Chronicles of the Aetherborn

Chapter 13: Chapter 12: Ashes and Silver



Jordan couldn't sleep.

Even though the elven sanctum was peaceful—bathed in soft blue glows and the hum of ancient magic—his mind churned. That vision... the wings, the shadow, the name.

Aetherborn.

What did it mean? Why did it feel like a part of him had been cracked open and something terrifying had looked out?

At dawn, Ariana found him sitting beside a shallow pool outside the Hall of Spirits. Mist clung to the surface, and strange fish with glowing fins swam through it like smoke.

"You should rest," she said, kneeling beside him. "What happened yesterday wasn't... small."

Jordan glanced at her. "They think I'm something dangerous."

"They're not wrong."

He stared at her, startled. Ariana added quickly, "But dangerous isn't always evil. You just haven't been shaped yet."

There was a long silence between them.

Then: "You said the Rift kills most who enter it," Jordan said. "But I survived. And my brother—Zane—he went through it too."

Ariana's expression darkened. "Yes. But we'll speak of him when the time is right."

Before he could press her further, a voice cut across the courtyard.

"Up already, human?"

An elf strode toward them—tall, graceful, and wrapped in silver-lined leathers. Her hair was braided tightly, and her green eyes were cold, calculating. At her hip, a curved blade shimmered in the light—black as night, with veins of starlight etched across it.

"This is Velra," Ariana said. "She's a Moonblade. One of our best warriors."

Velra gave a half-smile. "So you're the walking storm everyone's whispering about."

Jordan stood. "Storm? Hardly. I've barely done anything."

Velra's smile widened. "Exactly. That's the problem. Come. I've been tasked with training you."

"Training me to do what?"

"To survive," Velra said simply. "And to kill, if necessary."

The Days That FollowedJordan's days were brutal.

Elves didn't believe in gentle instruction. Velra drove him hard—teaching him to move, to strike, to anticipate. His muscles ached. His mind screamed. But with each fall, he rose faster.

Magic was harder. The energy within him was chaotic—refusing to be tamed. He could feel it coil like a beast, waiting.

"Stop forcing it," Velra shouted one afternoon as a gust of uncontrolled wind knocked her off her feet. "You're not a hammer. You're a vessel. Let the power come. Don't drag it."

But one night, alone in the forest's edge, something changed.

Jordan stood beneath the twin moons, hands open. He breathed slowly. Remembered the vision. The feeling.

Then—magic.

It flowed, not like lightning, but like breath.

A sphere of light hovered in his palm. Calm. Controlled. Warm.

But then—screams.

From the northern trees, two scouts burst out, bloodied and panicked. Behind them, a twisted creature emerged. Skin like molten bark. Eyes like pits. It moved too fast.

Jordan's instincts flared.

Velra and Ariana shouted from behind—but Jordan was already moving.

The creature lunged—Jordan raised his hand.

Boom.

The air warped.

An invisible force crushed the monster mid-leap. It let out a horrible screech before being thrown back into a tree, shattering it into splinters.

Jordan dropped to one knee. Blood leaked from his nose. His vision swam.

"Jordan!" Ariana caught him.

He looked at her, dazed. "I didn't mean to…"

Velra stared at him, jaw clenched. "You didn't just use magic. You bent it."


Tip: You can use left, right, A and D keyboard keys to browse between chapters.