Ormyra is a world unlike any other. Vast, sprawling, and teeming with islands so immense they rival the size of entire continents. Each island is ruled by its own monarch, a king or queen whose power extends over the land and the seas.

  One of those Islands is Aedora, a coastal island with mountains huge enough to reach the stars. The kingdom’s heart was its Great Library, where the scholars of Aeldora wrote the history of the world in scrolls that lived for thousands of years, scholars and mages debated, traded knowledge, and unlocked secrets meant for no mortal eyes.

  In the middle of all that lived a farmer, Christine, and her son, Vlarion. Christine was a simple woman, a woman worn by years of hard work. The years of hard labor had etched lines on her face, but her eyes remained bright, her hands calloused from the labor of the fields. And though life had never been kind to her, she had always managed to scrape by, to make ends meet. She was 65 and never got married. She found Valarion one day in her fields. She adopted him and treated him like her son. Over the years, Valarion wondered where his dad was, but Christine always assured him that he was coming back.

  The farmhouse they lived in was small but well kept. It has been in Christine’s family for generations, passed down through the years. It was modest, with a thatched roof and a stone foundation that had weathered countless seasons. From the front porch, you could see the fields stretching far into the distance.

  "Valarion," Christine called, "Come here, dear."

  “Yes, ma?” he asks, squinting at the sun.

  Christine gives a tired smile. "Could you run down to the town? I need a few more baskets for the crops. The harvest’s been good this year, but we’ll need a lot more if we're going to keep up with the orders. They’re running low at the shop.”

  “Sure thing.” He nods, brushing a bit of dirt off his hands.

  “It’ll be a bit of a walk,” she tells him. “Don’t stray off the path. Keep your eyes open. You never know what you might encounter when the sun begins to set. The wilds get restless after dusk.”

  Valarion laughs half-heartedly, “I’m not a kid anymore, Ma. I can handle a little walk.”

  She shook her head and sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Just come straight back. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us when you return.”

  “I know, Ma. I’ll hurry.” He smiles at her, reassuring her before heading toward the dirt path leading to town.

  As Valarion walks along the unpaved road, he takes a deep breath and glances around. The town itself is tiny, but it is stunningly beautiful, filled with swaying trees, golden sunlight, and the soft hum of people going about their day. Valarion let himself relax. And rest from working on the farm with his mother.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Nearly an hour later, Valarion reached the town center. Between a weaver’s hut and a bakery is a small shop with baskets hanging from the walls and the soft scent of herbs wafting through the air. He enters the shop.

  “Hello? Anyone here?” he calls out.

  From behind the counter, a small voice replies. “She’s in the back. I’ll go get her.”

  Valarion turned to see a young boy stacking jars on a low shelf. The boy glances over his shoulder before disappearing through a curtain at the back of the shop.

  “Didn’t even notice you there,” Valarion mutters, half to himself.

  Moments later, Lira emerges, brushing flour or dust from her apron, her eyes lighting up when she sees him.

  “Valarion, what brings you in today?” she says with a smile.

  He returns the smile, picking up a nearby basket and inspecting the weave.

  “Ma needs more baskets for the harvest. The crops are doing well this year.”

  Lira steps behind the counter and begins pulling down a few more baskets. Her fingers move with practiced ease.

  “You’re always running around for her. Doesn’t she ever let you rest?” she teases.

  “She works hard. Can’t complain.” He shrugs, exchanging a smile with her.

  Lira ties the baskets together with twine and slides them across the counter.

  “I heard some odd things lately. Strange sounds in the woods after dark, that sort of talk. Probably nothing... but still.”

  Valarion raised an eyebrow. “What kind of sounds?”

  Lira hesitates for a few seconds, then waves it off.

  “Oh, just old wives tales. The kind of stories folks start telling when the moon’s been too full for too many nights. You know how it is.”

  But Valarion catches something in her tone.

  He lifts the baskets and nods. “I should get going. Still plenty to do back home.”

  Lira gives him a playful salute. “Don’t wander too far off the road. The trees have ears this time of year.”

  The baskets creaked in Valarion’s arms as he walked, the sun hanging lower now. He stopped to adjust the twine cutting into his fingers. That’s when he noticed it. There were two shadows.

  One was his tall, stretched by the dying light.

  The other… wasn’t.

  It stood beside him, just as long, just as human, but wrong. And when Valarion shifted his weight, only one shadow moved. His own.

  The other remained perfectly still.

  “What the...” he whispered to himself, turning towards the still shadow.

  The still shadow slowly detached from the ground and moved forward across the dirt, trailing toward an ancient tree near the end of the path. Valarion hesitated. His heart began to pound. Not from fear, exactly, but from that pull of something else.

  The shadow reached the base of the tree and stopped. For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then, right where the bark met the earth, an outline appeared. Like a door burnt into the wood.

  Valarion’s throat tightened. The shadow turned to face him.

  And it spoke.

  “Follow me.”