A tale of heroes and gods

The long road ended in the soft glow of late afternoon, the farm coming into view like a quiet promise after days of hardship. The fields stretched out wide and golden, bordered by dark green pines that swayed gently in the breeze. In the center of the clearing lay the massive carcass of a dragon, sprawled like a fallen mountain. Its scales were cracked and dulled, its wings torn and folded limply against its sides. The beast's eyes were shut forever, the final breath long gone.

Standing tall atop the dragon's broad back was my father. His silhouette was strong and unwavering against the fading light, the edges of his worn armor catching the sun's last rays. The heavy sword strapped to his back looked well-used but cared for. He seemed steady—unbowed by battle or age.

"Father!" I called, my voice raw with fatigue and relief, breaking the quiet around us. My boots thudded hard on the dry grass as I hurried forward. "Are you okay?"

He turned, a grin cracking the lines of his face and lighting his tired eyes. "Yeah," he said with a casual shrug, "Only a lesser dragon this time. I've fought bigger ones."

His tone was easy, but beneath it, I caught the weight — a warning. Something I couldn't afford to ignore.

"It's started," he said quietly, scanning the horizon with a narrowed gaze. "The old stirring. Something's waking again. Trouble's coming."

My chest tightened, a mix of exhaustion and dread knotting inside me. I glanced back toward Helios, who leaned heavily on Aelira. Both looked worn down by the long journey, the fever sapping what little strength they had left.

My father's eyes softened as they rested on Helios. Despite the burning heat that radiated from my adoptive brother, there was no trace of worry in Dad's face.

"He's solid," he said with steady confidence. "The fever's fierce, but it won't hold long. I can heal him — no worries there."

Relief seeped through me, loosening the tight grip of fear.

We moved together across the field, the hum of insects and distant bird calls filling the spaces between us. My father's gaze flicked toward Aelira, a spark of curiosity lighting his features.

"And who is this fine young lady?" His voice was a mixture of welcome and measured appraisal.

Aelira straightened, stepping forward with a poise that was still laced with caution. "I am Lady Aelira Vaelorn of House Kelyrn," she said clearly, her eyes meeting his without flinching. "It's an honor to meet you."

My father nodded slowly, approval and seriousness in his expression. "Good. You'll need strength for what lies ahead. There's a storm coming — not just from the land, but from the shadows."

Aelira inclined her head slightly. "May I ask your name, sir?"

He gave a small chuckle, voice low and rich with history. "Oh, of course. I am Sir Durnos Kaelborn, also known as, the One-Pointed Star, at your service."

Aelira's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise passing over her face. Then, leaning in toward me, she whispered softly, "Is that true?"

I shrugged, a flush creeping up my neck. "Yeah. I only found out recently, too."

Dad laughed, stepping forward and extending a strong, calloused hand toward Aelira. "Then it's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Aelira Vaelorn."

She took his hand with a flicker of respect and surprise, her composure steady but her eyes reflecting newfound understanding.

The farmstead was modest but solid, made of weathered wood and stone, chimneys sending thin smoke trails into the cool air. The scent of earth and pine filled the clearing. Simple, quiet — but here was a place rooted in history and home. A place where the world's weight felt lighter.

Dad led us inside, and the kitchen's warmth wrapped around us. A low fire crackled in the hearth, and the air smelled faintly of herbs and drying wood. He moved with calm, practiced ease, opening a wooden chest and pulling out a small vial glowing faintly.

"This should help bring down his fever," he said, handing it to Aelira.

She took it carefully and dabbed the cool potion on Helios's lips. It didn't break the fever right away, but I saw the tightness in Helios's face ease just a little.

Dad sat by the fire, rubbing his hands together as if thawing the chill from the long journey. His eyes were faraway, thoughtful.

"This land..." he said slowly. "It's changing. Dragons, their wakes—they shake the earth beneath us. The old dangers are stirring again. Something bigger is coming."

I looked down at my gauntlets — Emberhands — feeling the familiar warmth pulse through them, like an echo of his words.

"Helios is strong," Dad went on. "And you, Aaron—you carry a legacy you don't fully understand yet. But that strength... it will be needed. More than ever."

The weight of his words settled over me, heavy but steady, like the earth beneath our feet.

Dad's eyes returned to Aelira, his curiosity softening into acceptance.

"So," he said, "how did you two meet?"

Aelira's gaze drifted away, memories flickering behind her eyes. "I escaped my life at court, learned to survive. We met by chance. Now, I fight by their side."

Dad nodded, absorbing her words.

When she finished, he stood and moved to a wall lined with weapons — axes, swords, a finely crafted spear. He picked up the spear, running his fingers over the haft.

"Whatever comes," he said, voice firm, "you'll need to stand strong. Together."

I glanced at Aelira, then back to Dad. The fire flickered between us, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Outside, the world was shifting, but here, for a moment, we were home.