"In the time before silence, there were five human kingdoms: Veyron the Blade, Caedros the Mind, Thalren the Quiet, Dargan the Lost, and Aerondale the Burned."
The old storyteller's voice drifted through the fire-lit tavern, soft and steady. Villagers, wanderers, and retired soldiers sat near the hearth, half-listening, half-drinking, drawn more by comfort than belief.
"The dwarves held their three great holds Ironjaw, Stonegrip, and Emberdeep. The elves ruled three realms. Sylvarin of the woods, Elarith of the stars, and Vael'dor of the shadows. The orcs, beastkin, and others had their clans in the wilds. The demons, well... they weren't invited, but they came anyway."
He sipped from a tin cup and gestured toward the hearthstone. In its center sat a pale crystal Aetherstone, glowing with a soft, steady light.
"And there was this. Aetherstone. Some say the gods gave it to us. Others say we carved it from their bones. Either way, it made magic easier. More powerful. We built our cities on it. Fought wars with it. Prayed through it. And it listened. Or something did."
The tavern quieted.
"Then came the 10-Year War. Kingdoms turned on each other. Elves bled beside orcs. Demons poured into the world. And the gods... they went quiet. When it was over, no one knew what to believe anymore."
He looked around the room.
"That was three years ago. Now, for the first time since, the kings and priests have come together. They're calling today the Great Healing. A mass prayer. A ritual using Aetherstone from all across the land to bless the world and heal what was broken. They say it's the first step toward real peace."
He paused, voice lowering.
"Let's hope they're right."
Cael dreamt of fire.
He ran through a stone corridor thick with smoke, boots splashing through blood. Banners burned above him. Men screamed behind closed doors. The air was full of ash and silence.
In the center of it all: the altar. Torn bodies. A broken seal. An empty handprint burned into the floor.
He reached out and the dream snapped.
"You'll pay for this," a voice whispered.
He turned. No one was there.
Cael woke with a sharp breath, heart racing. Sunlight filtered through cracked shutters. Dust floated in the still air of a quiet room. He sat up slowly, wiping sweat from his brow.
The war was over. The trial was over.
But the nightmare never left.
He stood and splashed water on his face, the chill dragging him fully awake. His small home a cottage outside the village square was silent. No swords on the wall. No medals. Just a half-filled basin, an empty chair, and a coat that smelled of smoke and old rain.
Three years since the war.
Three years since he was cast out.
They called it justice. He called it survival.
Cael pulled on his worn boots and cloak. Outside, bells rang faintly in the distance. The Great Healing festival was beginning. Processions. Prayers. Food. Speeches. All of it built on the idea that things were getting better.
He didn't believe that.
Still, his feet carried him to the only place that still made sense.
The tavern.
By midday, the bar was buzzing with noise and warmth. Music drifted in from the festival outside. Townsfolk came and went, celebrating in their own quiet ways.
Cael sat in the corner, half-watching, half-drinking. His bottle was nearly empty. The bartender didn't ask questions. He liked that.
Then the door creaked open.
A tall figure stepped in, ducking slightly to fit through the doorway. Wrapped in worn leathers, fur cloak resting on one shoulder, sharp wolf ears twitching above a tired grin.
Ravik.
The wolfkin spotted Cael instantly and made his way over, pulling up a chair.
"Drinking already?" he said. "You're starting early even for you."
"Festival's today," Cael muttered. "Seems like a good time to be drunk."
"You know they're calling it the Great Healing, right? First one since the war. Priests are out in full. They've gathered more Aetherstone than I've ever seen saying the world's finally ready for a proper blessing."
Cael glanced toward the hearth. The Aetherstone inside glowed just as it always had.
"Still works."
"The priests are saying the stones might glow brighter this time. Like they did before the gods went quiet."
Cael didn't answer. He just stared at his drink, eyes distant.
"You should come," Ravik added. "Might do you good. Remind you the world's not ending."
"I don't need reminding," Cael said. "Just quiet."
Ravik leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.
"Funny. The only time the world's quiet is right before it falls apart."
Outside, laughter rose. Music played. Children ran through the square with ribbons in their hands. In the center of it all, priests prepared the altar for the night's ritual.
But Cael sat still.
And somewhere deep inside, he felt it the way one feels a storm before it arrives. A weight in the air. A silence that wasn't peaceful. Just waiting.