Chronicles of the Aetherborn

Storms rolled across the skies of Elun'dorei, casting flickering shadows across the treetop city. Inside the Council Hall, a gathering of high elves spoke in hushed, urgent tones. Jordan sat at the center of their circle—uneasy, silent, scrutinized.

"He's unstable," said one of the elder elves, her voice sharp like frost. "He should not remain here."

"He saved our scouts," Velra shot back. "And one of your guards. Or did you forget?"

"He did," the elder said. "But at what cost? Look at him. The power leaks from his skin like a wound that won't heal."

Jordan glanced down. She wasn't wrong. Since the blast that killed the beast, the air around him seemed to ripple—subtly, unnaturally. Like the world itself held its breath near him.

"We cannot ignore the old warnings," another councilor added. "If he truly is one of them..."

Silence fell.

The word no one wanted to say hung in the air like smoke.

Aetherborn.

Elsewhere, That NightVelra walked alone beneath the great roots of the Silvergrove, deep in the sacred woods. She had grown up hearing stories of monsters, of rifts, of forgotten powers—but never thought she'd be part of one.

A rustle behind her.

She turned fast—but the figure was already there.

Tall. Cloaked. A mask of bone.

"You're late," Velra muttered.

The figure spoke with a voice like wind through old leaves. "The pact is always watching. Even now."

"What do you want from me?"

"A warning," the figure said. "The boy—Jordan—is not the beginning of change. He is the weapon forged by it. The true storm is coming. The shadows beneath Nytherra are awakening."

"Tell me what he is," Velra demanded. "Tell me what Aetherborn means."

The figure didn't answer. Instead, it handed her something: a scroll bound in black vine.

"Deliver this to your elders. It will break their silence."

"And what do you want in return?"

The figure's head tilted. "Nothing. Yet."

Then it vanished into mist.

Back in the VillageJordan leaned over the balcony of the chamber they'd given him. The stars felt closer here, as if they too were watching.

He heard footsteps.

Ariana.

She joined him, holding two cups of moonblossom tea. He took one.

"You okay?" she asked softly.

Jordan didn't answer at first. Then: "I keep dreaming of a throne made of ash. And a crown of light that burns."

Ariana said nothing. Just waited.

"I think… something in me remembers a life that isn't mine. Power I've never learned. People I've never met."

Ariana finally spoke. "The ancient myths say the Aetherborn were not just warriors. They were echoes of a time before memory. Children of stars and void."

"And one of them destroyed an entire continent," Jordan said bitterly.

"Myrridon," Ariana nodded. "It was said to fall in a single breath. One scream, and the sky split."

Jordan gripped the railing. "Do you think I'll end up like that?"

"I think your story isn't written yet."

He looked at her. "Even if I'm a danger?"

Ariana held his gaze. "Especially then."