The woods were alive with the sounds of birds chirping, crickets buzzing, and the distant call of an owl echoing from the trees once in a while. A faint orange glow from the campfire flickered through the underbrush, chasing back the creeping dark and casting long shadows beneath the tall trunks. At the edge of this light, far from the fire's warmth, a boy stood alone. He was shirtless, sweat beading along his brow.
Aster fifteen year old boy. Lean, with a hint of muscle — the kind forged through farm work, chopping wood, and long days beneath the sun. He gritted his teeth and lifted his sword, rusted, chipped near the hilt. The blade trembled in his grip as he swung it again and again, cutting through the air with raw effort. His form was crude but practiced. Each swing carried more than steel. It carried the weight of questions without answers, of something he didn't know.
'185,186,18....'
After a dozen more strikes, he collapsed to his knees, panting, exhausted and his arms felt like they were going to fall any moment. The sword fell beside him with a clang. Overhead, the moon hung almost full but close, its glow stretched thin across the sky. The wind howled low through the trees, stirring leaves and making rustling sounds.
He stared at the moon for a while, his eyes reflecting the moon. But no emotions.He just kept staring as the clouds kept floating and the branches moved along the wind.
He could hear the sound of others laughing, the clinking of pots, crackling of sounds sort of campfire atmosphere filled with peace.
Suddenly, everything went silent.
One moment, there were voices — laughter, footsteps, the rustle of cloaks in the wind — and the next, nothing. The silence dropped heavy, thick as a wet blanket. Even the wind seemed to be holding its breath.
Then came the sound, Not a voice. Not really. More like breathing, rough and dry, close to his ear. Too close.
He turned, but no one was there.
Aster touched his ear. His fingers came back sticky. Red.
He didn't remember it hurting.
But something had been there. He was sure of it.
'AGAIN..' he sighed.
It had been a month since he left his small village. A month of dust, hunger, and full of unimaginable events.
Elder Heron of his village's words still echo in his mind.
"Go to Vaelthara. The Church there may help you — they deal with curses and madness. If anything can help you… it's them."
Some villagers said it was just grief. Others called him cursed.
He didn't feel cursed. Since the night his mother died, things had… shifted. He'd woken to her whispering in his sleep, weeping. Then came the visions: Mirror showing him distorted, shadows moving around him.
And sometimes, his own eyes reflected silver in the water.
Sometimes, he could swear the moon pulsed in rhythm with his heart.
And always the crows followed.
Aster isn't stupid. But he is naive. He'd never left his village before. He knows nothing of cities, of politics, of mages or monsters. He had heard of the Awakened, But that was a myth to him. Page-stuff. Not real life.
Following the elders' advice, he joined a caravan going to the capital of the kingdom, VAELTHARA.
In this one month, he'd faced horrors he had never seen before and watched mercenaries fend off dusk raiders with fire and wind, and seen a man cut in half by a spell he didn't understand. Aster had never seen magic before. When it happened — when that first burst of wind bloomed from Bren's outstretched hand like a canon — Aster had dropped to the ground, trembling, heart pounding as if it wanted to flee his ribs.
He tried to contribute to the fight but in front of these monsters- humans, and horror.
both his hands started to tremble.
He'd never felt more out of place and weak.
While he was reminiscing about his life ,he heard footsteps approaching him.
"You always swing like that?" Bren asked, smirking. "Like a drunk swinging at its shadows?"
Aster sighed. "They dodge less than you."
Bren — the youngest son of a baron ruling an area near his village with a too-clean cloak and too-sharp tongue. He is chewing on a stem of dried grass like he thought it made him look wiser.
"Mm. So do trees." Bren passed him bread. "You swing hard, though. I'll give you that."
Aster tore into it. "Maybe one day I'll hit something."
"I'd prefer you didn't try me first." Bren leaned back, grinning. "Wouldn't be fair — I've got wind and style."
A girl beside him snorted. "You've got neither."
"You wound me, Lady Vessa," Bren said with mock grace. "Deeply."
Aster's lips curled
Aster wasn't Awakened. He didn't even know what made someone one.
He got to know that Awakened people have strange abilities like fire and wind control he heard a mercenary saying that some awakened are so powerful they can flatten the mountain with a single swing.
terrifying
"come ghosty boy supper is ready, and don't go far from camp or a monster might make you snack, and believe me they can eat you before you even swing that sword"
Due to these strange dreams and whispers Aster always kept to himself and rarely mingled with others, so Bren started calling him Ghosty Boy.
Tonight, they camped by a lake that mirrored the moon. Wagons formed a lazy circle near the shore. A few traders of this merchant group, mercenaries hired by them, and a bunch of villagers like Aster. Further down, a knot of children of Aster's age sat cross-legged and few older. They were listening to an old man spinning tales of past wars and flying cities they were new students going to Vale Academy, and Bren is with them, they are going to the academy in the capital escorted by a warrior first-time aster saw that warrior he couldn't even breath, Air around warrior was dense and move unnormal, aura of what they call sin-bound or awakened terrified him. The storyteller's voice carried between trees like an echo.
When he first heard their chat Aster felt they were talking about a different place, not the one he knew but in one month he he got to know how small his knowledge was.
These people fight all the Horrors that his mother or village people used to call Sins in reality. From their Chat, he got to know these sins rules the world and we humans are just surviving thanks to powerful Awakened people like the King of Kurwyn empire and his clan members or other high level awakened.
Aster took a seat by the fire, bowl in hand, watching the steam curl from the stew. Bren, as usual, sat opposite him with a sprig of grass between his teeth. An older mercenary, grey in the beard and still armored in patched leather, leaned forward, gesturing with a crust of bread.
" And there we were," he said in a gravel voice before biting that bread "trapped in the Kragnir chasm, rain coming down like knives tired and all supplies lost, scouts didn't return next thing I knew was a beast made of rotting flesh coming towards us, his tendrils and swollen sacs looking hideous as always"
Isla leaned in. "You are lying."
" May the gods take me if I am" the man swore. "It was a baron ranked Sin mawkroot, old and rotten, and would have killed us all if a high-tier awakened hadn't come at a time. He cut that thing with a wave of ice so cold that rain froze midair. I still hear it in my dream."
Aster sat there, silent and with eyes wide.
Bren rolled his eyes. "Sins it's always them. My cousin died on his Mission in the northern mountains, sliced open, no one even saw it coming."
Niva, the maid of the Caravan owner, nodded grimly.
Another younger sellsword added "I have seen some in the desert of the caldera we were guarding the company of merchants when the light went out half our team was gone before dawn, most of them were awakened still can't defend against that sin, I literally shat my self, I am saying we all are going to die I should have been born 2 centuries back my grandma always say things were better peaceful there were no sins humans ruled the earth"
Aster chuckled before he could stop himself.
Bren turned towards him. "You find this funny, Ghost boy?"
Aster froze, seeing all looking at him. "No, no.., I just .. it's all new to me," Aster replied hesitantly.
Isla looked at him, narrowing her gaze with suspicion. " Where are you from again?"
"Branwick village, a tiny hilly village with wheat fields near barony Greyfen, I used to wake up before dawn to help my mother and other villagers, cut wood, hunt rabbits, and toil fields. I had never seen a mage till last month, and never heard of these monsters and academies. We didn't even have books unless a priest came and lent one. milady "
Bren Scoffed, as a noble's son thinks nobles are better than lowly peasants, "You really are from under the rock. Gods, no book, no trainer, but good, you have manners, how to treat nobles. How did you learn your letters?"
Aster is saddened by Bren's question. he looked down. "My mother taught me."
The laughter eased, and merchants and mercenaries again started sharing their experiences between themselves leaving children alone.
Marn, the old apothecary of the merchant, seated beside Aster and shaping a wooden bird with his eyes, said nothing but glanced at him while nodding in understanding.
"You farmed?" Isla asked gently.
Aster nodded, "Mostly wheat, some veggies, and trade them with other villages nearby for dried fruits and eggs. In spring, I help in lambing. In the village, we only talk about Sins as fairy tales and magic I have only heard that a priest from a nearby town can heal without herbs."
Bren scoffed "They are a story in our barony too, just louder as the awakened rare out here."
Aster blinked. " But... you all have power. I saw you conjured wind yesterday."
Bren lifted his hand, and as he flicked it, a gust of wind lifted the smoke of the campfire, twisting in a small spiral. "Wind ability, second tier. With time, I will be able to command storms like my father and elders, hahaha, it is rare but noble, are mostly awakened, they are chosen one.s"
The last sentence made the Asters feel lesser.
Isla chimed in, "Mind touch and small healing. I can feel thoughts and emotions if I concentrate."
Aster leaned back. "Lord Bren said like his father. Lord baron is awakened, too?"
Isla replied excitedly, "Yes it is highly probable child of the awakened will get the ability of his parents. Bren's family has a lineage of wind users, but change may occur Like me, my family carries healing abilities, and from generation, we served in church, but I awakened mind ability too"
Aster blinked in enlightenment " That's awesome and terrifying "
Bren grinned " Her is useless but mine is best "
Isla rolled her eyes "You tried to unclog your room toilet with wind that's idiocy"
"it was gas build-up in pipe not me," Bren said immediately.
"You blew up the pipe"
Bren grinned, "and baptized every one "
Even Aster laughed, forgetting about his worries.
Marn finally spoke, "So where are you headed, Aster ?"
Aster turned to Marn and replied," Vaelthara. The capital. An elder in my village said the church there might help me."
Isla, hearing the word church, jumped in "Why, what happened?"
Aster's eyes glanced around as if locating someone or something. Sweat formed on his forehead. "Things have been happening to me since my mother died. I see her in the woods in dreams sometimes she is crying sometimes screaming in a language I don't know, I hear whispers it's getting unbearable now I always feel something is watching "
Owl's hoot echoed in the jungle. Aster flinched to the sound.
Bren muttered "he might be getting awakened or already awakened. Dark ability maybe"
Isla nodded while thinking, "Might be an omen-related ability."
Marn's expression tightened. His jaw set.
"you ever heard of the other kind of sin bounds, Aster? The cursed kind"
Isla's eyes widened. The smirk she usually wore slipped away without a word.
The camp had been noisy a moment ago — laughter, chatter, the clatter of bowls. Now, it grew still. Voices faltered. Conversations trailed off as if Marn had said something he wasn't supposed to.
Only a few kept talking — some from far-off villages who knew nothing, others who'd seen too much to flinch.
But the older academy students all started looking at him as if he were a walking specimen. Even the oldest mercenary, grizzled and scarred, looked at him with quiet pity
Unnoticed by most, a few crows drifted down from the darkening sky, wings silent. They perched on a bare branch above the camp, black eyes fixed below, watching.
Still
Patiently.
As if they are waiting for something to begin, after all, they are watchers and keepers.