The sun had climbed high into the sky by the time Daelen left the village behind. The path before him stretched out into the wilderness, lined with overgrown grass and twisted trees that whispered with the wind. The scent of earth and damp leaves filled the air, and the weight of the world seemed to press down on his shoulders. It was strange, this feeling—like something was waiting just beyond the horizon, something that was meant for him.
He walked in silence, his thoughts a quiet murmur in his mind. The words of Celdor lingered like a ghost, haunting him with their simplicity: "Strength is not just about power. It's about knowing when and where to strike." But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a riddle without an answer.
What did it mean to strike? And when?
Was he truly ready?
The doubts gnawed at him, but there was no turning back. His feet had already taken him past the village, and as much as he wanted to return, the pull of something far greater whispered in his ear, urging him to press on.
By evening, Daelen had found a small clearing near a stream, its waters trickling softly over the stones. The sky overhead was painted in hues of purple and orange as the day began to fade into night. He knelt by the water's edge, washing the grime of the day off his hands, feeling the coolness seep into his skin.
In the distance, a shadow moved—an animal, perhaps. But there was something off about it. Daelen's body tensed, his senses sharpening as his hand instinctively moved toward the sword at his back. The wind shifted, carrying with it the scent of something unnatural.
The shape moved closer, and Daelen's eyes narrowed. A figure, cloaked in shadows, stepped into the clearing. Its presence felt heavy, oppressive, like the weight of something ancient pressing in from all sides.
Daelen stood, his hand still on the sword. This is it, he thought. A trial. Or something far worse. His mind raced, heart thundering in his chest.
"Who goes there?" Daelen called, his voice steady but low.
The figure did not answer at once, instead turning to face him with a slow, deliberate motion. For a moment, all Daelen could see were the glowing eyes of the figure, barely visible beneath the hood. It was not human, nor anything Daelen had seen before.
A soft, rasping voice broke the silence. "You... are not supposed to be here."