Chapter1
Viliam
Viliam’s wings sliced through the night, each beat carving a silent rhythm against the sky. The air was sharp and cold this high above the Empire’s lands, a stark contrast to the dense humidity of Al’tera. Below, the sprawling cities of The Gilded Empire stretched like a scar across the earth, endless grids of stone and steel choking the land’s lifeblood. Fires burned in iron furnaces, their plumes staining the stars, while rivers twisted unnaturally, dammed and redirected to feed The Empire’s insatiable hunger.
From this height, it should have been beautiful, a tapestry of lights shimmering against the darkness. But to Viliam, it was grotesque. A distortion. The land here did not sing; it wailed. The Empire had ripped the balance from its roots, replacing harmony with control, life with greed.
He tilted his wings, banking away from the glare of the cities and toward the shadowed contours of the mountains. The Empire’s villages nestled at their feet, small and huddled, where fields stretched in unnatural lines, each crop bent to human will. Even in the quiet places, The Empire’s touch was everywhere.
For years, The Empire had stolen from the sacred tree, twisting the sap of Mahoamorah into tools of destruction. Their greed did not just poison their own lands; it threatened the balance of everything.
The World Tree stood at the heart of the conflict. An ancient god, its roots stretched deep beneath the land, connecting Al’tera and The Empire alike. But where the Al’terans revered Mahoamorah as sacred, The Empire treated it as a resource to be exploited. Their corruption was relentless, and now it had taken a new form.
Elora.
The girl was a paradox, a living fracture in the balance. He should have killed her. It was his duty as aThraskto eradicate anything that threatened the balance. She was a walking corruption, an abomination born of Thorn’s perversion. Thorn’s alchemy had used his essence, the sacred magic of theThrask, to create a hollow imitation of Al’teran transformation. The process had bound fragments of his power to her—a depravity, unstable and violent. She was notThrask.
And yet... she had saved him.
The girl was a victim. Her shifting abilities were unstable, dangerous not just to herself but to the balance of the world. And yet, in her fear and confusion, he had glimpsed something more. She had fought for her freedom—and his—not with malice, but with a raw, steadfast will to survive. No, she was more than a victim. More than an abomination.
She was a question he did not yet know how to answer.
Ahead, the mountains gave way to the edge of Al’tera. Viliam’s heart stirred as the landscape transformed beneath him. The sharp lines of the Empire’s dominance softened, fading into wild, untamed beauty. Rivers coiled like silver snakes, weaving through vast jungles that pulsed with life. Trees rose high and ancient, their roots plungingdeep into the earth, their leaves shimmering with faint bioluminescence under the orange hues of the dawn.
This was balance. This was home.
Viliam descended, angling to ride the warm currents that rose from the jungle below. The air here tasted different, clean, rich with the scent of soil, flowers, and rain. The sacred trees stood tall, their roots entwined with the heartbeat of Mahoamorah itself. It welcomed him, grounding him, even as his thoughts churned with unease.
The village ofKorynthahl, nestled in the heart of Al’tera’s sacred jungle, The Myrrhshade Wilds, was alive with the quiet hum of morning. At its center stood the colossal tree known as Nyt’morah, one of the great offspring of Mahoamorah itself. The tree’s roots spread wide, forming bridges and natural pathways that wove through the village.
The homes and buildings ofKorynthahl, constructed from woven vines, wood, and stone, seemed to grow organically around the roots and branches. Their rooftops were covered in thick foliage, blending seamlessly with the canopy above. Some structures rested on stilts among the roots, while others clung high in the tree’s branches, accessible only by rope bridges and ladders.
Viliam landed silently in the clearing at the edge of the village, his claws brushing against the soft earth as he shifted back into his human form. The transformation rippled through him, muscles tensing, feathers melting into deep brown skin. His sharp amber eyes, glowing faintly in the morning light, scanned the home he had longed to see, but what met his gaze was not the vibrant sanctuary he had left behind.
Something was wrong.
The air felt heavier than it should, and the usual vitality was muted. The canopy above, which once shimmered with emerald and gold, was dull and withered in patches, its leaves curling in on themselves. Splintered bark marredNyt’morah’strunk, dark veins of decay creeping upward like an infection, and the roots that once thrummed with life beneath his feet now felt brittle and fragile.
A chill settled over him. The balance here was breaking.
He strode forward, taking in the unease etched on the faces of his people. The villagers moved slower than usual, their voices hushed. Above, true nightgliders perched among the branches, their natural emerald and sapphire eyes flickering with unease. Among them, theThrask, marked by their golden gaze, lurked in silence, their forms tense and alert.
As he approached the base of their sacred tree, threeThraskdropped down in unison, their sleek nightglider forms blending effortlessly with the shadows. Even before they shifted back to human, he recognized them: Ilyn, Kaela, and Tarrik, his kin, his brothers and sister in spirit.
“Viliam!” Kaela cried out. Her golden eyes shimmered with tears she was clearly trying to hold back. Her tightly coiled ebony locks adorned with small beads were still tangled from sleep. The light filtering throughNyt’morah’scanopy glowed against her bare chest and shoulders, causing the golden markings on her bronze skin to sparkle. She hadn’t changed a bit, still as striking as ever. A beautiful combination of whirlwind and grace.
“You’re back.” Ilyn stepped forward and saluted, pressing his fist to his heart, a gesture mirrored by Kaela and Tarrik. But before Viliam could respond, his closest friend pulled him into a crushing embrace.
Kaela joined in, wrapping her arms around both men. “We thought you were lost to The Empire.” She pulled back and met his gaze, searching for an explanation. “It’s been so long.”
How long has it been?he wondered. He wasn’t sure. The dark cell of Thorn’s laboratory made it impossible to tell the passing of days.
Tarrik approached last, his towering frame casting a shadow over Viliam. He was as steady and immovable as the sacred trees themselves. His charcoal-gray skin mirrored closely to the nightgliders, and his face, carved with sharp angles and a deep, solemn frown, bore scars from countless battles. Tarrik’s hair, long and bound in tight braids, framed his face like a lion’s mane, the strands adorned with small bands of polished bone and obsidian. He was the oldest of them, and his wisdom guided them despite the few words he spoke.
Viliam had always respected Tarrik’s quiet strength. Unlike Ilyn’s commanding presence or Kaela’s sharp wit, Tarrik’s power lay in his unwavering steadiness. He spoke little, but when he did, his words carried weight, each syllable chosen with care. Tarrik’s silence was never indifference; it was a reflection of his deep contemplation and connection to the balance they all served.
The hand Tarrik placed on Viliam’s shoulder was firm. No words passed between them, but Viliam felt the unspoken question lingering:What happened? What darkness follows you here?
