Chronicles of Elyria

Chapter 1: Village of Ashes

The morning sun cast a soft, golden light over the village of Brindlemark, nestled quietly within the Dragon's Spine Mountains. It was the kind of morning that Lyrien had once taken for granted—a morning filled with the simple routines of village life, the calls of the merchants setting up their stalls, the sounds of the blacksmith's hammer ringing out in the distance, and the laughter of children as they ran through the narrow streets. But today, none of that seemed real to him. In his heart, he knew that something was terribly wrong.

Lyrien stood at the edge of the village, his hand resting on the wooden fence that bordered his family's small farm. He stared out across the fields, lost in thought. His short, dark hair blew in the cool mountain breeze, and his piercing blue eyes seemed to see far beyond the horizon. A strange stillness had settled over the village, a quiet that was unnatural for a place like Brindlemark. It was as though the world itself was holding its breath.

His thoughts kept returning to the dream—the one that had woken him in the dead of night, drenched in cold sweat. He had seen fire, terrible flames engulfing everything around him, and the silhouette of a dark figure standing amidst the chaos. In the dream, the village had been reduced to ashes, and all that remained was a haunting silence. It had felt so real, so vivid, that he could still smell the acrid smoke in his nostrils, still hear the cries for help echoing in his ears.

"Lyrien?"

The voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he turned to see his mother, Aria, standing behind him. Her face, usually so warm and kind, was creased with worry. She had always been able to sense when something was troubling him, and today was no different.

"Are you all right?" she asked, stepping closer. Her gentle hand rested on his shoulder, offering comfort.

He hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to explain the dread that had taken root in his heart. "I had the dream again," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Aria's expression darkened. She had heard him speak of the dream before, ever since it had first started haunting him a few months ago. It always came the same way—fire, destruction, and that shadowy figure watching it all. "The same one?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

Lyrien nodded. "But this time, it was different. It felt... closer."

She frowned and glanced out at the village, her gaze distant. "Dreams are strange things, Lyrien. Sometimes they're just our minds playing tricks on us. But..." Her voice trailed off, and he could hear the unspoken concern in her words. "We'll talk about it later. Your father and I need help gathering supplies from the market. Why don't you join us? It'll take your mind off things."

Lyrien forced a smile, though the unease still gnawed at him. "Yeah, I'll be right there."

Aria gave him a reassuring nod before heading back toward the village. Lyrien stayed behind for a moment longer, his gaze once again drifting to the distant mountains that loomed over Brindlemark like ancient sentinels. The village had always been a peaceful place, far from the troubles of the outside world. But today, for the first time in his life, he felt as though that peace was fragile, like a thin sheet of glass about to shatter.

As he turned to follow his mother, a movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. His heart skipped a beat, and he whipped his head around to see something—someone—standing at the far edge of the field, just beyond the tree line.

It was a figure, cloaked in shadow.

Lyrien froze, his breath catching in his throat. The figure stood motionless, watching him. Even from this distance, he could feel the weight of its gaze, cold and unfeeling, like the eyes of a predator sizing up its prey.