The flickering light of the single candle danced across the small wooden room, casting long, gentle shadows on the walls. Outside, the night wind whispered through the thatched roof of their modest home on the edge of Eldenwood village. Five-year-old Eiran sat cross-legged on his straw mattress, hugging his knees, eyes wide and bright as stars.
His mother, Aileen, settled beside him, her dark hair loose and her voice soft like the blanket she tucked around his shoulders. She always saved the best stories for bedtime—stories that made the world feel bigger, braver, and full of wonder.
"Tonight," she said, brushing a curl from his forehead, "I'll tell you about the greatest heroes who ever lived. The ones who carried magic orbs so powerful they changed everything."
Eiran's mouth fell open. "Orbs? Like the shiny balls in the market that glow when you touch them?"
Aileen smiled. "Even shinier. Even stronger. But only very special people ever find a true magic orb—one that chooses them. And when it does… oh, little one, the magic inside can do amazing things."
She held up one finger. "There are many kinds of orbs, but the strongest ones belong to the greatest users. We rank them by how bright their power shines and how big their deeds are."
Eiran nodded solemnly, as if he were already a scholar in training.
"First, there are the common orbs—water, wind, earth. They help farmers grow crops faster or sailors call gentle breezes. Nice, but not legendary."
He wrinkled his nose. "Boring."
Aileen laughed quietly. "Then come the rare ones. Fire orbs that make flames dance like dragons. Lightning orbs that crack the sky. Shadow orbs that hide you in darkness. Those users become famous—adventurers, guardians, kings' champions."
Eiran bounced a little. "I want a fire one! Like boom!"
"Maybe someday," she teased. "But the very best orbs… they're so special they get their own names. And the people who carry them become legends."
She leaned closer, voice dropping to a storyteller's hush.
"Long ago—before you were born, before even your papa was a boy—there was a very bad man named Lucien Thorne. He found the darkest orb of all: the Abyss Orb."
Eiran's eyes grew huge. "Abyss? Like… a big black hole?"
"Exactly like that," Aileen whispered. "It swallowed light. It swallowed hope. Lucien used it to hurt people, to break villages, to make everyone afraid. He was the most ruthless man history ever knew. No one could stop him. Shadows followed him like hungry wolves, and wherever he walked, the sun seemed to hide."
Eiran shivered and pulled the blanket tighter. "Did… did anyone beat him?"
Aileen's smile returned, warm and proud. "Yes. A group of three brave friends did. They called themselves GLOR."
"Glor?" Eiran tried the word. "Like… glory?"
"Just like glory. G-L-O-R. Each letter stood for one of them."
She counted on her fingers.
"G is for **Ginger Herlyn**. She carried the Iridescent Magic Orb. It shone with every color of the rainbow, brighter than any sunrise. With it, she could make shields of light that nothing could break, or send beams that dazzled enemies until they couldn't see."
"Rainbow magic!" Eiran clapped. "Pretty!"
"Then L is for **Laura Veyr**. Her orb was the Nightmare Magic Orb. It let her step into people's bad dreams and turn them against the bad guys. She could make shadows come alive and chase Lucien's monsters away, or scare his soldiers so badly they ran without looking back."
Eiran giggled nervously. "Scary dreams? Like when I dream about falling?"
"Exactly. But Laura used it to protect people, not hurt them."
"And the leader," Aileen said, her voice filling with awe, "R is for **Rael Veril**. He held the Blazing Magic Orb—the strongest fire anyone had ever seen. Flames that burned hotter than dragon breath, bright enough to push back the Abyss itself. Rael led them, brave and true."
Eiran stared at his mother, imagining it all. "So… GLOR fought Lucien Thorne?"
"They did. It was the greatest battle ever told. Ginger's rainbows clashed with black shadows. Laura's nightmares swallowed Lucien's darkness. And Rael's blazing fire burned away the Abyss bit by bit. In the end, they stood together, and Lucien Thorne fell. The Abyss Orb shattered, and the world was safe again."
Eiran bounced on his mattress. "They're the best! I want an orb too! I want to be like GLOR! I could have… um… a super shiny one! Or a fire one like Rael! Or—or a rainbow one!"
Aileen pulled him into a hug, kissing the top of his head. "Maybe one day, my brave boy. Magic orbs choose people with big hearts and even bigger courage. But until then, you can dream about them. And who knows? Perhaps your orb is waiting out there, quiet and patient, for when you're ready."
Eiran snuggled closer, eyes shining with five-year-old certainty. "I'm gonna find one. And when I do, I'll be the best orb user ever. Like GLOR… but with my name too!"
Aileen chuckled softly and blew out the candle, leaving only moonlight through the tiny window. "Sleep now, little hero. Dream of orbs and glory."
As Eiran's breathing slowed into the gentle rhythm of sleep, he clutched his blanket like a shield, already picturing himself standing beside Ginger, Laura, and Rael—ready to face any darkness.
He had no idea, of course, that one day a very different orb would find him. One that started as nothing at all… and ended as everything.
But that was still many years away.
For tonight, he was just a boy who believed in heroes.
And that was enough.
Eiran's eyelids were growing heavy, the warm weight of the blanket and his mother's soft voice pulling him toward dreams of rainbows and blazing fire. But just as sleep began to curl around him like a cat, one last spark of curiosity flickered awake.
"Mama?" he mumbled, blinking up at her in the moonlight.
Aileen paused, halfway through tucking the edge of the blanket under his chin. "Yes, little one?"
He rubbed one eye with his fist. "You said… G-L-O-R. G is Ginger, L is Laura, R is Rael… but what's the O for?"
The room seemed to hold its breath.
Aileen froze for just a heartbeat—long enough that even five-year-old Eiran noticed. Her hand stilled on the blanket. Then, slowly, she smiled. It was the same gentle smile she always wore, but this one carried something extra: a quiet, secret warmth, like sunlight slipping through closed shutters.
"The O," she said softly, "stands for Olney Verdant."
Eiran sat up a little, suddenly wide awake again. "Olney? There was a fourth person?"
Aileen nodded, settling back beside him. "Yes. He was the fourth. The one who… completed them. The quiet one. The one who never wanted the songs or the statues, but who made sure the others could keep fighting."
Eiran's eyes sparkled. "What orb did he have? Was it super strong like Rael's fire?"
Aileen's smile deepened, crinkling the corners of her eyes. "He carried the Solar Flare Magic Orb. It was like holding a tiny piece of the sun itself. When Olney called on it, light poured out—blinding, pure, so bright it could burn away shadows even the Abyss couldn't touch. He didn't throw big explosions like Rael. His light was… steady. Focused. It found the cracks in Lucien's darkness and filled them until there was nothing left for the shadows to hide in."
Eiran hugged his knees, imagining it. "So he was like… the sun hero?"
"Something like that," Aileen murmured. She reached over to the small wooden shelf beside the bed, where she kept a few keepsakes wrapped in soft cloth. From among them she drew a thin, faded sketch—carefully preserved, edges worn smooth from years of gentle handling.
She held it toward the moonlight so Eiran could see.
There, drawn in fine charcoal lines, was a man with calm eyes and a faint, thoughtful smile. His hair was tied back, and a simple cloak draped his shoulders. But what caught Eiran's gaze were the eyes—clear, bright, the exact same unusual hazel-green as his own, flecked with gold that seemed to catch and hold the light.
Eiran tilted his head. "Mama… his eyes. They're like mine."
Aileen looked at the picture, then at her son, and let out a soft, warm chuckle. "Just a coincidence, sweet boy. Eyes like that are rare, but they show up in all kinds of people. The world likes to play little tricks sometimes."
She brushed his hair back from his forehead. "Now, no more questions tonight. Heroes need their rest, and tomorrow is another big day of adventures—even if they're only in the garden for now."
Eiran giggled, the sound bubbling up like fizzy water. "Okay, Mama. But… maybe one day I'll find a Solar Flare orb too. Then I can be like Olney."
Aileen leaned down and kissed his forehead, lingering just a moment longer than usual. "Maybe you will, Eiran. Maybe you will."
She tucked the sketch carefully back onto the shelf, blew out the last stub of candle, and slipped out of the room, leaving only moonlight and the soft creak of the floorboards behind her.
Eiran snuggled deeper under the blanket, still smiling. In his mind he was already standing beside Ginger's rainbows, Laura's nightmares, Rael's flames… and Olney's steady, sun-bright light.
Four heroes.
Four orbs.
And one day—maybe—he would be the fifth.
His eyes drifted closed at last, carrying that golden-green sparkle into dreams.
Outside, the night wind sighed through the trees, patient and endless, as if it had all the time in the world.
And somewhere, far beyond the village, in places no child should ever have to go… a dull black sphere waited in perfect silence.
Patient.
Silent.
Ready.
JUNE 21
June 21 dawned bright and warm, the kind of summer morning that made the whole village of Eldenwood feel alive. Birds sang louder than usual, flowers seemed to stand a little taller, and everywhere children whispered the same excited, nervous words: "Today's the day."
Eiran turned six.
He woke before the sun, heart thumping so hard he thought it might wake his mother. The small wooden box under his bed—where he kept his most precious things—now held a clean shirt Aileen had ironed the night before, a sprig of lucky bluebells she'd picked at dawn, and the faded sketch of Olney Verdant that she sometimes let him look at when he couldn't sleep.
Breakfast was honey bread and fresh milk, but Eiran could barely swallow. Every bite felt like it might get stuck.
Aileen knelt in front of him, smoothing his shirt collar with gentle fingers. "Ready, birthday boy?"
Eiran nodded—then immediately shook his head. "What if… what if no orb chooses me?"
Aileen's laugh was soft and sure. "Then you'll still be my brave Eiran, and we'll come home and eat extra cake. But orbs have a funny way of knowing exactly who needs them." She tapped the tip of his nose. "Now come on. The Circle is waiting."
The Orb Awakening Circle stood just outside the village proper, in a wide clearing ringed by ancient standing stones. Every year on the summer solstice, children who had turned six gathered here under the watchful eyes of the village elders and the Orb Warden—a tall, silver-haired woman named Mistress Thorne (no relation to the infamous Lucien, thank the stars). Long tables held dozens of orbs, each resting in its own velvet-lined cradle: some glowing softly, others dull and waiting, all of them humming with quiet possibility.
Eiran clung to Aileen's skirt the whole walk there, fingers twisted in the fabric so tightly his knuckles went white. Other children skipped ahead, laughing and shoving each other. He felt small. Smaller than usual.
When they reached the edge of the clearing, Aileen crouched down so they were eye to eye.
"You don't have to do anything fancy," she whispered. "Just walk among them. Let your heart listen. If one calls to you… you'll know."
Eiran swallowed. "Promise you'll stay close?"
"Always." She kissed his forehead. "I see Mira over there—my old friend from weaving circle. I'll only be a moment. You'll be fine."
Before he could protest, she squeezed his hand once and stepped away to greet a woman with bright red hair who waved enthusiastically.
Eiran stood alone.
The other children moved in small groups, pointing and giggling at the brighter orbs. He took one shaky step forward, then another, eyes darting from cradle to cradle. A water orb shimmered like liquid glass. A wind orb spun tiny leaves in lazy circles above its stand. None of them looked at him. None of them hummed louder when he passed.
He wandered farther from the crowd, toward the quieter end of the tables where the less showy orbs rested—grays, deep greens, muted silvers. That was when he saw the boy.
He looked older—maybe eight or nine—tall for his age, with straight dark hair and clothes that were too fine for Eldenwood: a deep blue tunic embroidered with silver thread, boots polished to a shine. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, studying the orbs with calm curiosity, as if he'd seen circles like this a hundred times.
Eiran stared a moment too long.
The boy turned, caught his gaze, and offered a small, friendly smile.
Eiran realized he was staring and quickly dropped his eyes to the ground. Then, remembering what Aileen always said about manners, he bobbed his head in a clumsy bow.
The boy laughed—a warm, surprised sound. "You don't have to bow to me."
Eiran peeked up through his lashes. "But… you're wearing prince clothes."
The boy's smile widened. "I'm Alaric. Just Alaric today. No titles, no fuss. And you are?"
"Eiran," he whispered, then cleared his throat and tried again, louder. "Eiran."
Alaric tilted his head. "You look like you're about to face a dragon instead of pick an orb."
Eiran's cheeks burned. He nodded slowly.
Alaric crouched down so they were almost the same height. "It's all right to be nervous. I was too, the first time." He reached out and gently patted Eiran's head, ruffling his curls the way Aileen sometimes did. "But here's a secret: the orbs aren't judging you. They're waiting to see if you're brave enough to choose them back."
Eiran blinked. "Really?"
"Really." Alaric straightened again. "So… found yours yet?"
Eiran shook his head. Then, curiosity winning over shyness, he asked, "What about you? What's yours?"
Alaric's expression turned proud, just a little. "Judgment Magic Orb."
Eiran's eyes went wide. "Judgment? Like… you can tell if someone's lying? Or… or punish bad people?"
"Something like that," Alaric said with a small grin. "It lets me see the truth of things—people's intentions, hidden choices, the weight of their actions. It's not very flashy. No big booms or rainbows. But it's… useful. When you need to know what's right."
Eiran stared at him in open awe. "That's so cool."
Alaric chuckled. "You think so?"
"Yeah! Like… you could be a real hero. Like GLOR. But smarter."
Alaric's smile softened. "I like the sound of that."
Eiran felt a tiny spark of excitement chase away some of the fear. If a prince with a Judgment orb thought this was normal—if he'd been nervous once too—maybe it wouldn't be so bad.
"Maybe mine will be cool too," he said, almost to himself.
"I'm sure it will." Alaric gave him one last encouraging pat on the shoulder. "Go on. Walk a little farther. I have a feeling yours is waiting somewhere quiet."
Eiran nodded, suddenly feeling a bit taller. He turned back toward the tables, steps lighter now, the nervous knot in his stomach loosening just enough to breathe.
Behind him, Alaric watched the small boy disappear into the crowd, a thoughtful look in his eyes.
And somewhere among the waiting orbs—far at the shadowed end of the longest table—a dull black sphere sat in perfect silence.
It did not glow.
It did not hum.
It simply… waited.
Patient as stone.
As the summer sun climbed higher, and children laughed and gasped and claimed their futures one by one, it waited for the boy with hazel-green eyes flecked with gold.
One day, it would answer.
The sun had climbed high above the standing stones, turning the clearing golden and warm. One by one, the other children had stepped forward, hearts pounding, hands outstretched. Orbs answered them in flashes of color and soft hums—water rippling into glass-like spheres, wind spinning petals into tiny cyclones, earth rumbling with quiet strength. Each new bond drew cheers from the crowd, proud parents rushing forward, elders nodding in approval.
Eiran stood alone at the far end of the tables.
He had walked the rows three times. Four times. Five. He had paused by every cradle, waiting for that spark everyone talked about—the tug in the chest, the sudden warmth, the whisper that said *this one is yours*. Nothing came. Not a flicker. Not a sound.
The last cradle was empty now. The other children clustered together, showing off their new orbs, laughing and comparing glows. The villagers' murmurs grew softer, then heavier. Heads turned. Eyes lingered on the small boy with the messy curls and the too-big shirt.
No orb had chosen Eiran.
Alaric stood near the edge of the royal pavilion, arms crossed, brow furrowed. He had watched the whole thing with quiet hope, remembering the nervous six-year-old who had bowed so clumsily earlier. Now his expression was tight—surprise, disappointment, something almost like guilt. He hadn't expected this. No one had.
Eiran's lip trembled. His eyes stung. He stared at the empty space in front of him, willing something—anything—to happen. When nothing did, the first hot tear slipped down his cheek.
The villagers' whispers rose like smoke.
"…never happened before…"
"…poor lad, no orb at all…"
"…a sign? Bad luck?"
From the shaded dais where the king and queen sat with their retinue, the murmurs carried sharper edges. Nobles leaned toward one another, fans fluttering.
"Unchosen," one lady whispered, voice laced with pity and disdain. "In the royal presence, no less."
The queen's brow creased faintly. The king shifted, uncomfortable. To be unchosen on the Day of Orbs was rare. To be unchosen while the crown watched… it felt like a small dishonor, a crack in the perfect story of the day.
Aileen appeared at Eiran's side like she had materialized from the sunlight itself. She knelt, heedless of the dirt on her skirt, and cupped his face in both hands.
"Hey," she said softly, thumbs brushing away his tears. "Look at me."
Eiran's breath hitched. "I—I waited, Mama. I waited so long…"
"I know, sweet boy. I know." Her smile was steady, even if her eyes shone too bright. "It doesn't mean you're less. It doesn't mean anything bad. Sometimes… sometimes the right thing takes a little longer to find you."
He shook his head, tears falling faster. "Everyone else got one. Everyone."
"And you're still you," she whispered. "My brave, kind, curious Eiran. That's worth more than any glowing ball."
She pulled him into a hug, rocking him gently while the crowd watched in uneasy silence. Alaric took half a step forward, as if he wanted to say something, but stopped himself.
Aileen rose slowly, one arm around Eiran's shoulders. "Come on," she said, voice gentle but firm. "Let's go home. We'll have cake. Extra frosting. And tomorrow we'll—"
The sky darkened.
Not gradually, like a cloud passing. All at once. The golden afternoon turned twilight-gray, as though someone had snuffed the sun. A low rumble rolled through the earth—not thunder, but something deeper, like the world itself drawing breath.
Every head snapped upward.
A streak of darkness sliced across the dimmed sky. Not black fire, not falling star—something colder, heavier. It tumbled end over end, trailing faint wisps of shadow that swallowed the light around them.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
The streak slowed. Stopped. Hung suspended above the clearing like a held breath.
Then it descended—slowly, deliberately—straight toward the center of the tables.
Straight toward Eiran.
The orb was small, no bigger than an apple. Matte black, cracked in faint silver lines that caught no reflection. It gave off no glow, no hum, no warmth. Yet the air around it seemed to bend, as though reality itself was making room.
It drifted lower, lower, until it hovered at chest height in front of Eiran.
The boy stared, frozen, tears still wet on his cheeks.
The orb tilted—almost like a curious dog cocking its head—then drifted closer. Closer still. Until it settled gently into his trembling, open palms.
A single, tiny pulse ran through it. Not light. Not sound. Just… recognition.
The sky cleared as suddenly as it had darkened. Sunlight poured back in, warm and ordinary again.
Silence gripped the clearing. Then voices exploded.
"Abyssal—"
"—like Lucien Thorne—"
"—the Abyss Orb—"
"Impossible—"
"—it chose him—"
Alaric's eyes were wide, amazement written plain across his face. He took an unconscious step forward, hand half-raised as though to touch the impossible thing.
Aileen stood rooted. Her arms dropped to her sides. Her face had gone pale, lips parted, gaze locked on the dull black sphere cradled in her son's hands. She looked like someone who had just seen a ghost walk out of a story she once told to soothe a child to sleep.
Eiran blinked down at the orb. It felt cool. Heavy in a way that had nothing to do with weight. He didn't understand the whispers, the shock, the fear rippling through the crowd.
All he knew was that something had finally answered.
He looked up at his mother, small voice trembling with wonder.
"Mama… it came for me."
Aileen swallowed. Her hand rose slowly, hesitating, then rested lightly on his shoulder.
"Yes," she whispered, almost too quiet to hear.
"Yes, it did."
The villagers stared. The nobles murmured furiously. The king leaned forward on his throne, expression unreadable.
And in Eiran's hands, the Paradox Orb rested in perfect, patient silence—its first quiet promise already made.
Not today.
Not yet.
But soon.
TO BE CONTINUED