The village was eerily quiet the next day. The morning light streamed through the trees, casting soft shadows over the cobblestone paths that wound through the village. I had wandered the paths for hours, searching for something, though I wasn't sure what. Maybe I was hoping for a sign, a glimmer of something I could hold onto, something to make sense of the chaos that had settled inside me.

Mathew was nowhere to be found. His absence wasn't like him—he wasn't the type to just disappear, not without telling me where he was going, not after everything we had been through. Yet the longer I walked, the more I felt it: he was gone, for the time being at least, and I was left to sort through the mess alone.

I turned down a narrow path lined with small, wooden huts, their shutters cracked open to let in the morning air. The scent of something sweet—perhaps from the herbs drying outside one of the homes—mingled with the crispness of the forest. It was peaceful, but I couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place.

That's when I saw her.

An old elven woman stood at the far end of the street, her back straight despite her age. Her long silver hair flowed down her back in a cascade of tangled strands, and her eyes—pale, nearly white—watched me with an unsettling intensity. She seemed to have appeared from nowhere, standing still as if she had been waiting for me all along.

I approached her cautiously, unsure what to expect. The villagers had been kind, but they had kept their distance. And this woman, with her otherworldly presence, seemed more than just a passerby.

She didn't speak at first. She simply studied me, her gaze like a blade, slicing through me as if she could see straight into my soul. I shifted on my feet, uncomfortably aware of how out of place I felt here in the heart of the elves' world.

Finally, her voice broke the silence, rough but not unkind. "There is dark magic in you."

I froze. The words landed like stones in my stomach, cold and heavy.

"What do you mean?" I asked, barely able to force the words out.

She tilted her head slightly, her pale eyes narrowing. "You carry it with you, boy. It clings to your very skin, hiding beneath the surface. It's what consumed your mother."

My heart stuttered in my chest. My mother—I'd barely known her, and yet everything I did know about her seemed to be wrapped in shadows. "What are you talking about?" I whispered, my throat suddenly dry.

"You are of Ashor," the woman continued, her gaze never leaving mine. "Your mother, like many from your homeland, was a mage—a magician. She was consumed by the very power she sought to control." Her words were heavy with a strange sort of sorrow. "The same power runs through you. And you—only you—can destroy the mage who threatens to take over this land."

I stepped back, shaking my head. "I don't understand. I'm nothing like her. I—"

"Listen," she interrupted, her voice stern now, more insistent. "It is written in the stars. Your fate is tied to this magic, this darkness that flows through your veins. You are not like her, but you are connected to her. You can't escape it. It will find you, whether you are ready or not."

I tried to push her words away, but the weight of them pressed down on me. I had come to this place hoping to find some kind of ally, someone who could help us in the war we had been waging back home. But this? This was beyond anything I had expected. A mage. Dark magic. My mother.

I opened my mouth to speak, to deny it all, but the old woman raised a hand, cutting me off. "You have power inside you, boy. I can feel it. But it is dormant, buried deep within you. You need to awaken it. You need to find your strength, or everything will be lost."

"How?" I asked, desperation creeping into my voice.

She smiled faintly, the corners of her mouth lifting just slightly. "That, I can help you with. I will teach you to find the power that lies within you. You cannot run from it any longer."

Her eyes bore into me, and for the first time, I felt a strange kind of hope flicker within, mingled with fear. This was what I had been searching for, wasn't it? Some kind of answer, some way to fight back against the forces threatening everything I cared about. But this—this was not what I had expected.

She stepped closer to me, her voice softer now, though no less urgent. "You will not face this alone. But you must face it. The magic inside you must be controlled. Only then can you destroy the woman who is threatening to consume this world, just as it did your mother."

I didn't know whether to feel relieved or terrified. I had come here for answers, but I hadn't imagined this would be the path I'd be walking. Dark magic, a mage threatening the world, and my own power, hidden deep inside me, waiting to be unlocked.

But there was no turning back now. I nodded slowly, my throat tight with uncertainty. "What do I need to do?"

The old woman's smile widened, just slightly. "You will find your power, Adrian. You will find it inside you. And I can help you."

As she turned and began to walk toward a small cottage nearby, I hesitated. My feet felt heavy, as if the weight of her words had anchored me in place. The road ahead was dark, and uncertainty gnawed at me. I wanted to follow, to trust her, but the fear of what I might uncover, of the power I might awaken, kept me rooted to the spot.

The elven woman kept her back to me, her movements slow and deliberate, as she began some type of incantation. Her hands, pale and delicate, wove through the air with a precision that made my chest tighten. I couldn't hear the words she spoke—whispers too soft for the wind to carry—but I could feel their weight, as though the very air around me had begun to thrum with ancient energy.

Suddenly, everything around me shifted. The ground beneath my feet seemed to vanish, and the world around me blurred, as if the fabric of reality had been unraveled and rewoven. The colors bled into each other, soft and surreal, like a dream I could no longer wake from. I blinked, trying to make sense of it, but the world I knew was gone.

I stepped forward instinctively, but the ground felt different, as if I were walking on clouds. Shapes moved in the distance—shifting figures that flickered in and out of existence. The air was heavy with an ethereal glow, everything bathed in light that seemed both otherworldly and unsettling.

I reached out, but my hand passed through what I thought was solid ground, my fingers brushing against the thin veil of a realm I couldn't understand. The sights, the sounds—none of it felt real, and yet, it was the most real thing I'd ever experienced.

I took another step, unsure of where I was, or even who I was in this strange world of dreams. There was a pull, a quiet tug at my soul, leading me deeper into this shifting reality. It felt like I was walking through the fabric of my own memories, my thoughts, tangled with the voices of forgotten dreams.

Somehow, I knew this place was more than just a vision. It was a bridge—a path to something I had to face. Something that waited for me in the darkness.

And then, everything was shown to me.

A flood of images, of memories not my own, came crashing through the veil of dreams. My mother's face, twisted in anger, flashed before me. I saw her standing over my father, casting her dark magic over him like a poison, corrupting his mind with hate. The spell she wove was like a shadow, creeping into every corner of his thoughts, warping his judgment until nothing was left but rage.

The war against the lycans. It hadn't been a fight for survival, as I'd once believed—it had been a quest for power. Her thirst for control, her desire to dominate, had driven her to use others as pawns. The lycans, my father, even me. The power she had manipulated, twisted, until it consumed everything in its path.

The visions shifted, and I saw the present. The same darkness was at work again. Roland—proud, arrogant, a leader to his people—was nothing more than a puppet. And his wife... she was the vessel. The same darkness that had tainted my mother now flowed through her veins, using her as a conduit, feeding off her ambition and hatred. Roland, like my father before him, was merely a tool in her game.

I couldn't breathe. The world spun around me, dizzying in its clarity.

The elven woman, her pale eyes glowing with an inner light, turned to face me. She pointed into the distance, and I followed the line of her finger.

There, standing on the horizon, was a monstrous figure—towering and twisted, a grotesque presence that seemed to warp the very air around it. It was as though reality itself recoiled in fear of this creature. It was the puppeteer, the one who had been pulling the strings from the shadows. The source of the darkness that had poisoned everything, from my mother to Roland, to the war that had ripped my world apart.

I could feel its power, its malice, a presence so dark it threatened to swallow everything whole.

"That," the woman said, her voice barely a whisper, "is the force that drives it all. The one who seeks to destroy everything—to control everything. You must stop it, Adrian. You are the key."

The weight of her words pressed down on me, suffocating in its intensity. My heart pounded, and for the first time, I felt the full force of my destiny—the burden I could never escape.