The portal sealed with a soft shimmer, leaving Kira alone in silence.
His breath came in short, uneven bursts. "Mom?" he called out.
No answer. Just silence. The kind that wasn't empty—but full. Watching.
He turned slowly, heart thudding in his chest.
Trees. Massive ones. Their bark glowed faintly green, like veins of magic pulsing under skin. They stretched forever upward, vanishing into a canopy so thick it swallowed the sky. No birdsong. No wind. Not even the sound of leaves brushing each other.
Only stillness.
"Where… am I?" he whispered, and his own voice came back to him, quiet and distant, like the forest didn't want to wake.
He took a step. The ground was soft with moss, spongy and wet beneath his boots. Little golden lights floated lazily in the air—like fireflies made of stardust. He watched one drift past his cheek, leaving a warm, tingling trail.
It was beautiful.
And wrong.
This place didn't make sense—but something in his chest tugged at him. Not fear. Something deeper. Something… familiar.
It felt like the forest had been waiting for him.
He moved forward, almost without thinking, brushing aside leaves that shimmered under his fingers. Every step made his heartbeat louder. His mom's face flashed in his mind—her voice, her fire, the way she looked when she screamed his name.
Was she alive? Had the lion saved her?
He didn't know.
He didn't want to stop and think about it.
Then, a voice—so gentle it barely felt like sound at all.
"Kira."
He froze.
It came from everywhere and nowhere, like the forest itself had spoken his name.
"Who's there?" he asked, turning in circles.
No answer.
But ahead, between the trees, something pulsed—a soft white light, throbbing slow and steady, like a heartbeat calling to him.
He followed.
The trees parted into a clearing. A lake shimmered before him, smooth as glass. The water wasn't clear or dark—it was silver, glowing like molten moonlight. Tiny glowing droplets hovered above its surface, suspended in midair, gently rotating like stars caught in a dream.
Kira stepped closer.
His reflection blinked back—his silver eyes glowing faintly in the lake's light.
Then, without warning—
A hand shot up from the water and grabbed his wrist.
He screamed, but it was too late.
The lake pulled him under, hard. Cold slammed into him like a wall. The light vanished. The surface was gone.
He was falling, not swimming—falling. Deeper and deeper into the endless dark.
Bubbles burst from his mouth. His arms flailed. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
He was going to drown.
But then—below him—something glowed. Green. A stone, small and pulsing like a heartbeat.
He reached for it, not knowing why.
His fingers brushed it.
Everything exploded.
Kira gasped, sucking in air like it was the first breath he'd ever taken. He was lying on his back now, grass beneath him—cool, damp, real. He blinked, and above him stretched a night sky that felt too big to be real. A silver moon—massive, ancient—hung above him, casting the world in white-blue light.
All around him, calm water. Smooth. Infinite. Like the whole world was a mirror.
He sat up slowly, hand clutching his chest. "How did I get here?"
Then the voice came again—closer this time, a whisper just behind his ear.
"Don't be afraid, Kira. Come closer."
He stood, trembling. Took one step.
And then—another hand shot from the water, this time gripping his ankle. But there was no fear.
There was power.
His body lifted, not dragged—lifted. His feet left the ground. The world tilted, and he hovered weightless over the water, arms spread as if something unseen held him up.
His pupils went silver, pure and blinding. And then—
Visions.
Images crashed into him like waves.
A vast forest—older than kingdoms, pulsing with life. A man knelt before a glowing woman, his back straight, his head bowed.
The warrior king.
Kira knew it without needing to be told. His grandfather.
The woman—radiant, draped in vines and light—stepped forward.
Aria. Queen of the Druids.
Her emerald eyes shimmered like leaves wet with dew. She reached down and took the warrior's hand.
Vines of green light wrapped around their fingers, binding them together. sealing their bond in marriage. Magic twined around their wrists, sealing a vow older than blood.
A union of flame and forest. Of war and wonder.
The vision shifted again.
A soft cry pierced the silence.
A newborn lay cradled in Aria's arms. His skin glowed faintly under her touch, his tiny fingers curling around strands of her hair. She smiled down at him, her eyes full of warmth, of promise.
But in the shadows beyond the cradle—eyes watched.
Not with love.
With fear.
The scene melted like mist.
Now, a great hall stretched before Kira—vast, solemn, echoing. Its pillars were carved with scenes of ancient battles—warriors locked in eternal struggle, fire clashing with storm. Torches flickered along the stone walls, throwing long, twitching shadows.
At the base of the throne, a man stood alone. Broad shoulders. Battle-hardened. His armor gleamed, but his face was clouded.
Johan.
Kira's father.
He stood silent as the king—his father—watched him from above. The king's expression was carved in frustration. He looked like a man who had once burned with fire… and now sat among ashes.
Beside the throne, an advisor stepped forward. His voice flowed like honey over knives.
"My King," he began smoothly, "the Warrior bloodline is the last hope of power. The only one strong enough to carry two legacies in a single body. We remember the Great Warrior King—how he raised the dead from earth. But since his reign, no child has matched his strength."
He glanced sideways—at Johan.
The shame in Johan's silver eyes was a storm barely contained.
"Your son," the advisor continued, with a smirk that never reached his eyes, "was born from a Druid queen… and yet he holds no power. Not a spark. No flame, no magic. He is ordinary."
Whispers followed like vultures.
"He is a disgrace."
"A wasted bloodline."
"His mother's weakness runs through him."
The king said nothing.
Then—his fist slammed against the throne.
"Enough."
The word echoed like a hammerstrike in the hall.
But his fire was dying. He didn't rise. He didn't defend his son. He turned to Johan with the weight of a broken empire on his shoulders.
Johan's fists clenched at his sides.
He had bled, trained, fought harder than anyone. His blades were flawless, his reflexes sharp as lightning. But it wasn't enough.
It would never be enough.
Not in a world that worshipped magic.
Not for a boy who inherited none.
Then, the final vision came like a storm.
A chamber of stone, its walls filled with warriors, their eyes lit with fury. Aria stood in the center, her robes flowing like vines in the wind. Her presence crackled with quiet strength.
But the swords were already drawn.
The warriors encircled her like wolves.
A man stepped from the shadows—cold, coiled, venom in his stare.
"She clouds the King's mind," he said. "Speaks of peace, when we were born for conquest. She dreams of unity while we are destined to rule. The strongest race bows to no one."
His voice dropped, low and final.
"She must die."
A blade flashed.
Steel rushed toward her throat.
Kira screamed.
The vision shattered.
His body snapped forward—falling, plummeting through stars and sky and water.
But he didn't crash.
He landed softly.
The water rippled beneath him—but did not break. It held him.
He stood now on a glowing mirror of silver, stretching forever beneath the moonlight.
And in front of him—a figure waited.
Tall. Regal. Her gown woven from light and leaves, her hair cascading like fresh spring vines. A crown of living branches rested on her brow, pulsing faintly with green light.
Her eyes met his—bright, ancient, knowing.
"So," she said, voice like wind over forest stone. "You've come at last."
Kira's breath caught. "Who are you?" he asked, heart pounding. "Are you… the spirit of the woods?"
She smiled—gentle, sad, proud.
"I am much more than that, child."
She stepped closer.
"I am your grandmother," she said. "Aria. Queen of the Druids."
"I was there," Aria said softly, her gaze distant, "the night you were born."
Her voice echoed gently through the starlit air, every word carrying the weight of ancient memory.
"I witnessed it all—the moment your father died, the moment you took your first breath. You absorbed his power… even from within the womb. I have never seen such a thing. Not in all my years."
She vanished.
In the blink of an eye, she was standing beside him, her hand ghosting above his shoulder.
"I couldn't save him," she whispered, grief crackling beneath her composure. "But I could protect you. As your father's power poured into you, I felt something strange. You were drawing from me as well."
Kira's eyes widened. His breath caught in his throat. "You mean… I took your power too?"
She nodded slowly. "Even after birth, you continued to absorb—nature, elements, energy itself. It flowed into you like water into roots." Her gaze sharpened, probing. "Tell me, Kira… have you learned to control it?"
He hesitated, shame blooming in his chest.
"I… don't remember having any powers."
Aria's eyes flared. "What?" Her voice rang with disbelief. "After all these years… Laura has taught you nothing?"
"You know my mother?" Kira stepped forward, the question urgent. "Please. I need your help. She's in danger."
Aria's expression softened, but her tone remained resolute. "Kira, I am bound to this place. The forest remembers me, feeds me. But beyond these trees… I cannot go."
His heart sank.
"But do not despair," she added quickly, "Mordrain will not harm his favorite daughter. Your mother is strong—and still precious to him, in his own twisted way."
The name hit Kira like a cold wind. "Mordrain…"
"If you truly want to protect her," Aria said, stepping closer, her voice fierce now, "you must awaken what sleeps within you. Your strength was never gone. It is waiting."
She looked him dead in the eye.
"Tell me, Kira. Do you want power strong enough to protect your mother?"
His fists clenched.
"Yes."
A smile curved across her lips. Not kind. Not gentle.
Proud.
"Then we have no more time to waste."
The world twisted.
The moon spun overhead, the lake buckled beneath his feet, and in a blink the serene glow of water and stars vanished.
Kira stood now in the heart of a vast stone arena—ancient, circular, alive with silence. The air pulsed with a quiet, waiting tension.
And then—
Boom.
A massive boulder came roaring through the air.
He dove to the side, just barely avoiding the crushing weight. It smashed into the ground, the impact throwing him backward like a ragdoll. Stones scraped against his skin. He coughed, rolling over just in time to see the rock shifting.
It moved.
The stone quaked, splitting apart, reshaping itself into a towering creature of jagged edges and glowing green eyes. It rose like a mountain with limbs, snarling as it raised both arms high above its head—
—and hurled another boulder straight at him.
Kira turned to flee, but it was too fast. The boulder clipped his shoulder mid-run, hurling him to the ground. Pain exploded through his side. He gasped, crawling, barely able to stand.
The creature leapt.
Its massive fist descended like a meteor.
Kira threw up his arms, instinct screaming through him. "No!"
But the blow never landed.
A deafening growl split the air.
A flash of gold.
The creature's arm stopped—trapped in the jaws of a golden lion.
The beast was massive, radiant, primal. Muscles rippled beneath its golden fur as it clamped down hard, teeth crunching through solid rock. With a furious twist of its head, the lion ripped the creature's arm clean off.
The golem shrieked, stumbling backward, green light leaking from the wound.
Then—vanished into mist.
Silence.
Kira lay frozen, gasping, staring up at the lion's glowing form.
Then, Aria appeared again. The lion turned immediately, padding to her side, lowering its great head like a loyal guardian.
She stroked its mane, murmuring something only the wind could hear.
Then her eyes turned to Kira once more.
"You are no longer a newborn," she said, calm but commanding. "You cannot rely on Vega to protect you forever."
Kira staggered to his feet, wincing as pain rippled through his shoulder.
"Vega?" he repeated, confusion etched across his face. "Who's Vega?"
Aria gave him a pointed look, one elegant brow arching. "You summoned your guardian without even knowing his name?"
He hesitated. "I… I didn't summon anything. It just… happened."
A flicker of amusement danced in her emerald eyes. "You carry immense potential, Kira," she said with a soft chuckle. "But clearly, we've only scratched the surface."
What followed was nothing short of grueling.
Under Aria's relentless guidance, Kira trained—day into night, night into day. She taught him not just to see the world, but to feel it—to tune his senses to the wind's whisper, the heartbeat of the trees, the hum of earth beneath his feet.
And yet…
No matter how hard he tried, the magic refused to obey.
It danced at the edge of his reach—visible, tangible, but utterly uncontrollable.
One morning, Aria stood over him as he knelt, breathless and dripping with sweat, surrounded by scorched leaves and shattered roots. Her expression was tight, eyes narrowed in quiet concern.
"You were born overflowing with power," she said, almost to herself. "It should be second nature to you. But something's wrong."
Kira looked up, frustration burning behind his silver gaze. "Then what's blocking me?"
Wordlessly, Aria turned and led him deeper into the forest.
They walked for hours—until the trees thinned and the ground grew hard and cold. At the base of a towering mountain, she stopped.
"Place your hand here," she instructed, indicating the stone wall before them.
Kira pressed his palm against the rock.
It shimmered.
With a low rumble, the mountain split open, revealing a dark, narrow passageway. Cold air seeped from its depths like a warning.
Aria didn't follow.
"You must go alone," she said. "What lies inside is bound to your soul. I cannot help you."
The moment he stepped inside, the entrance slammed shut.
Total darkness swallowed him.
Then—a light.
A massive shield hovered in the void before him, suspended in the air. It was unlike any weapon or ward he had seen. Thick iron chains wrapped around it, layered and knotted, as if trying to contain something dangerous.
Floating around it were smaller shields, each one etched with strange symbols—ancient sigils of beasts, blades, storms, and fire.
One of them glowed faintly.
Kira moved closer.
The faintly glowing shield bore the image of a lion—majestic and fierce, its eyes golden, surrounded by five wolves mid-howl.
A pulse echoed through his chest.
He reached out and touched it.
"Vega."
The chains exploded.
The central shield cracked with a thunderous roar, shards flying as light poured from within. From the shattered fragments emerged the golden lion—massive and radiant—and five colossal silver wolves at its side.
As they took shape, a surge of power slammed into Kira like a wave. He staggered but did not fall. The bond was instantaneous, like something ancient awakening within him. Visions flooded his mind: his birth, the wolves that chased his mother through the night, the silent protectors that had always lingered at the edge of his dreams.
They had been there all along.
Watching.
Waiting.
He turned back toward the remaining shields—still chained, still cold.
He reached out to another. Nothing.
He commanded Vega to strike, but the lion's claws passed harmlessly through the bindings like smoke.
Kira stepped back, realization dawning.
"They're not real… not for you," he whispered. "Only I can break them."
The shields hovered silently, waiting.
Kira clenched his fists. The truth, the power, the answers—they were locked behind those chains.
And he would break them.
No matter what it took.