Chapter 1: The Omen of Vandros

The night sky burned with the light of a dying star. From the highest tower of Vandros Keep, the celestial omen cast an eerie glow over the kingdom below—cobblestone streets lined with wary faces, soldiers tightening their grip on spears, and nobles whispering of prophecies too old to be ignored.

At the heart of the castle, in the dimly lit war chamber, Rheon Valdris stood before the king. His weathered armor bore the scars of battles long fought, but his piercing gaze remained steady. The air was thick with the scent of burning incense, masking the unease that had settled among the gathered lords and generals.

"The Epoch System stirs," murmured High Seer Elandor, his voice brittle with age. "The cycle nears its end. And with it—"

"The fall of Vandros." King Aldric's voice was sharp, filled with a weight few men could carry. His once-golden hair had begun to silver, his once-mighty hands trembled on the throne's armrests. "Unless we act."

Rheon knew what that meant. War.

"The eastern borders have already seen movement," said General Kaelith, stepping forward. "Zareth's forces grow bolder. If the sorcerer has discovered the Epoch Relic, then—"

A loud crash silenced the chamber.

The great doors burst open as a wounded scout stumbled inside, blood soaking his tattered cloak. "My lords… the fortress at Black Hollow… it has fallen. Zareth's army marches."

A hush fell over the room. Rheon clenched his jaw. Black Hollow was a day's ride from Vandros. If it had fallen, the capital was next.

"Rheon," the king said, rising to his feet. "You have served this kingdom as its sword. Now, I ask you to be its shield."

A heavy request. But Rheon had known this day would come.

Bowing his head, he answered, "Tell me where to go."

The king exhaled. "Find the Epoch Relic before Zareth does. If the prophecy is true, then it is the key to ending the cycle. Once and for all."

Rheon met the king's gaze. No one in this room knew what breaking the cycle would truly mean. No one knew if it was even possible.

But there was no other choice.

"Then I ride at dawn."

From the tower, the dying star pulsed once more—brighter, closer—its fate tied to a war yet to be fought.

Later That Night

Rheon stood on the castle's outer walls, overlooking the flickering torchlights of the city below. The capital of Vandros had always been a beacon of strength, but tonight, it felt fragile. Beneath the starlit sky, he could hear hushed voices from the streets—talk of omens, of war, of death.

Behind him, footsteps approached. He didn't turn. He already knew who it was.

"You're leaving."

The voice belonged to Elara Veyne, a skilled mage and the king's most trusted sorceress. She stood beside him, her violet cloak shifting in the wind. A thin silver circlet rested on her brow, the sigil of the royal arcanists gleaming in the moonlight.

Rheon sighed. "You already knew that."

Elara crossed her arms. "You can't do this alone."

"I don't have a choice."

"You do," she said, stepping closer. "You could let someone else chase ghosts and legends. You could stay and fight alongside your men."

Rheon turned to face her. "If I don't go, there won't be a kingdom left to defend."

She searched his face, and for a moment, the walls between them cracked. They had fought together for years, survived ambushes, sieges, and betrayals. He trusted her more than most.

That's why he couldn't let her follow him.

"Elara—"

"I'm coming with you," she said firmly.

Rheon hesitated. She was powerful, but this was different. This was a journey into the unknown, chasing a relic that might not even exist. But then again, if it did… he might need her.

Before he could answer, a deep, distant rumble filled the air.

Rheon's eyes snapped to the horizon. Beyond the city walls, far in the east, a faint red glow was rising. A fire.

No.

A warning.

Elara's breath hitched. "The front lines—"

"Have already begun to fall." Rheon gritted his teeth. "We don't have until dawn."

Without another word, he turned and strode toward the stables. The hunt for the Epoch Relic had begun.

Into the Unknown

The wind howled as Rheon rode through the eastern gates of Vandros, his cloak billowing behind him. The city walls shrank in the distance, and with them, the last vestiges of safety.

At his side, Elara Veyne guided her horse with practiced ease, her violet cloak blending into the darkness. She rode in silence, her gaze fixed on the path ahead, but Rheon knew she had a thousand thoughts running through her mind.

Behind them, three riders followed—Captain Dain Varros, a veteran soldier with a jagged scar across his cheek; Lorien Ashbrook, a rogue scout whose loyalty was as uncertain as his origins; and Brother Hadric, a priest of the Eldric Order, sworn to the gods of time and fate.

It was a small party for such a mission, but secrecy was their only advantage.

As they rode deeper into the wilderness, the shadows of the Vandrosian Highlands loomed ahead. The forests here were ancient, untouched by war but haunted by whispers of the past. Every tree, every twisted root seemed to hold memories of the cycles before.

"We should camp soon," Dain said, reining in his horse. "We're far enough from the city to avoid prying eyes, but we'll need rest before we reach the border."

Rheon nodded. "We'll set camp by the river. No fires."

They veered off the road, weaving through thick brush until they reached a secluded clearing. The distant sound of rushing water signaled the presence of the Azure Vein, a river that cut through the highlands like a silver blade.

As they dismounted, Lorien slipped away without a word, vanishing into the undergrowth. The rogue was a mystery even to Rheon, but his ability to move unseen had proven invaluable in the past.

"He'll be back," Elara murmured, sensing Rheon's hesitation.

"I know." Rheon removed his sword belt, setting his blade within reach as he sat against a fallen log. He hadn't spoken much since they left the capital, but the weight of what lay ahead pressed heavily on his mind.

Elara sat beside him. "You're thinking about the relic."

"I'm thinking about what happens if we don't find it."

She exhaled. "The king believes in you."

Rheon scoffed. "The king believes in prophecy. That's not the same thing."

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of the river.

Then, Lorien reappeared from the shadows. His face was tense.

"We're not alone."

Rheon stood immediately, his hand on his sword. "Scouts?"

Lorien shook his head. "No. Something worse."

Before he could elaborate, a sound echoed through the trees—a low, guttural growl, deep and unnatural.

Elara's fingers tightened around the hilt of her dagger. "That's not a man."

The bushes rustled violently, and then they saw it.

A creature emerged from the darkness, its body twisted and unnatural. Its form was vaguely human but stretched, its limbs too long, its eyes burning with an eerie blue glow. Shadows clung to its flesh, as if it was not entirely part of this world.

Hadric whispered a prayer. "A Wraithborn."

The name sent a chill through Rheon's spine. These were the remnants of those who had been consumed by the Epoch Cycle, souls cursed to wander between time and death.

The creature lunged.

Rheon barely had time to draw his blade before the wraith crashed into him, sending him sprawling. The weight was impossible, like being buried beneath stone. Its clawed hands reached for his throat, its breath a whisper of a thousand lost voices.

Elara shouted, her hands igniting with violet fire. She hurled a bolt of magic, striking the wraith's side, but it barely flinched.

Dain and Lorien attacked from the flanks, their blades slicing through the wraith's shadowed form. It shrieked, twisting unnaturally as it recoiled.

Rheon forced his arm free and drove his sword into the creature's chest. The moment the steel met flesh, a pulse of energy surged through him. His vision blurred.

For a split second, he saw something—another time, another battle. Himself, but different. Another life. Another cycle.

Then it was gone.

The wraith shrieked one final time before disintegrating into the night. Silence followed, the only sound remaining was the distant rush of the river.

Elara knelt beside Rheon. "Are you hurt?"

He hesitated before shaking his head. "No. But that wasn't a coincidence."

Hadric, still gripping his holy symbol, spoke grimly. "They know."

Rheon wiped his blade clean, his grip tightening.

If the Wraithborn were hunting them, it meant only one thing—Zareth's forces were already aware of their journey.

The race for the Epoch Relic had truly begun.