The first rays of morning light filtered through the wooden shutters of Joran's room in Eldfjall. Joran stirred awake, rubbing his sleepy hazel eyes. He quickly got dressed in his usual green tunic and stepped outside the house.
In the front courtyard, his father stood ready for the journey. He looked strong and happy, his travel cloak fastened securely, a leather satchel slung over his shoulder. His mother stood nearby, watching with quiet concern.
His father leaned down and gently kissed his wife on the forehead, then did the same to Joran, his hand resting warmly on his son's messy light brown hair.
"Take care of your mother while I'm gone," he said with a smile.
A massive dragon waited patiently in the open space beyond the house. Its scales shimmered in deep emerald and gold, powerful wings folded neatly against its muscular body, and intelligent amber eyes watched them calmly. These majestic creatures were the primary mode of long-distance travel for the people of the Seven Realms — loyal, intelligent, and strong enough to carry riders across the treacherous mountain passes.
His father climbed onto the dragon's back with practiced ease and settled into the saddle. For a brief moment, a shadow of worry crossed his face. He looked down at Joran and spoke in a serious, loving tone:
"Joran… even if something happens to me out there, always remember one thing: your father loves you. More than anything in all the realms."
Joran blinked, confused by the sudden solemn words.
"Dad…?"
Before he could ask more, his father gave the dragon a gentle command. With a powerful beat of its wings, the creature lifted into the air, stirring up dust and leaves. Joran and his mother watched as the dragon soared higher and higher, becoming a small silhouette against the bright morning sky, heading toward the distant realm of Valtharion.
Mid-morning, a familiar voice called from outside.
"Joran! You awake yet, sleepyhead?"
It was Kael, standing at the gate with his usual energetic grin, short black hair still slightly messy from the walk over.
Joran stepped out, now fully awake.
"Yeah, I'm coming!"
The two boys left Joran's house together and headed toward the eastern side of Eldfjall, where the town's main training grounds lay.
The destination was Stormveil Training Grounds — a wide, open field surrounded by ancient stone pillars carved with protective runes. Tall grass swayed in the breeze, and wooden practice dummies stood in neat rows for combat training. Today, however, the field was peaceful, with a large group of children around Joran and Kael's age sitting cross-legged on the grass for their weekly history lesson.
The teacher was Master Thorne, a respected wizard with a short, neatly trimmed gray beard, piercing green eyes, and flowing dark blue robes embroidered with glowing silver constellations. He carried a long wooden staff topped with a glowing crystal orb.
The children quieted down as Master Thorne began speaking, his voice calm yet commanding.
"Today, we speak of the Seven Realms that make up our known world. Listen closely, for history shapes the future."
He raised his staff, and shimmering illusions of maps and landscapes appeared in the air above the class.
"The first realm is our own beloved Eldfjall — the hidden valley kingdom protected by eternal mountains. Ruled by King Harald the Wise, a just and noble ruler who values knowledge and harmony.
The second is Valtharion — the realm of vast plains and bustling trade cities, currently ruled by Queen Isolde the Merchant Queen. It is prosperous but plagued by internal rivalries between merchant guilds and noble houses.
Third is Drakenspire — a rugged, volcanic land of fire and iron, ruled by King Ragnar Flameheart. Its people are fierce warriors, but constant border skirmishes with neighboring realms keep the realm in tension.
Fourth is Sylvandar — the enchanted forest realm, home to the majority of elves. Ruled by High Lord Elandor Moonwhisper, it is a place of ancient magic and beauty, though whispers of rebellion stir among the younger elves who seek more contact with the outside world.
Fifth is Grom'thar — the rocky mountain stronghold of the dwarves and goblins. Ruled by High King Borin Stonefist, it is rich in minerals and craftsmanship, but deep internal conflicts exist between the traditional dwarf clans and the more chaotic goblin tribes.
Sixth is Aetherion — the floating sky islands, a realm of advanced magic and scholars. Ruled by Archmage Seraphina Starveil, it is peaceful on the surface, but rival academies constantly vie for magical supremacy.
And the seventh is Shadowfen — the misty swamp realm, ruled by Lord Vesper the Veiled. It is a place of secrets and dark magic, where alliances shift like the fog, and many suspect hidden treachery."
Master Thorne paused, letting the illusions shift.
"But the greatest tale is this: Among all these realms, only one has ever been ruled by a human king who rose to true greatness — King Alden the Bold of Valtharion, many generations ago. He brought temporary peace through sheer will and strategy."
The children murmured in surprise.
Master Thorne continued, his voice growing heavier:
"Six years ago, there existed a central land called Midgardia — a powerful kingdom that sat between all Seven Realms. Its king, Emperor Vortigern the Conqueror, managed to unite and rule over all seven realms for a brief, golden age. He was a human of unmatched ambition. But his rule ended in blood and betrayal. Midgardia is now a lawless wasteland, filled with terrorism, bandit lords, and endless conflict. Only the strongest warriors and most cunning minds can survive there. It is said that only one who has truly conquered the world can safely rule from its throne."
Joran's hazel eyes widened with growing fascination. The idea of lands beyond the protective mountains of Eldfjall filled him with excitement.
Master Thorne's tone became almost reverent as he pointed his staff toward the horizon.
"And beyond all the Seven Realms, beyond the oceans, beyond the known lands and lives… lies a mysterious place known only as Aetherheim — the Land Between All Seas. No one who has sailed there has ever returned. Ancient legends say it is Heaven itself, the dwelling place of the Gods. Some call it the Final Realm."
The entire class fell silent. Joran's eyes sparkled with pure wonder and charm. There's so much more out there… beyond these mountains…
Master Thorne lowered his voice dramatically for the final part of the lesson.
"According to the ancient prophecies, Emperor Vortigern did not truly die. He fell… but he will rise again. When the fallen king returns, the one who is destined to end him is said to be the child born at the very end of the Norse Calendar — the Final Born. Only that prophesied child will have the power to bring true peace… or final war."
He smiled gently at the students.
"Fortunately for all of you, none of you were born at the calendar's end. So rest easy — the burden of prophecy is not yours to carry today."
The class ended with laughter and chatter. The children stood up, stretching and talking excitedly as they began to leave Stormveil Training Grounds.
Kael nudged Joran.
"Come on, let's go. That was intense, right?"
Joran stood slowly, still lost in thought, his mind racing with images of dragons, distant realms, conquering kings, and the mysterious Aetherheim. A spark of excitement burned in his chest — a desire for something greater than the quiet life inside the mountains.
He turned to Kael with a small, determined smile.
"Yeah… let's go."
The two friends walked out of the training grounds together as the sun climbed higher in the sky over Eldfjall.