Long before the maps were finished and the roads were named, there lay a stretch of land where the wind remembered things better left forgotten. These were the Whispering Hills—a rolling sea of emerald slopes that rose and fell like the breath of a sleeping giant. By day they looked harmless, even beautiful. By night, they spoke.
No one could say exactly when the whispering began. Some claimed it was the voices of ancient kings buried beneath the grass. Others swore it was the hills themselves, murmuring to the stars. Whatever the truth, every child in the nearby village of Eldermere was warned of the same thing:
Do not walk the hills after sunset.
Naturally, this made them irresistible.
On the evening the story truly began, the sun dipped low and painted the sky in copper and blood-red hues. Aerin Vale, barely sixteen and already too curious for his own good, stood at the edge of the last stone cottage, staring toward the hills. The wind tugged at his cloak as if urging him forward.
He had heard the whispers before—faint, almost gentle, like a half-remembered dream. Tonight, however, they were clearer.
Calling him by name.
"Aerin," they sighed, weaving through the tall grass. "Aerin Vale…"
His heart pounded. He told himself it was only the wind. It always was. And yet, the silver amulet at his chest—his mother's last gift—had begun to grow warm.
Against every warning he had ever received, Aerin stepped beyond the village boundary stone.
The hills welcomed him.
As he climbed, the air changed—thicker, older. Shadows stretched unnaturally long, and the moon rose too quickly, pale and watchful. The whispers grew louder, overlapping, arguing, pleading.
Come closer.
It has begun.
The seal is breaking.
Aerin reached the crest of the tallest hill just as the wind fell silent.
Before him, the earth split open—not violently, but slowly, like a waking eye. From the glowing fissure rose a soft blue light, and within it, the outline of something impossibly old.
A sword.
Its blade shimmered as if forged from moonlight, and runes along its length pulsed in time with Aerin's heartbeat. The moment his fingers brushed the hilt, the hills cried out—not in whispers now, but in a single thunderous voice that echoed across the land.
"The Heir Has Answered."
Far away, unseen towers stirred. Creatures long asleep opened ancient eyes. And in Eldermere, the village bells rang though no hand touched them.
Aerin Vale did not yet know it, but the world had just taken its first step toward war.
And there would be no turning back.