his connection to the Wildwood would only attract unwanted attention. He had to learn to control his newfound abilities, to understand the true nature of the darkness that was rising.

He had to be ready. His eighteenth birthday was fast approaching, and he knew that his life was about to change forever. The whispers of the Wildwood had set him on a path, a path that would lead him to either glory or destruction.