The Dream

Elliot Herit rose with the first light, just as he did every morning. The chill of dawn clung to the air, seeping through the cracks in the worn wooden walls of his small room. He stood before the cracked mirror nailed to the wall, staring into his own tired eyes. Slowly, he forced his lips into a smile—an imitation of hope he had practiced for years.

Today would be no different than yesterday. Like every day before, he would train.

His body was all he had—no magic, no ancient bloodline, no arcane blessing. Just grit, muscle, and an unrelenting dream. In a world ruled by enchanted blades, summoned beasts, and sorcerers who bent the elements to their will, Elliot was an anomaly. A man born without a spark in a world of fire.

He had no special talents. His strength, though greater than most commoners, was nothing compared to the power wielded by adventurers. When he watched them—mages cloaked in energy, warriors dancing between death and glory—he felt like a shadow, unnoticed and unneeded.

And yet, he held onto a single truth: he would not give up.

He clenched his fists until his knuckles whitened.
“If only I could... just find a power,” he whispered into the silence, the words barely escaping his lips.

The sun crept over the rooftops of Seirith, painting the city in gold. Elliot walked its quiet streets with purpose, heading for a place forgotten by most—a dusty, crumbling library buried beneath time and cobwebs. He had heard whispers of something strange hidden there. Not a spell. Not a weapon. But something older. Stranger.

Music.

A power so often dismissed as useless in battle. Too ordinary. Too fragile. Yet, there were rumors of an ancient force that stirred with melody, a power said to awaken what lay dormant in one’s soul.

Inside the library, dust danced in shafts of morning light. Elliot wandered among the crooked shelves, fingers brushing faded spines and torn scrolls. Nothing called to him—until it did.

In a dim corner, he found a scroll, half-buried beneath crumbling pages. It was unmarked, unimpressive. But something about it pulled him in—like the low hum of a distant note felt rather than heard. Without understanding why, he took it and held it close.

A strange sensation rippled through his body. Not pain, not fear. Something older. A vibration. A whisper.

He slipped away into a deserted alley, heart pounding, scroll in hand. The city buzzed far away, but here, it was just him and the silence.

Breathing in, he began. No song, no rhythm—just sound, raw and uncertain. He doubted himself with every passing second. But then… something shifted.

A flickering light shimmered in the air. Waves of sound—unseen but tangible—wrapped around him. Each note pulsed through his limbs, heavy and freeing all at once. The melody drew something out of him—something buried deep.

And then, it all collapsed.

A piercing tone rang out—high, sharp, almost painful. Energy burst through him like lightning. Elliot dropped to his knees, breath stolen, heart thundering. His vision blurred. In his mind’s eye, worlds unfolded—creatures of myth, lands untouched by time, colors too vivid to name.

Then stillness.

Clarity.

This wasn’t just music. This was awakening.
A link, not a tool. A force that resonated with his very being.

“This... this is it,” he gasped. “This is the power I’ve been looking for.”

But even as the thrill filled his veins, he understood something deeper, something darker: this power was not gentle. It would test him. Every note could lift him to glory—or tear him apart.

Music, he now knew, came with a price.

But Elliot Herit had already paid too much to walk away.

And so, beneath the quiet dawn of Seirith, his true journey began—one where the melody would guide him, shape him, and, perhaps, consume him.