Aethelindria's Legacy - Prologue (3)

On a rainy day, the world was submerged in shades of gray. The drops fell steadily, caressing the leaves with a soft, repetitive murmur. The ground was dotted with puddles that reflected the overcast sky like fragmented little mirrors.

Under a bush, almost hidden among the shadows and mud, something moved weakly. It was a small dog, drenched and dirty, its fur stuck to its thin body. Its large, glassy eyes scanned the surroundings with a mix of fear and exhaustion. One of its hind legs was severely injured, and its breathing was shallow, as if each breath required an immense effort.

The animal trembled uncontrollably—not just from the cold, but also from the pain and hunger that seemed to have accompanied it for days. Yet, there was still a spark of hope in its gaze, as if it sensed someone might find it.

Then a figure appeared through the curtain of rain. They approached slowly, their steps barely audible on the wet ground. Without saying a word, they knelt beside the dog and extended a hand toward it. The animal instinctively recoiled, but the person spoke softly and reassuringly.

"It's okay, little one," he murmured gently as his fingers brushed the dog's trembling back. "I'm not going to hurt you."

It was a boy with dark hair, soaked by the rain dripping down his pale face. His wet clothes clung to his fragile frame, but he didn't seem to care. Carefully, he lifted the dog into his arms, wrapping it to shield it from the cold. He looked around and spotted an old abandoned shed a few meters away.

Once inside, he placed the dog gently onto a pile of dry straw and examined its wounded leg. From around his neck, he pulled out a small crystal vial containing golden liquid, glowing faintly even in the dim light. With tenderness, he poured a few drops onto the dog's damaged skin. Instantly, the wound began to close, and the dog let out a soft whimper filled with relief.

The boy smiled, satisfied, as he watched the little creature regain strength. When the dog timidly wagged its tail, he too seemed to relax. This was Edarian, a boy marked by a hard life. Orphaned at a young age, he had learned to survive on the streets, where every day was a battle for food or shelter. His rough demeanor, sharp words, and impulsive actions were the result of years spent fighting in a hostile world that forced him to grow up too fast.

However, everything changed when Eva entered his life. At first, Edarian distrusted her, as he did with everyone unfamiliar. Yet there was something about her serene gaze, her infinite patience, that gradually made him lower his guard. Eva guided him with dedication, revealing secrets of the magical world he'd never imagined: the silent language of stars, the whisper of winds, and the eternal heartbeat of the earth beneath their feet. In return, Edarian began sharing pieces of his own world with her, opening windows to a humanity that Eva was only beginning to understand.

As time passed, their relationship transformed. What had initially been a connection between mentor and pupil soon evolved into something far deeper—a bond woven with threads of trust, mutual admiration, and an unspoken understanding that needed no words. In Edarian, Eva discovered an insatiable curiosity, a spark that resonated with her own, though hidden beneath layers of hardness forged by years of survival.

Yet that day, Edarian couldn't shake the worry gnawing at him. Eva had left early in the morning and hadn't returned, leaving him enveloped in an unusual silence. Normally, sudden absences or worldly dangers barely disturbed him; he was accustomed to relying solely on himself. But this time felt different. Seated in the corner of his small room, with the puppy sleeping peacefully at his feet, a growing unease settled within him, persistent and uncomfortable.

The rain continued falling outside, monotonous and steady, weaving a melancholic backdrop that mirrored his mood. Each drop hitting the window brought a fresh wave of doubt. Where was Eva? Why was she taking so long? He tried to calm himself, recalling all the times she had told him to trust his instincts, his ability to face any challenge. But this time was different. His heart found no solace.

Meanwhile, Eva walked alongside a small fairy toward a place where something unimaginable had occurred: someone had entered the magical realm and stolen something that should never have been touched by mortal hands. Though she knew it was her duty to investigate in Aethelindria's absence, she couldn't shake an underlying sense of apprehension.

The fairy floated beside her, its trembling light barely illuminating the winding path between ancient trees whose branches intertwined to form a natural canopy. The leaves, still green, crunched underfoot with an oddly hollow sound. Golden light filtered through the foliage, filling the area with a soft, ethereal glow. Each step Eva took seemed to echo in the thick silence surrounding them.

"Are you sure about this?" the fairy asked, nervously fluttering before her. Her voice was little more than a whisper.

Eva nodded slowly, though doubts clouded her thoughts. "Someone has crossed the boundaries," she replied firmly. "We need to know who it was and what they took."

As she moved forward, Eva caught sight of something familiar among the trees—the place where she and her sister Hilara used to play as children. For a moment, everything seemed to freeze. There, amidst glowing flowers and a babbling brook that still sang its gentle melody, she had experienced some of her happiest days. The bushes continued to shimmer silver under the sunlight, as if time itself had stopped.

Hilara had always been the playful one. While Eva watched quietly, her sister would run barefoot across the meadow, laughing while weaving flower crowns or chasing butterflies. Though opposites in many ways, Eva felt a deep affection for her. Hilara had a special gift for brightening even the grayest days with her boundless energy and contagious laughter.

But the memory didn't last long. A shadow darted between nearby shrubs, capturing all of Eva's attention. She tried to make it out better, but it was elusive, almost taunting her by hiding within the shadows. Her heart began pounding faster when the figure finally emerged from the foliage.

It was small, almost diminutive, yet its appearance was... strange. It looked like it had been pulled straight from an animated cartoon, with exaggerated proportions and faded colors that clashed against the vibrant magical surroundings. Its eyes glowed unnaturally, and its smile—oh, that smile—was too wide, too perfect, as if stitched onto its face instead of being a natural part of it. The expression appeared friendly, but there was something profoundly unsettling about it, something that made every hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

A shiver ran down Eva's spine, originating deep within her core. This was the first time she'd ever experienced such a visceral sense of threat—a feeling she couldn't ignore. "Who are you?!" Her voice echoed through the clearing.

The shadow tilted its head slightly, as if evaluating her, then let out a low, guttural laugh that reverberated through the air. Every note of that laugh twisted inside Eva, as if trying to worm its way into her mind. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead as she struggled to recall her training. It had been so long since she'd needed to defend herself... But now, facing this unknown creature, each lesson returned to her with feverish urgency.

She took a deep breath, forcing calm into her body. The oppressive silence that followed was overwhelming, so dense that even the wind seemed to stop. All she could hear was the rapid pounding of her own heart and the agitated breathing she fought to control. She knew what was coming next was inevitable.

The shadow stepped forward, its smile unwavering. Suddenly, the ground beneath her feet began to change, turning gray and dusty, as if life itself were being drained from the environment. The luminous flowers that once adorned the clearing withered away within seconds, and the nearby stream ceased flowing, transforming into a river of motionless stone.

"What are you?" Eva asked again, this time in a quieter but equally steady tone. She wasn't expecting an answer, but she needed to buy time. She needed to understand what kind of creature stood before her and how she might confront it.

The shadow didn't respond with words. Instead, it extended a small, grotesque hand toward her, and Eva felt an invisible force tugging at her chest, as though attempting to rip something essential from her very being. That's when she realized: this thing wasn't just here to intimidate her—it wanted something from her.

Aethelindria, whose absence Eva keenly felt in her own mission, was not idle. She too faced the shadows that now enveloped the kingdom, though on a different scale. She stood beside a small fairy, whose light flickered nervously at the vast desolation stretching before them. From their perch atop the hill, they could see a ruined city covered by a pulsating mantle of darkness that seemed alive, as if it had a will of its own. The air was heavy with an ominous aura, almost tangible, which pressed against their chests and chilled their blood, as if every breath carried echoes of what once was.

"What happened here?" Aethelindria finally asked, breaking the silence with a low but firm voice. Though rare for her, a trace of unease crept into her tone.

The fairy drifted closer to her, her diminutive figure glowing faintly against the encroaching blackness. It was Prima, the firstborn of the fairies and Aethelindria's most loyal companion since time immemorial. Always by her side, even through the darkest moments, braving dangers that would have driven others back. But now, even her courage wavered in the face of what she had witnessed in this place. Her light, usually vibrant and steady, now faltered like a flame about to extinguish.

"Your Divinity," Prima replied in a trembling whisper, her voice quivering like a leaf caught in the wind. "It was just days ago... perhaps a week, though time seems meaningless here now. A man came seeking something... something forbidden." She paused, as if the very words burned upon utterance. "He brought dark magic with him, magic no one should ever touch. They say he invoked ancient forces, buried deep beneath these lands to preserve balance."

Prima gestured weakly toward the destroyed city. The ruins, barely visible under the thick blanket of shadow, seemed to exhale sorrow with each dark pulse emanating from them. "Since then, the city has died... or so we thought. But some claim it isn't entirely dead—it lives within the shadows, feeding on the despair of those trapped here."

Suddenly, tiny serpents emerged from the shadows, slithering toward Aethelindria with hypnotic movements. Their scales shimmered faintly under the dim light, like shards of black crystal reflecting dying glimmers. Yet there was nothing innocent about their sinuous dance. They drew too close, brushing her with their forked tongues, hissing in unison directly into her mind.

"She is here! She is here! She is here!"

The sound was deafening and unsettling, as if each repetition pierced deeper layers of her being. Aethelindria clenched her fists, trying to maintain her composure against the intrusion. Repulsion mingled with something darker—an unease she couldn't ignore. Beyond the serpents, she sensed another presence, something far greater, older... and far more dangerous. A power only she could perceive; the little fairy beside her remained oblivious to the horror unfolding around them.

"Who are you?" Aethelindria demanded.

The response came as a deep, resonant laughter that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Cruel, mocking, wrapped in an irony sharp enough to cut through the air like a blade.

"Have you forgotten your creation?" the shadow said.

In that instant, two massive figures emerged from the darkness, materializing before her like nightmares given form. They were monstrous giants, grotesque and deformed, their shapes twisting and shifting constantly, defying the very laws of reality.

Their bodies radiated malevolent energy, vibrating in the air and causing the ground beneath Aethelindria's feet to tremble as if the entire world were about to collapse. The creatures' eyes burned like fiery coals, fixed on her with pure hatred so intense it seemed almost palpable.

Without hesitation, Aethelindria summoned her staff. It was an ethereal object, beautiful and powerful, made of living wood adorned with luminous flowers that blazed with celestial light. With a fluid motion, she raised it toward the darkened sky. From it erupted a burst of pure energy—a golden flare that illuminated the horizon like a forced dawn. The colossal shadows disintegrated instantly, consumed by the light like smoke under the sun. The small serpents surrounding her also vanished, leaving behind only an oppressive silence.

Then, a grave and hissing voice echoed through the air, laced with venom and hidden promises.

"You haven't seen the last of me... mother," the voice murmured.

The silence that followed was thick, laden with unspoken implications. Aethelindria felt how that single word—mother—reverberated within her, stirring buried memories and unanswered questions. Her expression remained composed, but for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossed her eyes, revealing the weight of this unexpected truth.

"Are you all right, Your Divinity?" Prima asked, moving closer.

Finally, Aethelindria took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"Let's go," she said firmly. There was no time for doubts or hesitation; she knew the threat still lingered, waiting for the right moment to return.