How long had it been since Aelar last trod the sacred earth of his forebears? Scarce a week, yet each hour stretched into years, as though time itself bent beneath the weight of ancestral memory. This was the land of the gods, where dragons once coiled in the heavens and the first sparks of civilization flickered into being. Upon these hallowed grounds had the tapestry of history been woven, thread by thread, from the dawn of the Nirani to the present. And now, after untold generations, he was the first of his line to return.For all his days, Aelar had known naught but the sea’s ceaseless embrace. His world had been the creaking timbers of a ship, a vessel that pitched and swayed with the whims of the deep.
There were nights when tempests roared, when the hull shuddered as if the waves sought to hurl them into the abyss. Yet ever they endured, huddled in the dark belly of the ship, awaiting the storm’s surrender. That selfsame craft, weathered and worn, now lay beached upon the shore—its final voyage complete, its duty discharged. It had borne them to this fabled land, and there it would rest, never again to taste the salt of the sea.Memories of that ship clung to him like damp mist. Tales of old, whispered legends of Nirani kings, and murmured portents of days yet to come had filled its cramped quarters.
Knowledge had been his birthright, freely given, never veiled. Yet on this day, as his boots sank into the soil of his destiny, a shadow of doubt gnawed at him. What secret had eluded them, lost amid the waves and the winds?As they had drawn near the island, his mother had pressed a horn into his hands. No mere trinket, it was a relic of jagged beauty—twisted and dark, its surface gleaming like polished obsidian, its tip honed to a cruel point. A dragon horn, she named it, an heirloom threaded through the blood of their line, back to the first Nirani king. A gift, she said, bestowed by an old god in token of an ancient pact. Its call, when sounded, would summon the dragons of Niran—every beast from the eldest to the last—not in flesh, but as specters of power, a shimmering host to cow their foes and proclaim their might.When Aelar set the horn to his lips and loosed its keening wail, the world trembled.
The sky erupted with wings, a legion of dragons unfurling across the heavens. Hundreds they were, their scales glinting like a storm of stars, their vastness blotting out the sun until day masqueraded as night. Some towered colossal, their shadowed forms rivaling the distant mountains that pierced the horizon. His companions staggered, fear seizing them as the air thrummed with the beat of phantom wings.
Even his mother, steel-wrought and unyielding, flinched—a fleeting betrayal of instinct. But Aelar stood unmoved, his gaze lifted to the sky where the dragons wheeled, sentinels of a lineage reborn. Far off, the enemy's island many-towered sentries loomed, their stone eyes fixed upon the intruders. Yet no challenge came, no arrow flew. Doubtless, the watchers had fled, scurrying like rats into burrows beneath the earth, seeking refuge from the dread host that soared above. For who among them would dare defy the will of gods and kings, made manifest in the shadow of dragons?
In truth, Aelar had been weaned on whispers of his fate, soft as the wind through reeds, relentless as the tide’s pull. He was the promised prince—so the voices of his kin decreed—the one destined to tread the sacred earth of their forebears and kindle a new dawn. A Heaven on Earth, they named it, a realm of eternal bounty forged by his hand. The great powers, three in number, lay enshrined within the ancient tablets, their words etched in the old Nirani tongue—a language his mother had branded into his soul from boyhood. She had chanted the litanies over him, her voice a forge that tempered his memory, ensuring he could never shed the weight of who he was meant to be: Vyris, Kaelith, Draemor—darkness, moon, sun. Yet the meaning of those syllables eluded him still, shadows dancing beyond a veil he could not pierce.
One riddle gnawed deeper than the rest: why had they come alone? Their people, the scattered remnants of the Nirani, lingered a year’s voyage distant, their sails mere dreams upon the horizon. What purpose drove this solitary venture? To scout, his mother had claimed, but for what? The island stretched before them, a desolate expanse broken only by the husks of castles—crumbled relics of a past unclaimed, their stones foreign to the tales he knew. No soaring spires of alabaster graced these ruins, no arches bore the sigils of old gods; they were squat, jagged things, as if clawed from the earth by hands unknown. In the grand tapestry of prophecy, such details seemed trifles, yet their strangeness pricked at him. Now they lingered, adrift in waiting, bound to a purpose as vague as mist. For what—or whom—did they bide their time? A pair of hands slipped over his eyes, warm and deft, and despite the storm within, a smile tugged at his lips.
“Guess who it is?” The whisper brushed his ear, soft as a lover’s sigh. Aelina, his sister, his betrothed—her voice was a thread of light in the gloom of his thoughts. To him, their bond was no aberration, though the Nirani had shunned such unions since the elder days, a custom lost to millennia. From the cradle, their fates had been entwined, a vow sealed in blood and starlight, and he had never questioned its rightness. He pried her hands free and drew them about his chest, turning to meet her gaze. Her face was a mirror of their lineage—skin gray as twilight, eyes blazing like twin suns, hair a cascade of sandy red that shimmered in the half-light. She was perfection, as he was: tall and well-muscled, his own eyes a fierce crimson, his hair a flowing banner of fire spilling to his shoulders.
They were matched, flawless, born of the same divine mold. His red locks, they said, had proclaimed him from birth—the harbinger of a new age, the prince long foretold. Yet as her warmth seeped into him, that certainty withered, and his smile faded to ash.Aelina pressed a finger to his lips, her brow furrowing as she clung tighter from behind.
“What troubles you so, my love?” Her voice was a balm, yet he could not confess the dread that coiled in his gut—the fear that the future was a beast with jaws agape, its hunger vast and insatiable. To speak it would be to bare his soul, and even to her, he could not yield so much.
“Foolish thoughts,” he murmured, a lie clad in velvet, and with a swift turn, he bore her gently to the earth. She gasped, a sound swallowed by the wind, as he pinned her beneath him, his hands firm upon her shoulders. His gaze locked with hers, drinking in the gold of her eyes, then drifted lower. His fingers tugged at the lacings of her gown, parting the fabric until her breasts spilled forth—round and radiant, a beauty that set his blood aflame. He bent to claim her lips, fierce and deep, and as his hands roamed her flesh, a moan broke from her, soft and trembling, a song that drowned the world beyond.
“A bad time, I assume?” The voice sliced through the haze, dry as a desert wind and laced with mirth. Aelar sprang from Aelina, a flush burning his throat as he coughed to mask his shame. She scrambled to cover herself, her gown clutched tight, her face blooming as red as his hair, her golden eyes wide with mortification. The speaker stepped forward—Zade, his bastard brother, a shadow against the light, his lips curled in a grin that bespoke more amusement than reproach. He watched them rise, fumbling to reclaim their dignity, his dark eyes glinting as they stood, sand-dusted and abashed.
“Not the best time,” Aelar muttered, conceding the point with a scowl. Zade was a year his elder, a stark contrast in form and hue—skin like shadowed earth, hair a wild tangle of black waves, eyes brown as peat, and a frame slighter than Aelar’s own, lacking the breadth of Nirani purebloods. Yet bastard or no, his presence was a quiet boon, a steady hand amid the storm of their days—though in this moment, Aelar wished him leagues away. Zade’s mind was a marvel, sharp as a flinted edge, capable of unraveling mysteries with a glance. A tool pressed into his palm would yield its secrets in an instant, a gift that dwarfed Aelar’s own wit—yet he wielded it with a grace that never sought to overshadow.
“Mother sent me to fetch you both,” he said, his gaze locking with Aelar’s, steady and piercing. “It’s urgent, I’d wager.” Aelar’s brow creased, a flicker of unease stirring within. Could the prophecy be stirring anew? “Come, follow me,” Zade beckoned, turning with a gesture, and they trailed him, Aelina’s steps soft beside his own.
“Did she say aught of it?” Aelar pressed, his voice taut with concern. Zade scratched his chin, his eyes narrowing as thought coiled behind them.
“Her gear was packed—tight, deliberate,” he mused, his tone measured yet heavy with portent. “I’d thought she meant to scour the island’s depths, but there’s more to it. She might be leaving it altogether.” He turned to Aelar, his face grave, the jest gone from him.
“That’s madness!” Aelina’s cry broke free, sharp and sudden, before she clapped a hand to her mouth, her brothers’ startled gazes pinning her.
“Why would she go? How? To where?” Aelar’s voice rose, anger flaring hot in his chest, a tide that threatened to drown his reason. Was she truly abandoning them here, cast adrift on this forsaken shore? Even Zade, for all his cunning, could not divine what lay unwritten. They were left with naught but scraps of prophecy—lines from a time before time, so vague they might adorn a banner and mean as little.The prophecy itself was a slender thread, spun through generations by word of mouth: a prince would rise, bearer of three great powers, to forge a paradise upon the earth. Its signs, etched on parchments older than the bones of men, were riddles inked in shadow. Two had come to pass—his crimson hair, a banner of fate; their return to this lost land, a step toward destiny. On vellum, he was the Promised Prince, or so they named him, yet in the marrow of his soul, belief faltered. What prince was he, tethered to a fate he could neither see nor seize?
For thousands of years, the Nirani had bred and schemed, chasing the dream of their promised prince—a child to carry their hopes into a new age. All that history, all those whispered prayers, had landed on Aelar, the red-haired boy they’d pinned their fading star to. But to him, it felt less like fate and more like a desperate grab, the last gasp of a people with nowhere else to turn. Everyone around him outshone him in some way, and it gnawed at him. Zade had a sharp mind, quick as a whip, seeing through tangles Aelar couldn’t even begin to unravel. Ayrn, lean and wiry, moved with a grace and strength that left Aelar in the dust. Even Aelina, his sister, had a steady way about her that made him wonder who’d truly wear the crown. And now their younger sister was starting to show her own sparks, better than him in ways he couldn’t ignore. It set his blood simmering, a quiet rage under his skin.He never spoke of it, these doubts and fears, though he reckoned some could see them plain enough. His mother surely did—her eyes cut through him like a knife, reading what he wouldn’t say.
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She was hard as iron, not one for soft words or gentle hands, but he didn’t doubt she loved him and the others in her own fierce way. Still, her expectations weighed on him, heavy as a millstone. She didn’t spell out what she wanted, not straight. Instead, she fed them stories—tales of the old days when the Nirani ruled the world, when justice ran free and no one dared oppress another. Days when bellies were full and hunger was just a word.
His favorite was the one about King Vaellyn, the first of their line, back when the earth was young and raw. They said the sun was still fresh in the sky then, set there by the gods’ own hands, and the land was new too—plants just starting to poke through the dirt, life barely finding its name. But even then, things thrived. Giants roamed the plains, or so the tale went, their bones made of the earth’s own riches, a gift from the world itself. Big brutes they were, haunting the edges of the Unland—or Tyrant’s Cradle, as some called it—a cursed stretch that bred nothing but liars and cutthroats.Then there were the dragons, older than the sun, some reckoned, born before light had a name.
The gods, of course, had always been there, watching over it all. And last came the Nirani, sprung from the earth like it had birthed them special—holy, righteous, the lot of them. One old story claimed a god named Aire once said,
“I’ve never seen a finer thing than the Nirani, and nor have they.” It puffed Aelar up, hearing that, made his chest feel tight with pride.In the tale, Vaellyn was new to his crown, his rule still shaky, and not everyone bent the knee. A giant they called the Roaring Earth stood against him—big as a hill, they said, and figured that made him king enough. So Vaellyn went to the gods, bold as you please, asking for help. Two of them, Ylith and Aire again, gave him their blessing—two marks, one of golden lightning, one red as blood. With those, he called down powers no one had seen before. The fight itself was lost to time, more legend than truth, but they said Vaellyn slew the giant and built his castle from its bones. That story always sent a shiver up Aelar’s spine, long as it was.
When they stepped into the camp’s clearing, those old tales faded to the back of his mind, pushed aside by the here and now.
“Mother, you called for us?” Aelar said, dropping to one knee before her. His siblings followed suit, a quick ripple of motion, then rose with him, dust clinging to their boots. Nurya, their mother, fixed him with a look he couldn’t read—hard and flat, like she half-expected him to know her mind already.
“I’m off to find our people,” she said, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Word of this land, our old home, needs to reach them—they’ll have heard whispers by now, I reckon.”Aelina frowned, worry creasing her brow.
“How’ll you sail alone, Mother? The ship’s not big, sure, but shouldn’t one of us—or all of us—go with you?” Her eyes flicked down to the dirt, as if the answer might be scrawled there. Nurya shook her head, a small, sharp motion, her face tightening as the wind lashed at her cheeks.
“I’ll manage fine. The gods’ll see me through.” She gave a tight smile, barely a crack in her stern mask, then turned her gaze back to Aelar, holding it steady. “You four stay here, get the lay of this place. You’ll need to know it better than the serfs who’ll till it one day, if you mean to rule.” Her voice hardened, cutting like a blade. “Mark it well—it’ll serve you in time.” She stepped back toward the boat, her cloak snapping in the gusts, and Zade darted over, hoisting the ramp with quick hands to ease her aboard.
“I can’t believe she’s leaving us,” Aelar muttered, irritation biting at him as he joined Zade at the water’s edge. They shoved the boat hard, grunting with the effort, their shoulders straining until it slid free into the shallows. Nurya moved fast, loosing the sails to catch the wind, and the ship took her course, cutting through the waves. Aelar forced a smile, waving as she went, though it felt hollow. He’d scarce been a day without her shadow over him, and now she was slipping back to the sea. A cold jolt hit him—what if this was the last he’d see of her? Panic clawed up his throat, and he bolted to the shore’s edge, waving harder, his arm a blur.
“Gods keep you, Mother!” he shouted, the words torn by the wind, but he hoped they reached her all the same. She was a speck now, the ship just a smudge against the horizon. He let out a heavy breath, turning to his siblings, and his face soured. “Where’s Ayrn? Why wasn’t he here for this?” His voice snapped, sharp with annoyance.
Aelina’s gaze dropped, her silence an answer. Zade gave a slight shake of his head. “Thought he might be down by the beaches, like usual, but he’s nowhere I can see,” he said, calm as ever, though his brow creased faintly.Aelar paused, the weight of it settling on him. With their mother gone, it fell to him to lead—or so he told himself, though he doubted they’d look to him for it.
“Hope nothing’s got him,” Aelina said, rubbing her cheek, her eyes darting about like she half-expected trouble to leap from the trees. “No sign of beasts yet, but who knows?”
“You read that old bestiary yet, Zade?” Aelar asked, turning to his bastard brother. Zade shook his head again, a rueful twist to his mouth.“Been meaning to. Camp’s kept us busy, though—haven’t had the chance.” Aelar nodded, feeling a flicker of purpose take root. He was onto something, at least.
Aelar said, “and Aelina, take the flora books and those old cookbooks.” He wrinkled his nose, a grin tugging at his lips. “I’ve had fish every day of my life—time we ate something that doesn’t swim.”Aelina let out a soft giggle, her hand half-hiding her mouth, while Zade’s dark eyes sparked with a quiet laugh. But Aelar’s mirth guttered out quick as a snuffed candle. Ayrn was still missing, and the task of finding him fell square on his shoulders now. He hoped their mother hadn’t noticed the fool’s absence when she’d sailed off, though in his gut he knew she had—sharp as she was, little slipped past her. What a bloody idiot Ayrn could be.
“I’ll go hunt for Ayrn, then,” he said, giving them a look that was half-resigned, half-weary. They traded quick farewells—Zade with a nod, Aelina with a murmured wish for luck—and Aelar turned to the forest, plunging into its green jaws. They’d barely scratched the island’s surface yet, knew next to nothing of what it held. Just some tumbledown ruins, a few glassy lakes, and not much else to speak of. The wildlife was sparse—those fuzzy little nuteaters Zade had named, skittering about, and a handful of birds piping their songs from the treetops. That was all they’d seen, but the place felt alive in a way he couldn’t quite name.
It was the flora here that was spectacular. With beautiful trees, and plants of all different kinds. The woodland unfurled before Aelar like a realm bewitched, its canopy a vault of woven green where sunlight bled through in slivers, gilding the air with motes of fleeting gold. Trees soared skyward, their trunks clad in bark that shimmered like burnished silver, their branches laden with leaves that whispered secrets in tongues no mortal ear could parse. Between them coiled vines thick with blossoms—petals of indigo and saffron, some unfurling like tiny suns, others drooping heavy with nectar that perfumed the breeze with a cloying, wild sweetness. The ground beneath was a carpet of fern and briar, its hues a riot of emerald and rust, yielding softly to his tread yet prickling with thorns that snagged at his cloak.Aelar moved deeper, the silence of the place a fragile veneer over a hum that thrummed in his marrow—a living pulse, older than the stones of the earth. Shadows darted at the periphery, those furred nuteaters his brother had named, their claws scraping bark as they vanished into hollows. Above, birds wheeled unseen, their cries sharp and fleeting, stitching the quiet with threads of sound. Yet it was the unseen that quickened his pulse, the sense that this verdant sprawl harbored eyes he could not meet—watchers woven into root and leaf, ancient and implacable.
Ayrn was no hulking brute but a whipcord figure, lean and lithe, all sinew and restless grace, with a temper that flared like dry tinder and a wit as cutting as the wind. He’d vanished from the camp without a word, drawn perhaps by the island’s siren call, and Aelar cursed the fool’s recklessness even as he feared its cost. The forest might cradle beauty, but beauty oft hid fangs. A rustle broke his thoughts—a flicker of motion beyond a stand of trees, their branches gnarled and laden with fruit the color of bruised plums. Aelar’s hand drifted to his dagger, the steel cool against his palm, and he eased forward, breath held taut. Then came the sound: a low, rolling whistle, a tune born of careless ease, threading through the stillness.
Ayrn’s voice, rough-edged yet sure, lilting with a melody of the sea. Aelar parted a veil of fronds and found him—sprawled against a tree’s silver flank, legs stretched long, a whetstone dancing over the edge of a slender hatchet. His red hair, cropped close, gleamed like a ember in the dappled light, and his gray skin bore the sheen of exertion, taut over a frame honed by years of climbing rigging and wrestling storms.
“Skulking through the thorns, are you?” Ayrn called, his grin a crescent of mockery as he flicked the hatchet’s blade, testing its bite. His red eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, glinted with amusement. “Come to play nursemaid again?”
“She’s sailed off,” Aelar said, voice flat as slate, cutting through the jest. “Mother’s taken the ship, alone, back to the sea. Left us stranded.”Ayrn’s whistle died, his lean fingers stilling on the whetstone. He rose in a fluid motion, all coiled agility, the hatchet twirling once before settling at his side.
“Sailed off? Without us?” His tone sharpened, disbelief warring with scorn. “What’s she chasing now—ghosts or glory?”
“Said she’d bear word to our people.” Aelar’s jaw tightened, a flicker of resentment burning low. “No warning, no counsel—just gone, with the wind as her guide.”
Ayrn laughed, a bark of sound that startled a bird from its perch. “And you stood there, waving like a lost pup? Bold move, brother.” He stepped closer, his lean frame taut with restless energy, the hatchet swinging idly as if eager for a foe. “So what’s the plan? We sit here, picking flowers till she deigns to return?”Aelar’s fingers twitched on the dagger’s hilt, Ayrn’s barbs striking deep.
“We make do. Root out what this place holds—ruins, beasts, whatever lurks.” He gestured toward the forest’s heart, where shadows pooled thick and dark. “You’ve been out here—seen anything worth a damn?”Ayrn shrugged, his grin returning, sly and unrepentant.
“Lakes that shimmer like glass, a stag with antlers like a crown of knives. Nothing that bites yet, but give it time.” He tilted his head, studying Aelar with a gaze that pierced too keenly. “You’re the prince, they say. Lead us, then—unless you’d rather I carve a path myself.” The challenge hung between them, sharp as the hatchet’s edge. Aelar met it, unflinching, though doubt gnawed at his core. The forest loomed vast and unyielding, its beauty a riddle, its depths a promise—or a threat. He nodded toward the camp’s direction, voice steady despite the storm within.
“Back with me, then.”Ayrn smirked, falling into step with a predator’s grace, and the woods swallowed them anew, hiding them from anything that lurked.
