「Eirian Continent – Milbong Rainforest」

Deep in the rainforest, a strange feeling had taken hold of the creatures that inhabited it. Screeches and growls floated through the air, creating a somber cacophony that mingled with the quick footsteps of those fleeing aimlessly. The beasts took refuge in their territories, seeking shelter in the shadows of caves, among roots, or in their nests, even though they knew the energy coursing through the rainforest was uncontrollable, impossible to avoid.

The orange dawn sky slowly darkened as storm clouds gathered, stretching over the horizon. The wind blew hard, shaking the treetops, and thunder rumbled with increasing intensity. The ground began to shake, the vibrations increasing with each second. Birds, alerted to the danger, squawked and scattered in erratic flight.

In the middle of a vast lake floated an island surrounded by towering cliffs. But unlike the chaos that dominated the rainforest, there reigned a heavy silence, as if something waited in the shadows, hidden and expectant.

In the heart of the island, a huge beast slithered at breathtaking speed, its body a blur of movement as it made its way through the lavender fields. Its razor-sharp scales bristled with every movement, while its blood raged as if a storm had been awakened within.

(She's back... she's back), the creature murmured, with a mixture of disbelief and fervor.

Its four eyes glowed with a deep, almost feverish longing. Each gasp reflected the intensity of the enthusiasm that consumed it as it followed the trail of that familiar energy, a sensation that had vanished millennia ago.

Every sentient being in the rainforest, and even beyond, sensed it: something was awakening.

The creature hastily crawled until it reached the summit. Unlike the labyrinth of connected caves that made up the island's interior, the upper part was made up of gentle hills covered in green grasslands. These swayed in the cool breeze off the lake, spreading its damp, earthy scent.

A pillar of light descended from the sky, plummeting into the cenote on the highest hill—a deep cavity where groundwater pooled, forming hidden lakes beneath the ground. The creature hissed, disturbed by the density of aether emanating from the site, and began to approach cautiously.

The light gradually dimmed, as if about to be extinguished. Then, without warning, the pillar expanded and contracted abruptly, creating a vacuum effect. The creature had no time to react: it was swept away and fell into the cenote. Fortunately, the cavity was large enough to accommodate five beasts of its size. With a muffled grunt, it clutched the thick roots that hung from the stone walls, twisting tightly to avoid falling into the shimmering water below. But its attention wasn't on its precarious position.

A figure floated in the pond, radiating a faint glow. Her turquoise hair swayed with a serene rhythm, like her sleeping visage.

The creature recognized her, and then, realization struck it.

She had finally returned.

「Eirian Continent – Hathor Kingdom」

The Belenos district lay on the border between Hathor kingdom and the Milbong Rainforest. It was widely known among warriors, hunters, herbalists, and traders: a meeting point for those seeking to hone their combat skills or acquire everything from medicinal plants and weapons to the carcasses of exotic beasts.

In recent months, Belenos had become the center of conversation in the kingdom. Not because of its usual attractions, but because it had turned into the scene of brutal confrontations between the beasts of the rainforest and Hathor's warriors.

The creatures that inhabited the Milbong Rainforest possessed varying degrees of intelligence depending on their evolutionary level. Many avoided humans, focusing on hunting lesser beasts for food and protecting their territories. Others, more curious, ventured into human lands. However, they all shared one characteristic: a profound aversion to the human race. Or at least, that was how it had been. Until, without warning, species that had previously been unable to coexist began to ally to attack humans. Hathor, due to its proximity, was one of the first kingdoms besieged.

The possibility that the beasts had reached a new level of consciousness—one that prioritized conquest over territorial defense—alarmed the neighboring kingdoms. Soon, the best warriors were sent to the front to form a line of defense and avert a greater catastrophe.

However, on that particular morning, the infamous battlefield that had witnessed massacres for the past five months, dawned completely deserted. Not because one faction had triumphed: the beasts had retreated, without explanation, leaving the warriors caught between mistrust and tension.

Some warriors looked up. The sky, covered by dense clouds, revealed a flow of aether that slid like a veil over the region. Nevertheless, no one vacated their position, remaining vigilant in anticipation of a potential surprise assault.

The clouds, born in the heart of the rainforest, spread swiftly over Belenos and beyond, reaching the capital in a matter of seconds. Then, the earth shook violently. Warriors fell to their knees, unable to stand. The mounts, overcome with panic, attempted to flee. At that instant, they knew something was wrong. 

But it was too late.

The aether seeped through every corner of the kingdom as if searching for something… and then it halted. But, its pressure remained, heavy and pulsing in the air, over humans and beasts alike.

In Iabet, the capital, people who had started their day normally were now scattered on the ground, struggling to regain their balance after the tremor that shook the entire kingdom. The Hathi had never experienced anything like this, and confusion and fear gripped them. No one knew what had happened or how to react.

“The sky!” a woman shouted in the crowd.

Everyone looked up, holding their breath. Hundreds of symbols began to form in the air beyond the storm clouds, spreading out in enormous rings that enclosed the capital. These symbols, glowing and ominous, portended disaster.

Instinctively, all eyes turned to the colossal wisteria tree blooming at the heart of the Iabet acropolis: the Enedina.

That ancient tree—revered even before the kingdom's founding—was more than just a national emblem; it was the heart and pride of the Hathi, sacred and vital to their survival. Its location on the acropolis made it an indisputable symbol of power and stability.

The Enedina raised its branches toward the overcast sky, while the lilac blossoms hung, bearing witness to the confusion erupting below. The place still held a magical aura, but the chaos shattered all illusions.

The wisteria swayed violently. A golden glow, identical to that of the floating symbols, erupted from between the branches. The tree’s thick limbs shook with brutal force, emitting blood-curdling cracks.

When the sound became unbearable, the tree suddenly froze as if something had stopped it. However, the rings of symbols remained there, suspended in the sky.

Everyone waited, unsure if the worst was over… or about to begin.

The crowd scattered hastily in all directions, their faces pale and contorted with terror. No one knew exactly what to do because this earthquake had been the first experience of its kind for the Hathi, and the fear of the unknown dominated them.

“Don't run! Don't push! Form a line and follow the red banner!”

“Children and the elderly first!”

“Notify the temple! We need healers!”

“Stay away from the structures, they might collapse!”

The guards ran back and forth, trying to organize the stampeding masses, but their firm voices were drowned out by the commotion. The tension in the air was as thick as the musky scent of wisteria. An almost palpable fear clung to the skin like the sticky heat of a humid afternoon in the capital—a strange contrast between the sweetness of the scent and the harshness of the situation.

A monumental coliseum stood beneath the tree. The kingdom's most important events were held there, including public speeches, combat tournaments, funeral rituals, and national spectacles. But few knew that, beneath this structure, lay an underground complex of passages that wound beneath the entire capital—the hypogeum.

This place, jealously guarded, was open only to members of House Aelvoran, the ruling family of Hathor. The remains of their ancestors rested there in a sacred columbarium, next to an altar dedicated to the deity they worshipped.

Flames flickered in the bronze candlesticks, casting elongated shadows on the stone walls. Statues of dancing figures flanked the passageways, where the echo of hurried footsteps could be heard in the distance.

A shadow glided swiftly through the winding tunnels. The silhouette of a teenage girl emerged from the vaporous lights. She wore a flowing tunic and loose-fitting trousers, while carrying a little one draped in a black silk toga in her arms. The child buried his face in her shoulder and clutched her garment with small, trembling fingers.

Elyraen seemed unaffected by the weight she carried; her steady stride broke the silence with a relentless rhythm. However, her somber expression betrayed the uneasiness that pervaded her.

At the end of the corridor stood a domed chapel, its immaculate marble walls contrasting with the wisteria and roots that clung to its surface. The harmony between architecture and nature enveloped the place in a sacred air, as if time had stopped to honor the repose of the spirits that wandered there. In front of the threshold stood two motionless figures, their silhouettes illuminated by the warm light of the candlesticks.

Klezara, who appeared to be in her forties, wore short, pale orange hair. Her wheat-colored skin was enhanced by a low-cut, amber dress that draped elegantly, adorned with extravagant jewels that proclaimed her lineage. Her stern features betrayed her austere and indifferent disposition as she meticulously scrutinized the closed door before her.

Samira, a shorter and somewhat younger woman, stood beside her. Her plum-colored hair was pulled back into a high ponytail that fell in waves to her waist. A hairpin decorated with small flowers adorned her hairstyle, matching her exotic robe. Her fine features were subtly furrowed with worry, and her restless eyes scanned the room as if nervously awaiting something.

“Erna!” the young woman called urgently.

Both women turned just in time to see Elyraen running toward them. Klezara knew her daughter usually trained early, and her disheveled appearance was proof that she had likely been on her way to the training grounds. The boy she was carrying had features similar to Samira's. His clothes were also disheveled, as if he had put them on in a hurry.

When Samira saw her son, she breathed a sigh of relief and her distraught face finally relaxed. Ishvan began to fidget, trying to get down. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he ran to his mother, who knelt down to receive him in her arms. Feeling her warmth and familiar scent, Ishvan finally relaxed his muscles, tense with fear, and burst into silent tears.

“Thank you for bringing him, Lyra,” Samira said, hugging her son tightly. Then she stood up, continuing to soothe him. Elyraen gave a gentle smile and greeted the Erna—her father's second wife—before looking at her mother, who was indifferently observing the exchange between them.

“Mot…” Elyraen quickly corrected herself, remembering that her mother did not tolerate a lack of formality, no matter the situation. “Great Erna.” She greeted her. One more mistake, and she'd end up being thrown into endless etiquette classes, again.

Klezara—the Great Erna and the monarch's first wife—nodded wordlessly and returned her attention to the chapel. Elyraen, accustomed to such apathy, shrugged and decided to emulate her attitude.

The chamber's vault was enveloped in the thick roots of the Enedina tree, which extended downwards along the pillars. The walls were covered with sealed niches, and the chapel door was carved with an intricate mosaic of symbols and text.

Seeing both women waiting outside, Elyraen knew immediately what it meant—her father, the Great Rhig, was inside. Without hesitation, she pushed her way through and stood before the door. The inscription etched across its surface was written in Anatta. Despite her years of study, the ancient language remained challenging for her. Luckily, she didn't need to translate everything, just recite a specific verse. Otherwise, they could be stuck there for hours… or days.

“Burning in the poison of my devotion,” Elyraen recited with the ease of someone who had repeated those words ad nauseam.

Her voice echoed through the chamber as the inscription flashed briefly. The chapel doors opened with a shrill creak, revealing a prominent altar inside. Beneath it lay a collection of carefully arranged offerings: gems, dried flowers, books, and other objects that House Aelvoran deemed valuable and dedicated to the deity who watched over the lands of Hathor.

Elyraen took a deep breath to prepare herself and crossed the threshold. As soon as she stepped inside, her vision blurred for an instant. She knew then that the ceremony had begun. It was said to test the obedience, loyalty, and devotion of those who dared to enter, and a single mistake could have severe consequences. 

The energy—which they called aether—emanated from within the chapel and crashed against hers. It enveloped her in an uncomfortable sensation as if trying to subdue her. Still, she continued forward until she reached the circular platform in front of the offerings.

When she reached the center, she knelt on the ground, closed her eyes, and tried to calm her frantic heartbeat. She guided the flow of aether within her body, concentrating it in her left hand.

“Here I am, a remnant of your lineage,” Elyraen murmured in Anatta.

The platform's tiles, covered in symbols, began to rotate with a slow, precise cadence. Markings shaped like water lilies appeared on the back of her hand; at first, they were barely visible, blurred against her skin, but within seconds, they intensified to a pure white.

“I present to you proof of the blessing. Grant me your permission.” She placed her palm on the platform, which glowed in response.

The Enedina on the surface creaked with force, its branches swaying in protest. Ishvan, still in his mother's arms, hid his face against her chest and clung to her tightly. His red, swollen eyes continued to shed tears, and his small face twisted into a grimace of pain. Yet not a single sound escaped his lips.

{Mom, it's crying... It's hurting…} These thoughts, transmitted by telepathy, echoed in Samira's mind.

In response, she rubbed her cheek against the boy's silky hair, gently stroking his back in an attempt to calm him. Her gaze darted across the platform, but Elyraen was no longer there.

She had vanished.