Chapter 1

  Statues

  Wyryard, 11 months before the Peaks—1246 A.T.C

  Night was settling in, and tension clung to the air like blood to a blade. Every breath he took was followed by a wisp of steam curling from his lips. He was exhausted, and his body heavy with fatigue.

  Standing amidst trees of blue and purple, their vein-like wood pulsed with radiant energy. Each sliver of light carried life itself, flowing from the soil and into the leaves. This was his home, all he had ever known.

  And now, it was under attack.

  He charged forward, axe in hand, leaping into the air with a grace that defied his weariness. For a moment, he soared like one of the ancient Escentum from the stories his father used to tell him. The Escentum were said to wield the power of life itself, bending it into bursts of energy—an energy that ordinary men called magic.

  He plummeted downward, swinging his axe in a wide arc. The blade struck the first of his opponents, sending chips of rock flying from its arm. He spun around, ready to strike again. They were approaching now, a multitude of them, their cold, unfeeling eyes fixed on him as he regained his footing.

  His mother had taught him how to wield a blade—this was merely training.

  He channeled all his belief into his weapon, forcing it to bend to his will as he swung again. The axe crackled through the air, bursting with energy as it struck another invader. This time, the impact reverberated through his arm, sending shivers down his spine. He couldn’t afford to hesitate. Couldn’t afford to falter. Not when the only home he’d ever had was at stake. He had to push through.

  A shard of rock-like skin flew from his enemy and struck the side of his face. A thin line of silver blood trickled down his cheek. Instinctively, he reached for the gash. The warmth of the blood on his fingers made him panic. He had been hurt.

  The forest around him seemed to lose its color, the vibrant energy draining away. His axe reverted to the simple stick he had found earlier. The pain was a stark reminder—he was not a warrior from his mother’s tales of the army. He was merely a boy in the forest, playing pretend.

  Standing on the edge of a small clearing surrounded by blue-leaved trees, the boy gazed out into the forest. In the center of the clearing was a large fire pit, its stones blackened from countless fires. At the edge stood a modest shed, weathered and worn but still sturdy. A faint flicker of light escaped through its windows. Behind the shed, a makeshift cave formed by a stack of boulders, its entrance blocked by a heavy wooden door.

  A soft gust of wind whispered through the clearing, gently rustling the straw roof of the shed. The boy closed his eyes, savoring the cool breeze against his face. It carried the fresh scent of the forest, momentarily distracting him from the sting of his injury.

  With deep-black hair flowing past his pale, pointed ears, the boy wore a simple white shirt, slightly tattered at the edges, and patchy brown trousers. He looked like any ordinary boy one might encounter in a city—except for the silver blood drying on his cheek.

  Dropping his stick, he turned his gaze to the statues scattered throughout the clearing. Mere moments ago, they had been bandits, invaders, enemies. Now, their stone visages stared back at him with cold, uncaring eyes. He sighed and turned toward the shed, where the faint light still flickered. He had distracted himself long enough, the moon was already peaking above the treeline as the Twin Suns had gone to sleep. It was time.

  As he pushed open the front doors, the sound of metal meeting stone filled the air. Inside, an older man stood atop a three-step ladder, chiseling a piece of freshwater limestone. “Dad,” the boy yawned. “When are we going to load up the cart? We shouldn’t wait until morning.” His eyes wandered over his father’s work. “Why are you sculpting a fish, Dad?” he asked, his weariness evident.

  “It’s your mother’s favorite—the Lumigill!” the father declared proudly. He appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties, his hair the color of tree bark. He wore his usual outfit: a simple indigo shirt and dark black padded pants. Despite his modest stature for a human, he stood tall and proud, chisel and hammer in hand as he meticulously carved the final scales of the fish. “There might be a general from Delan visiting tomorrow, and I want to present this Lumigill to him as a gift for your mother,” he murmured with enthusiasm.

  The Lumigill was a masterpiece, its fins intricately designed to appear as though they danced in the wind. Each scale was carefully placed, as if the father had plucked them from the water himself.

  “Yeah, but when are we loading the carts? I can’t lift all the statues by myself,” the boy protested.

  “I’ll help once I’m finished, Eldi. It won’t take much longer,” the father assured, focusing on the two barbels of the Lumigill. “Besides, Nurn might be back tomorrow. We could use its help.”

  “When has Nurn ever been on time?” Eldi sighed. Realizing arguing was futile, he stepped outside and approached the cart. With all his strength, he began to pull it, the movement slow but steady. He walked until he reached the array of statues—kings, queens, lynxes, and dragons. His father had been prolific this year.

  Mother leaving for Delan to rejoin their ranks must have done wonders for his productivity.

  A hint of irritation crossed Eldi’s face as he began his task. Father hadn’t even noticed his wound. He was always so distracted when it came to just about anything. The man never seemed to be able to focus on simply one thing, and when he did, his focus did not waver a bit–making the world around him dissolve as if never having existed in the first place.

  He tried to lift the smaller statues first, but even these solid pieces of carved stone were heavy, and he struggled to budge them. Deciding to start with his own creations, which were smaller and lighter, Eldi felt a flicker of pride. He was still learning, but his statues were improving.

  Beyond where his father’s statues stood, Eldi found a small chest with a rusty lock. Retrieving the key from around his neck, he unlocked it and carefully removed the protective blanket and basic sculpting tools inside. Beneath them lay his own little statues. Eldi took pride in his creations. This year, he thought, they might actually sell. His mind wandered to the small dragon statue he had crafted, its wings uniquely shaped based on a dream he’d had. Reflecting on it, Eldi felt a pang of longing for that particular piece.

  With care and precision, Eldi placed his statues in the cart, ensuring they were well-positioned to avoid damage during the journey to the market. Among them, the statue of Moa during autumn caught his eye. Eldi had carved Moa’s beautiful fur in exceptional detail, the engravings of blue shimmering faintly in the moonlight. Though his father had added some finishing touches, Eldi was proud enough to call it his own.

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  After packing the smaller statues, Eldi waited for his father to come and assist with the larger pieces. But as the moon hung high above him now, he decided to take matters into his own hands. A drop of his Loftion blood could make the statues almost weightless, but his father had taught him that such magics—those tied to blood—were not meant for tasks of little importance.

  He entered the house, retrieved the axe stored above the fireplace, and ventured into the dark forest. After a brief search, he found a tree with vibrant green leaves.

  This one will do nicely.

  Placing his axe against the bark, he marked the tree stump and whispered, “Shurkra.” Then, Eldi began swinging the axe just above the marking, ensuring the cut remained precise.

  Returning with the wood, Eldi got to work. Using the sculpting tools from the chest, he stripped the bark from the logs and fashioned one side into a sharp edge. Resembling oversized spears, he planted them firmly into the ground, angling the other side onto the back of the cart to create a ramp. Trimming off the excess wood with his axe, Eldi placed the discarded pieces on the ground next to the cart, forming a sturdy ramp. He hurried back inside the cabin, grabbing enough rope, and began winding it around the upright logs. Careful not to wrap it too tightly, he left enough rope on both sides for later use, creating a large U-shape between the pillars. Placing the middle of the U-shape on the ground at the base of the ramp, Eldi now faced the most challenging part of his task.

  Securing one of the statues of some nondescript queen around his waist, Eldi draped the rope over his shoulder and began walking toward the ramp. With each step, he scraped patches of grass and dirt, using every ounce of strength to drag the statue to the edge of the ramp. Taking a moment to catch his breath, Eldi pulled the U-shaped rope behind the queen and tied it to the rope he had used to drag her this far. He grabbed the remaining lengths of rope on both sides, exerting all the strength he had left, his forehead dripping with perspiration onto the dirt beneath him.

  The rope tightened around the statue and the two wooden pillars as Eldi pulled, gradually shrinking the U-shape until the queen was pushed upward onto the ramp.

  The stone statue shifted into place onto the cart. And Eldi beamed with pride. This queen had been his enemy when he had been fighting, and now he had bested it in another way.

  Over the next two hours, Eldi labored tirelessly, pulling and shoving the remaining statues onto the cart. As the moon disappeared behind the trees, his father finally emerged from the shed, a satisfied smile on his face.

  Sweat trickled down Eldi’s forehead as he looked up. “I’ve already loaded six. Could I get some help with the remaining four?” he asked, his voice heavy with fatigue.

  “Just a moment!” his father declared, fumbling with his keychain in his excitement. “I’m retrieving an incredibly special, yet appropriately small, chest from storage. Give me a minute,” he continued absentmindedly, unlocking the sturdy door of the makeshift cave.

  Eldi had always been forbidden from entering the cave. His father deemed it too dangerous, messy, and humid. “When you’re older, Eldi,” was the usual excuse. But the allure of the forbidden enticed him, and he yearned to explore its depths. As his father opened the door, Eldi caught a glimpse of the familiar violet glow emanating from the back of the cave. He knew the cave extended further; his father sometimes spent hours inside, returning with various stones, rocks, minerals, and a powder that seemed to glow under the right light. Occasionally, he came back with a cut or two, which only served as proof that it wasn’t entirely safe down there.

  Interrupting Eldi’s thoughts, his father emerged from the cave with a triumphant announcement. “Yes, this is the one!” he exclaimed, holding up a small chest crafted from blue-veinwood. Its vibrant blue color resembled a dark ocean blended with the warmth of amber bark. The veinwood was reinforced with polished granite and adorned with scattered amethyst fragments. While Eldi found it a bit extravagant, his father seemed confident in his choice.

  After wrapping the Lumigill statue in the leather of a Lilac Elk his father had found near the edges of Wyryard, they loaded the remaining statues onto the cart. He would never have harmed the Lilac Elk himself; its demise had been the result of a group of bandits camping at the forest’s edge. They left it to perish from its wounds after it managed to fell several of their men.

  “Nothing is worse than wasting,” his father had taught him early on, “except for being ungrateful,” he would always add. Thus, despite the tragedy of losing one of Wyryard’s creatures, to let its death be in vain would have been even more lamentable.

  Once they secured the statues in place on the cart, Eldi’s father beamed with pride as he observed the cleverly constructed ramp. “I can see that you’ve been attentive during your studies,” he remarked, his voice filled with delight. “You’ve done an excellent job with that ramp. Quite nifty indeed.”

  Eldi couldn’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction at his father’s words, appreciating the recognition of his efforts.

  His father’s eyes finally fell on him, and on the wound of his cheek.

  “My dear boy, you shouldn’t exert yourself so that you hurt yourself,” he said, bending to one knee. “I’m thankful that you moved them but you shouldn’t overdo it.”

  “I—” Eldi hesitated. “The cut was not from the moving, I was– I was training again.”

  Rather than a frown, Eldi’s father smiled.

  “You have too much of your mother in you, always swinging your swords around…”

  “Axe,” Eldi corrected.

  “Right,” his father smiled softly. “Axe.”

  The two made their way toward the cabin. It was modest, furnished with a table set for two but with five chairs, a rug made of assorted patches of cloth, a fireplace where an outdated map of I?lia hung and the wood axe was stored. Finally, there was Eldi’s bed. His father had a separate room at the back where they kept their clothes and bathing supplies. Cooking and bathing were typically done outside.

  Eldi settled into his bed, bidding his father goodnight as he closed the door to his room. Sleep came easy after a night such as this. However, he was awoken sometime later by the cawing of crows just outside the cabin. Rising from his bed, he immediately noticed the vivid violet light seeping through the cabin windows.

  Running outside, Eldi was greeted by the sight of ravens perched on the porch. Their feathers were adorned with patterns ranging from vibrant blue to soft purple, creating a mesmerizing display against their dark plumage. Their piercing caws echoed through the night, sending a chill down Eldi’s spine. His attention was drawn to the open door of the makeshift cave, where a pulsating violet light emanated, casting an eerie rhythm across the clearing. A sense of trepidation filled Eldi’s heart as he approached the cave’s entrance, his knees trembling with each step. Memories of his futile attempts to open the door in the past flooded his mind.

  As he reached the fireplace, Eldi couldn’t tear his gaze away from the cave. He readied himself for any potential danger, his mind racing as he hastily formed an escape plan. It was simple: Run back to dad in the cabin. The ground vibrated beneath him, adding to his unease. Then, from the violet light behind the cave, a massive figure emerged. It shifted from a quadruped to a towering creature, standing nearly five meters tall. A thunderous roar filled the air, forcing Eldi to cover his ears, followed by the crackling sound of thunder.

  The storm bear stood still, its focus zeroed in on Eldi as he simply remained there, in awe.

  “Moa!” Eldi cried out, still shielding his ears. He quickened his pace toward the majestic black creature, but to his surprise, it remained standing on its hind legs. The creature’s eyes were fixed on the young boy, and as it slowly returned to all fours, Eldi’s nervousness grew. “What’s wrong, girl? Did someone hurt you?” he asked, his voice trembling with concern.

  Eldi noticed a shift in Moa’s usually inviting blue patterns. They pulsed and transformed, transitioning from royal blue to deep indigo before settling briefly on a shimmering lilac hue. Then, unexpectedly, the patterns turned a violent scarlet red. Moa, now radiating a blood-red glow, lunged toward Eldi, the sound of thunder accompanying her as she leapt through the space between them. Eldi barely had time to react, covering his face in a futile attempt to shield himself from the raging storm that was his dear friend.