The First Step

The man looked down at him, face still hidden beneath the hood. His voice was low and sharp, the words foreign.

"Zhen vekar, tus'hir emal ra?"

Elior froze. He didn't understand, but it was clearly a question. The man tilted his head slightly, waiting.

Elior didn't answer.

He didn't know this man. Didn't know where he was. Every part of him said to run. But behind him was the forest - the same forest that had spat out that monster. The night was thick, the trees unfamiliar, and even if he could run, he didn't know where to go.

Following the stranger might be dangerous. But staying behind felt worse.

So he nodded once.

The man turned without another word and started walking. Elior followed.

They left the clearing quickly, the man moving fast but steady. He didn't look back. Elior kept his eyes on the cloak in front of him, not wanting to fall behind. His shoes were wet, his hands still stained with blood from the earlier attack, and his legs burned with every step - but he kept going.

It wasn't long before lights appeared ahead, faint and golden through the night mist. Two figures stood at the entrance of a wide wooden gate - guards, dressed in layered leather and dark cloth. Each held a sword at their side, and on the hilt of each blade was a thick crystal, pulsing faintly with light.

They said nothing as the stranger approached. One of them shifted his grip on the hilt slightly, but didn't raise the weapon.

Elior stayed close behind.

The village beyond the gate was quiet. Stone houses stood in neat rows, most dark except for the occasional glow behind shuttered windows. Roofs were sloped and tiled, the streets paved with uneven stone. It was nothing like Cresthill. No cars, no lights, no buzz of wires in the air. Just the sound of boots on rock and the distant creak of wooden beams settling.

They didn't pass anyone else.

The man led him through the narrow streets toward a building near the edge of the village. It was squat and square, with thick stone walls and a single lantern burning beside the door. He knocked twice, sharp and slow.

After a moment, the door opened. A woman stood inside. Her face was partly in shadow, but her voice was clear. She said something in the same language the man had spoken earlier.

They talked for a minute - calm, brief, and in low voices. Then they both looked at Elior. He stood still, unsure if he should speak. The woman's expression didn't change. The man finally motioned with a hand. "Come."

Inside was plain. Cool stone floor, narrow walls. No decorations, no clutter. He was led down a short hall to a small room with a wooden bed, a stool, and a crate with a cloth on it. A folded blanket sat at the foot of the mattress.

The man gestured again - this time more firmly. "Stay."

Elior stepped in. The man closed the door behind him. He heard the lock turn.

He stood there for a moment. Then he sat on the edge of the bed, body heavy. His mind was still racing, but his limbs couldn't keep up. His shoulders sagged. His chest hurt.

The day had started like any other. Now he was in a stone room in a place that wasn't even supposed to exist. He didn't understand a single word anyone said. He didn't know what would happen tomorrow.

He thought of Max. Of Ava. Of the twins. Of the orphanage, and toast, and early morning walks to school.

They were gone.

He pulled the blanket over his shoulders and lay down, curling in on himself. Tears came slowly. Not loud, not sudden - just steady. He didn't even wipe them away. He just let them fall until sleep finally reached him, and everything went dark.

Elior woke to a dim light pressing gently against his closed eyelids. It wasn't the harsh glare of electric bulbs or the orange haze of streetlights, but something quieter. When he opened his eyes, it took him a moment to understand where he was.

The room was still the same - stone walls, thin blanket, no windows. Only now there was a narrow shaft of light filtering through a slit near the ceiling. It looked like part of the wall had been carved open to let in the morning air. Dust floated in the light, shifting slightly whenever he moved.

He sat up slowly, the ache in his body dull but constant. His clothes were wrinkled, his skin sticky from dried sweat and dirt. For a while, he just sat there, not sure what to do. There was no clock. No noise from passing cars or street chatter. Only the faint sound of footsteps beyond the wall, and what might've been a voice calling out once, far away.

His throat was dry. His stomach felt tight and empty. He hadn't eaten since… he didn't even know. Maybe the night before the explosion. Maybe longer.

A few minutes passed. Then the door opened.

It wasn't the cloaked man this time. A younger person - maybe a boy in his late teens - stepped in, holding a small wooden tray. On it sat a slice of coarse bread, a bowl of something that looked like porridge, and a cup of clear water.

The boy didn't say anything. He placed the tray on the stool and gave Elior a quick glance. Then he turned and left, closing the door behind him without a word.

Elior looked at the food. It wasn't much, and it didn't smell like anything he recognized, but he ate it anyway. Slowly, carefully. The porridge was bland but warm. The bread was dry but filled the empty space in his stomach. The water was clean.

When he was finished, he put the tray back on the stool and leaned against the wall, listening.

The world outside the room had come alive. He could hear footsteps now - heavy ones, light ones. Murmured conversation. Something metallic clinked against stone. A door opened and closed somewhere. He didn't know what time it was or what was going to happen next.

He just waited.

Some time passed. Elior didn't know how long. The tray remained where he left it, and no one came. He sat on the edge of the bed, then stood, paced a little, then sat again. His body had stopped aching, but everything inside still felt tight - like something was waiting to happen.

Eventually, the door creaked open again.

The cloaked man stood there, just as silent as before. He said nothing, only lifted one hand and gestured for Elior to come.

Elior hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward. The man didn't wait. He turned and started walking.

They left the building into soft daylight. The village looked different now. The quiet, sleeping place from the night before had woken up. People were moving through the streets, carrying crates, guiding carts, talking in low voices. The morning air smelled faintly of ash and something earthy - not unpleasant, just unfamiliar.

The houses, now seen clearly, were made of stone with wooden beams and tiled roofs. Each had its own little space around it - some with stacked firewood, others with crates or bundles of herbs laid out to dry. The roads were cobbled unevenly, and a shallow channel ran through one side of the main street, carrying clear water past the buildings.

Elior kept close behind the stranger. He noticed the man hadn't taken off his cloak, even in daylight. The people they passed gave them both long looks. Some barely glanced at Elior before turning away. Others stared more openly, eyebrows raised, expressions cold or unreadable.

A few children playing near a doorway stopped and whispered something to each other when they saw him.

He didn't understand what they said, but the tone was clear enough. Curious. Maybe cautious.

He walked with his eyes lowered, trying not to meet anyone's gaze.

They passed a workshop where someone was bending glowing metal using nothing but their hands and a shimmering blue aura. Further down the road, two men were loading supplies onto a beast Elior had never seen before - thick-skinned and horned, with three eyes and a steady, slow breath that fogged the morning air.

It was nothing like Cresthill. No phones. No wires. No signs. Everything was alive and quiet in a different way.

Elior felt even smaller than he had the night before.

The man led him down a wider path to a larger stone building with arched windows and a wooden sign hanging from an iron hook - though the symbols on it didn't mean anything to Elior. Two guards stood outside, both dressed in dark vests and leather wraps that looked sturdy but light. Each carried a sword, and like the ones at the gate, a crystal was embedded in the hilt.

As they approached, the stranger gave the guards a small nod. They didn't speak, just stepped aside to let them pass.

The building inside was quieter. Cooler. The walls were smooth stone, and the floor was lined with thick rugs woven in pale blue and gray patterns. They entered a hall where a single figure stood near a long table - a tall man in deep blue robes, his white hair tied back, with a thick band of dark ink etched across his cheekbone.

He and the cloaked stranger began to speak. The language was still foreign to Elior - soft vowels, sharp turns, sounds that didn't quite settle right in his ear.

Then both men turned toward him. The robed man narrowed his eyes slightly. The stranger nodded once, then raised a hand and motioned for Elior to stay put. He pointed to the ground. It wasn't a command, exactly, but Elior understood the meaning.

He stood still.

He still didn't know where he was, or why they were looking at him like he wasn't supposed to be there. But something was happening. A choice had been made.

The stranger returned after what felt like an hour. He entered the room alone, still silent, and gestured for Elior to follow once again. This time, Elior didn't hesitate. There wasn't much left to fear inside that bare room, and a quiet part of him had already accepted that wherever this was heading, it was better than being left behind.

They stepped outside into the courtyard. The morning sun was higher now, soft but steady. Villagers moved about with practiced rhythm - sweeping steps, hauling sacks, guiding animals. The stranger led Elior past them without a word.

Waiting near the entrance of the village was something Elior had never seen.

The creature stood tall, its long, lean body covered in smooth dark scales that shimmered faintly in the sunlight. Two powerful hind legs braced its weight, while folded wings stretched nearly the length of a small house along its sides. Its front limbs were short but ended in sharp, talon-like fingers. A ridged spine ran from its narrow head down to the base of its tail. It wasn't a dragon - not quite - but it wasn't far off either. There was intelligence in the way it turned to look at them, eyes gleaming like polished bronze.

A saddle was strapped firmly across its back, with reinforced leather harnesses and glowing lines etched into the straps - energy-infused, Elior guessed. A smaller crystal was embedded just above the saddle's central hook.

Two guards stood nearby, speaking quietly to each other. One of them gave the stranger a nod as they approached, then turned to glance at Elior, studying him for a moment before walking away. The other simply watched, arms crossed, unmoving.

The stranger placed a hand on the beast's side. It lowered its body slightly, wings tightening. Then he turned to Elior and pointed up to the saddle.

Elior blinked. "Wait-" he started, but the man didn't respond. He held his hand out again, waiting.

The message was clear. This was the next step.

Elior stepped closer, trying not to look uncertain. The Skelvyn let out a low, steady exhale, warm and strangely steadying. Its scent was earthy, like stone and smoke and wind all mixed together. He gripped the saddle's edge, climbed up slowly, and settled into place.

The man climbed up behind him, more fluidly, securing the straps without a word. A sharp whistle escaped his lips, and the Skelvyn moved. It took a few slow strides forward before its wings flared wide - a sudden rush of wind lifting dust from the ground.

Elior braced himself as the world dropped away beneath them.

The ascent wasn't rough, but it was fast. The village fell back quickly, its stone buildings shrinking beneath them as the Skelvyn rose. Trees gave way to hills, then to winding roads and open plains beyond. The air grew thinner, cooler, but the beast moved with ease, wings slicing through the sky like they belonged there.

Elior didn't speak. He couldn't. His hands gripped the saddle tightly, but slowly, his fear began to fade. Beneath him was a world he didn't know. Ahead was something else entirely.

Whatever this place was… it was real. And it wasn't going away.