Runes of the Forsaken

Whispers of the Past

The tremors beneath Eryndor’s feet subsided, but the energy that had coursed through the ancient ruins lingered, crackling in the air. She stood frozen, her chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, as if the very act of standing against the surge had drained her.

The forest around her had grown eerily still. No rustling of leaves, no chirping of distant birds. Even the wind seemed to have fled the moment, leaving her alone in the unnerving silence. Her hand throbbed fiercely, the rune’s glow still pulsing faintly beneath her skin.

“What… what is this place?” she whispered to no one in particular, her voice trembling as she stared at the archway. It looked unremarkable at first glance—weathered stone covered in moss and cracks—but the symbols carved into it radiated faint light, pulsing in rhythm with her rune.

For a moment, she debated walking away. Leaving the ruins behind and returning to her aimless wandering. She had spent her life trying to outrun her past, the cursed destiny others had whispered about in fear. But something inside her refused to leave. It wasn’t curiosity—no, it was a pull, an undeniable force urging her to stay.

The voice returned, soft yet commanding, echoing in her mind like a whisper carried on the wind.

Eryndor… Seek the light. The shadow stirs.

Her breath hitched. It knew her name.

She tightened her fists, digging her nails into her palms as though to ground herself. She had no memory of anyone telling her about the runes’ purpose, no recollection of their origin. Yet they had haunted her for as long as she could remember—drawing her into trouble, forcing her to fight for her survival.

And now they were speaking to her.

She knelt before the archway, brushing her fingers along the symbols etched into the stone. They were unlike anything she had seen before—intricate patterns that twisted and flowed like rivers, alive with energy. Her heart pounded as fragments of memories she didn’t recognize began to flood her mind. A towering city shrouded in darkness. A king brought to his knees. A glowing stone, shining like a beacon in the night.

“Why me?” she muttered bitterly, leaning her forehead against the cool stone. The loneliness, the weight of her exile, and the overwhelming fear of what she was becoming boiled to the surface. For years, she had lived with the knowledge that she was different, but she had never wanted this.

The sound of movement shattered the quiet.

Eryndor spun around, her hand instinctively darting to the hilt of the dagger strapped to her side. Her violet eyes scanned the shadows between the trees, searching for the source. A rustling to her right sent a jolt of adrenaline through her veins.

“Show yourself,” she commanded, her voice sharp despite the tremor beneath it.

A figure emerged from the treeline, stepping into the faint glow of the rune-lit clearing. He was tall, with a wiry build cloaked in dark leathers, and his footsteps were unnervingly quiet against the forest floor. A jagged scar ran along his jawline, and his dark eyes gleamed with caution as he raised his hands in a gesture of peace.

“I mean no harm,” the man said smoothly, his voice laced with a casual charm that set Eryndor immediately on edge. “Though I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting to find anyone here. Least of all… you.”

Her grip on the dagger tightened. “Who are you?”

“Kaelen,” he replied with a crooked grin. “Just a traveler. Like you, I suspect.”

She didn’t lower the blade. Something about the way he looked at her—like he was sizing her up, calculating—made her uneasy. “If you’re just a traveler, why are you here?”

His grin widened. “Why are you here? This isn’t exactly the kind of place one stumbles upon by accident.”

Eryndor’s jaw clenched, her rune pulsing faintly beneath the fabric of her glove. She didn’t trust him. She had learned long ago that strangers—especially ones with easy smiles—were rarely what they seemed.

Kaelen must have noticed the tension in her posture, because he raised an eyebrow and said, “Relax, I’m not here to rob you, if that’s what you’re thinking. Though…” His gaze flickered to the archway behind her, curiosity flashing in his eyes. “That does look interesting. Ancient ruins, strange carvings… Not your usual forest fare.”

Eryndor stepped in front of the archway, blocking his view. “It’s none of your concern.”

“Ah, so you do know what it is,” Kaelen said, his tone teasing. “You’re guarding it like it’s some kind of treasure. Maybe it is.”

Her patience snapped. “Leave. Now.”

He held up his hands again, though his grin didn’t falter. “Alright, alright. No need to get defensive. I’ll go.” He took a step back, then paused. “But if you’re planning to stick around here, you might want to keep an eye out. The Shadowlands aren’t as empty as they look.”

Eryndor frowned. “What do you mean?”

Kaelen shrugged, his expression turning serious for the first time. “There’s been… movement in the woods. People disappearing. Some say it’s just bandits, but others…” He trailed off, glancing toward the shadows. “Well, let’s just say you’re not the only one interested in places like this.”

With that, he turned and disappeared into the trees, leaving Eryndor alone once more.

Her heart still pounded as she watched him go, her thoughts racing. The ruins, the voice, the strange traveler who seemed to know more than he let on—it was too much for one day. And yet, deep down, she knew her path had been set.

The rune burned brighter on her palm, its glow cutting through the darkness like a beacon.

The shadow stirs.

Eryndor pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and turned back to the archway. Whatever lay ahead, she couldn’t turn away now.