Lyric stared at the stranger, chest still heaving from the run.Destiny? The word felt like a mockery, ill-fitting and absurd.
"I don't even know who you are," he managed between breaths.
The stranger chuckled, the sound dry as parchment. "Names have power," he said, turning the staff slowly in his hand. "But you may call me Sevryn."
"And that thing?" Lyric gestured shakily to the ashes.
"A Hollow Beast," Sevryn replied, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather. "Fragments of the Old Realm's nightmares, left behind to guard the Gate. It seems the Realm still remembers what was lost."
Lyric frowned. "Realm? Gate? What is this place?"
Sevryn's eyes glittered. "You have crossed the Veil, boy. You stand now in the Outskirts of Elysdaine, the Forgotten Realm. Once, this land teemed with life, magic, wonder. Now... only echoes remain."
Lyric swallowed hard. This was too much. He had expected — what? Treasure? Adventure? Not a dying world and skeletal monsters.
Sevryn seemed to read his thoughts. "You were not prepared."
"No," Lyric admitted.
Sevryn tilted his head, studying him like a puzzle. "Yet you came. That alone makes you different."
Lyric shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't have a choice."
"Everyone has a choice," Sevryn said quietly. "Even the broken."
For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken things.
Then Sevryn turned on his heel. "Come. We should not linger."
Lyric hesitated. "Why should I trust you?"
Sevryn smiled thinly over his shoulder. "You shouldn't. But the Hollow Beasts will return, and you are woefully unprepared to face them alone."
Reluctantly, Lyric followed.
The corridor beyond the chamber sloped downward, the walls growing rougher, more natural, as if carved not by hands but by some vast, slow force.
As they walked, Lyric found his voice. "You said... I'm late. What did you mean?"
Sevryn's staff tapped against the stone with each step. "The Gate opens once every thousand years, in search of a bearer — someone who might restore the Realm or hasten its final death. You were meant to arrive earlier, before the decay spread this far."
"Restore it?" Lyric repeated. "How am I supposed to do that? I'm nobody."
Sevryn barked a short, humorless laugh. "Are you? You carry the Mark of the Verdant Eye." He pointed to Lyric's amulet. "That alone marks you as heir to the old blood."
Lyric clutched the amulet reflexively. "My mother gave me this."
"Then she knew what you are."
Lyric's mind reeled. His mother — dead since he was a baby — had always been a ghost to him, a handful of half-remembered lullabies and the faint scent of lavender.Could she have been part of this ancient, forgotten world?
Before he could ask more, the tunnel opened into a massive cavern.
The cavern was unlike anything Lyric had ever seen.
Massive pillars of crystal rose from the ground, stretching toward a sky he could not see. Rivers of light flowed through the crystal veins, casting shifting patterns on the cavern walls.And there, at the center, stood a city.
Or rather, the ruins of one.
Towering spires lay toppled like broken bones. Bridges hung shattered over chasms. Statues of forgotten kings and queens stared sightlessly at the desolation.
Sevryn spread his arms. "Welcome to Veylanthar," he said, voice tinged with reverence. "Once the jewel of Elysdaine. Now, a tomb."
Lyric stepped forward, drawn despite himself.
As he passed a crumbling archway, something stirred in the ruins — a flicker of movement too quick to catch.
He froze. "Did you see that?"
Sevryn nodded grimly. "We are not alone."
No sooner had he spoken than the ground trembled.
From the shadows emerged figures — dozens of them — gaunt, skeletal forms cloaked in ragged remnants of armor. Their eyes burned with cold fire.
"The Forsaken," Sevryn hissed. "Warriors who once defended the Realm. Twisted now into mockeries of life."
Lyric backed away. "Can you... do that thing again? Like with the Hollow Beast?"
Sevryn's expression darkened. "Not against so many."
The Forsaken advanced, weapons raised.
"Run?" Lyric suggested.
"For now," Sevryn agreed grimly.
They fled through the ruins, the Forsaken in relentless pursuit.
Lyric stumbled over debris, heart pounding, lungs burning.The city was a labyrinth of broken streets and fallen towers, each turn offering either salvation or a dead end.
Ahead, a narrow bridge arched over a deep chasm. Beyond it, a wide gate of green stone stood half-open.
"This way!" Sevryn shouted.
They sprinted across the bridge, the Forsaken shrieking behind them.
Halfway across, Lyric heard the crack — the sound of ancient stone giving way.
The bridge lurched.
Without thinking, Sevryn hurled his staff toward the far side — it embedded itself into the stone — and grabbed Lyric by the collar.
"Hold on!"
The bridge collapsed, and they swung wildly, dangling over the abyss.
For a terrifying moment, Lyric thought they would fall.
But Sevryn's grip was iron.
With a grunt of effort, he hauled them up onto the far ledge, collapsing in a heap.
Lyric lay gasping, staring up at the crystal-lit sky.
Sevryn laughed — a ragged, exhausted sound. "Not the most graceful escape."
Lyric managed a shaky grin. "Still counts."
They struggled to their feet and staggered through the green gate.
Beyond the gate was another world entirely.
Where the ruins had been bleak and broken, this place teemed with strange, ethereal beauty.
Fields of silver grass stretched into the distance, studded with towering mushrooms that pulsed with gentle bioluminescence. Rivers of light flowed through the earth itself, illuminating the land from below.
Above, the sky swirled with colors Lyric had no name for — shifting blues, greens, and violets.
It was beautiful.And wrong.
Something moved at the edge of vision — shadows that flickered and danced without a source.
Sevryn's expression grew grim.
"The Realm is sick," he said quietly. "The corruption spreads even here."
Lyric shivered.
"What happens if... if we can't fix it?"
Sevryn looked at him, and for the first time, Lyric saw true fear in the older man's eyes.
"Then both our worlds will die."
They set camp beneath a twisted tree whose leaves glowed faintly.
As Sevryn built a small fire, Lyric finally asked the question burning inside him.
"Why me?"
Sevryn was silent for a long time.
Then he said, "Because you are the last."
Lyric stared at him.
"The bloodlines of the Old Realm have withered," Sevryn continued. "You are the final thread. The last scion of the Verdant Eye — the bloodline sworn to guard the balance between worlds."
He smiled bitterly. "A heavy burden for one so young."
Lyric shook his head. "I don't even know how to use magic. I can barely fight."
"Not yet," Sevryn agreed. "But you have power, Lyric Thorn. Power that even you cannot yet comprehend."
He leaned closer, voice dropping.
"And you are not alone."
Before Lyric could ask what he meant, Sevryn reached into his robes and pulled out a small, cloth-wrapped bundle.
He unwrapped it carefully, revealing a dagger.
But it was no ordinary blade.
The hilt was woven from living vines that shifted subtly under the eye. The blade itself shimmered, translucent and humming with latent energy.
"This," Sevryn said, "is the Shard of Eirathis. A fragment of the World Tree itself. It will answer only to one of true blood."
He offered it to Lyric.
Hesitantly, Lyric reached out.
The moment his fingers brushed the hilt, the dagger blazed with green fire.
The ground trembled.The air shivered.
Somewhere in the distance, something howled — a sound of rage and hunger.
Sevryn's eyes widened.
"They know," he whispered.
"Who knows?" Lyric demanded, heart racing.
Sevryn rose to his feet, cloak swirling. "The Hollow Court. The Remnants of the Dark Sovereigns. The Realm itself."
He looked at Lyric, expression grim.
"You have awakened your birthright, Lyric Thorn. Now all of Elysdaine will come for you — allies and enemies alike."
He turned his gaze to the swirling sky.
"And not all will wish you to succeed."