Arin stood still, his gaze fixed on the crumbling remnants of the underground chamber. The final whisper of the Raven's Mark still echoed in his ears, a haunting lullaby of power and responsibility. Elira, his guardian and confidant, stood a step behind him, her cloak billowing in the gusts of magic that had yet to fully settle.
"This place…" Arin murmured, brushing dust off an old symbol etched into the stone floor, "it remembers everything."
"Yes," Elira said quietly. "And it will remember you now too."
A surge of something unfamiliar buzzed beneath Arin's skin. The Mark had awakened something deep within him something ancient, something watching.
Outside, the stars had begun to realign. The sky shimmered with threads of light unseen by ordinary eyes. But Arin was no longer ordinary. He was the Heir, the chosen bearer of the Last Bloodline, and the magic had accepted him.
As they made their way back to the surface, the path through the crypt trembled. The stone beneath their feet groaned. Runes on the walls began to glow faintly, acknowledging the blood that now flowed in Arin's veins.
Above ground, the academy was alive with unease. Word had spread of Arin's descent. Students whispered in hallways. Professors exchanged knowing looks. Headmistress Kaelora summoned the Council of Nine.
Elira didn't speak much as they walked. She didn't need to. Her silence was filled with pride, caution, and concern.
"I felt something," Arin finally said. "Down there. A presence. Watching."
"It was the first Keeper," Elira replied. "His soul remains bound to the chamber. He judged you worthy. Few ever receive that blessing."
Arin's hand drifted to the glowing crest now etched into his forearm, pulsing gently with light. "So what now?"
"You learn. You train. And you lead."
At the academy gates, a figure awaited them. Tall, cloaked in forest green, and carrying a staff marked with the seal of the Eastern Watch.
"You are the one," the stranger said, voice low and gravelled. "The one who bears the mark."
Arin stepped forward. "Who are you?"
"A messenger," he replied. "From the Forgotten Border. The wards are failing. The darkness stirs."
Elira's expression darkened. "It's too soon."
"There is no 'soon,'" the messenger said. "Only now."
Later that night, Arin sat alone on the tower balcony of his dormitory. The wind played with his hair. His thoughts were louder than ever. So much had changed, yet everything around him remained the same.
He pulled out the aged map that Elira had given him when they first met. Until now, the eastern edge had always been blank.
Now, golden script shimmered into visibility across the parchment. Ancient territories. Forgotten keeps. Names he didn't recognize but would soon.
A knock interrupted his thoughts. To his surprise, it was Lyra. Her normally composed features were tense.
"They're saying you're the Chosen One," she said.
"I didn't ask to be," Arin replied.
"Doesn't matter. You are."
She stepped closer, folding her arms. "I know what it's like to have people expect things of you. Heavy things. But you don't have to carry it alone."
Arin looked up at her, grateful. "Thanks."
"Besides," she added with a smirk, "I'm too curious to let you face ancient evils without me."
They laughed, a sound of relief in a world tilting toward chaos.
The next morning, the academy bells tolled not for class but for war. Ancient creatures had breached the Wyrmwall in the far east.
And so it began.