The clang of metal filled the air like thunder.
Sweat glistened under the sun's glare as Aria staggered backward, her wooden blade colliding with Garron's shield. The impact sent a tremor up her arm, nearly knocking the sword from her grasp.
"Hold your stance!" barked Captain Roric, head of the Royal Guard. His voice carried like rolling gravel. "If you lose your balance, you lose your life!"
Aria gritted her teeth, forcing her legs to steady. Her wrists trembled from the constant strain. Every swing, every dodge felt heavier than the last.
Around her, her companions fought fluidly — Coren's strikes quick and powerful, Sera's spear movements graceful and precise, Lyra chanting soft bursts of wind to deflect incoming blows, Elira kneeling at the edge, her glowing hands healing small bruises in seconds.
Roric's shadow fell over her again. "You fight like someone who's afraid to hurt the world, girl. You can't protect it that way."
"I'm trying," she gasped.
"Trying doesn't stop a sword."
He swung his training blade toward her without warning. Aria raised her own by instinct — too slow. The strike hit her side, the blunt pain blooming under her ribs. She stumbled, dropping to one knee.
"Again," Roric ordered coldly.
She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stand. "Yes, sir."
By midday, the courtyard shimmered in heat. Roric finally called for rest, and the recruits scattered toward the shade. Aria dropped her sword beside her and sank onto the cool stone near the garden wall. Every muscle screamed.
I'm not strong enough.
The thought cut deep. She wasn't a knight. She wasn't even sure she was the hero this world wanted. The others trained since childhood — she'd barely learned how to hold a sword without flinching.
Yet somewhere beneath the exhaustion, a strange rhythm pulsed — faint but alive. Each time she faced an opponent, she could feel something that wasn't hers. A flicker of fear. A spike of pride. A flash of pain before they even winced.
At first, she thought it was coincidence. But now… it was too clear.
Coren's frustration burned like fire each time he missed a strike.
Sera's mind was quiet, calm — almost meditative.
Even Roric's hidden grief echoed faintly in her chest when his gaze lingered on the soldiers.
She wasn't just watching them. She was feeling them.
And somewhere deep inside, she sensed that this was her strength — not brute power, but understanding.
When she finally looked up, Elira was sitting beside her, silent as ever. Her healer's robes caught the breeze, her silver hair falling like liquid light across her shoulder.
"You're not from here," Elira said softly. "And yet you move as if this world was waiting for you."
Aria managed a tired smile. "That's one way to say I'm terrible at everything."
Elira chuckled — a sound so faint it almost disappeared into the wind. "Terrible beginnings make great stories."
They sat quietly for a moment. The others were laughing nearby — Coren teasing Lyra about her aim, Sera trying to meditate while pretending not to listen. The sound was distant, human, alive. For the first time, the place felt less like a prison of expectations and more like… a chance.
Then Elira spoke again, almost absently, "Tell me, Aria. When you fell into this world, did you hear anything?"
Aria's heart skipped. "You mean… during the summoning?"
Elira nodded. Her gaze didn't move from the horizon.
Aria hesitated. "Yes. A voice. It said… something about light and flame and… "
Elira asks impatiently as if she had been waiting for centuries. "..and?"
"...Aetherbounds." Aria speaks low.
Elira finally turned to her, and for the briefest second, her eyes glowed — faint and ancient, like a reflection of starlight on water. "So you did hear it."
"You know about them," Aria said slowly.
"Everyone does," Elira replied. "Just not the truth."
The wind picked up, carrying whispers of distant bells. The healer rested her hands on her knees and looked at the courtyard, now emptying of soldiers. "The world calls them myths because it's easier to live in ignorance than to admit how much we've lost."
Her voice grew softer — but deeper, as if another spoke through her.
"Long before Elyndra had kings, before swords gleamed with forged light, there were five who stood when gods fell silent."
Aria's breath caught.
"First came Suvarn Eltar — the Ember of Dawn.
A boy who dared to fight with nothing but courage. His dagger was flame itself — burning not from rage, but from the will to keep hope alive. When the skies darkened, he was the light that refused to fade. They called him Hope given form."
Elira's tone shifted, her eyes distant as though she saw their faces across time.
"Then there was Kaenmor Lyren, the Whisperer of Winds.
He carried no hatred, no blade thirsting for blood. His spirit spoke to the air, guiding it into shields, turning chaos into calm. When nations bled, he healed both earth and heart. His strength was not power — it was peace."
"From the mountains of iron rose Morian Veyr, the Titan of the Gauntlets.
He bore fists forged from the world's core itself. His blows shook armies, but his soul crumbled under the weight of every life he couldn't save. They say when he struck the ground in grief, a valley was born."
"In the shadows of the storm came Deyr Kael, the Chains of Chaos.
Twin blades, bound by spectral chains, danced to his will. Unpredictable. Untamed. He laughed in the face of order — yet behind the madness burned sorrow so deep that even death envied it. He was both fury and freedom."
Her voice slowed then, lowering into something reverent.
"And… Dravon Valeis — the Eclipser of Blades.
He wielded darkness not as evil, but as truth — that every light casts a shadow. His sword fed on rage, yet his heart longed for control. They say he fought the gods themselves, not to win, but to prove they could bleed."
The courtyard seemed to fall utterly silent. The wind itself stilled, listening. Even the faint echo of distant steel faded into memory.
Aria's chest rose and fell, her pulse quickening. "You speak as if you knew them."
Elira looked at her, expression unreadable. "Perhaps I did. Or perhaps their memories simply refuse to die."
Aria stared down at her calloused palms, still trembling from training. "So they were real."
Elira tilted her head. "What is real, Hero of Light? The Aetherbounds vanished long before this kingdom's first stone was set. But their essence… still moves through the world. In every act of courage, every whisper of harmony, every ounce of chaos and strength and rage."
She smiled faintly. "Maybe that's why you heard them. Maybe they chose to let you."
Aria's mind whirled. Suvarn… Kaenmor… Morian… Deyr… Dravon.
The names burned in her memory like old stars waking from slumber.
"Why tell me this?" she asked finally.
"Because," Elira said quietly, "the myths may have faded — but the war that silenced them never truly ended."
She rose, dusting her robes, and began walking away. Then she paused, glancing back over her shoulder.
"When you find the first flame," she said, "don't be afraid to let it burn."
"What flame?" Aria called after her.
But Elira was already gone — her figure dissolving into the light beyond the courtyard gate, leaving only the whisper of wind in her wake.
That night, as Aria lay awake, the names repeated in her mind like a pulse.
Suvarn. Kaenmor. Morian. Deyr. Dravon.
Five souls bound to the forces of the world. Five vanished heroes.
And one strange healer who seemed to know far more than she should.
She turned toward the window, the moon casting soft silver against her desk — the same place where the mysterious book had first glowed.
This time, nothing stirred.
But somehow, she knew it was only waiting — for her to begin.