"Mom… people keep saying I don't look like you or Dad," Revan Ashvale said, his gaze lingering on his mother's face as she stirred the evening stew.
His voice was soft, but it hung in the air like a question that had been waiting years to be asked.
His mother looked up, pausing mid-stir. "Oh, don't be silly, sweetheart. You look just like us. Just ignore what others say."
Revan didn't answer right away. His brown eyes traced her features—the curve of her nose, the shade of her skin, the shape of her chin—searching for any resemblance. But he found none. He never had.
Before he could say anything else, his father walked into the kitchen, rolling up the sleeves of his well-worn tunic."Son," he said gently, "stop paying attention to idle chatter. Think for yourself. You are our son, and that's what truly matters."
Revan sighed. "Yeah… you're right."
He left the kitchen and headed back to the window seat in his room. Outside, the sky was turning a warm gold, and the distant hills looked peaceful. The wind rustled his shoulder-length brown hair as it slipped through the slightly open window.
He sat in silence, but his mind was anything but quiet. He remembered the woods.
He had been nine when it all happened—the day the wind led him too deep, chasing a strange, glowing wisp that danced like smoke and shimmered like starlight. In a misty clearing, he encountered a man cloaked in black. A cracked silver mask hid his face, and his presence felt both otherworldly and strangely familiar.
"You'll forget me soon," the man had said, kneeling to meet his gaze. "But listen closely, boy. Go to Veylshade. Find the totem. Shape your truth."
Then came the darkness.
He woke up in bed. His parents told him he'd slipped and fallen. No mention of the man. No glowing smoke. No hint of destiny.
But those words lingered—etched into his mind like a scar that wouldn't fade. That name: Veylshade.
It had echoed in his thoughts for years. He still believed it was just a dream, but deep down, he felt it was something more.
Though Revan forgot about the man, the words had stayed with him. They were burned into his thoughts like a scar that refused to heal.
It had echoed in his mind for years. He still believed that it was a dream, but his heart said otherwise.
He didn't know what it meant. Only that it mattered.
And now, six years later,A crisp envelope lay on the windowsill, sealed with a wax emblem—an intricate design of a crescent moon wrapped around a flame. Revan tore it open with trembling fingers, his pulse quickening with every word.
"Mr. Revan Ashvale,
We are pleased to inform you that your application to Veylshade Academy of Magical Arts has been accepted.
From this point forward, you are expected to reside within the academy grounds. Please bring any personal belongings you wish to keep. All other necessities will be provided to you by the institution."
His eyes scanned the letter twice, then a third time.
"You are to report to Veylshade Academy on the first day of the Frostfall moon."
Just 3 days away. 3 days to leave everything behind.
Revan's eyes lingered on the words. The Frostfall Moon… when truths rise with the mist and the cold lays secrets bare,and the totem finds its chosen.
There it was—validation. A spark of purpose that had flickered inside him for years now roared to life.
A bright smile broke across Revan's face as he burst into the kitchen, letter clenched in his hand.
"My application for the academy… it got accepted!" he exclaimed, breathless with excitement.
His father stood from his chair, giving him a strong pat on the back. "That's our boy," he said with a proud smile. "We're proud of you."
His mother nodded, her smile soft but faintly tremulous. "Yes… very proud. Just promise you'll stay focused. This path won't be easy."
''I know,'' Revan said, nodding. "But I'm ready for it."
But behind their words, he noticed it again—that flicker of hesitation. A shadow in their eyes. Fear? Doubt? He couldn't tell. And they didn't explain.
That night, as he packed what little he owned—a journal, a wooden pendant he had found in the woods years ago, a hand-stitched scarf from his mother, and a set of clean clothes folded with care—Revan stood at his window one last time.
The moon hung low, casting silver light across the hills. The same hills he had watched for years, waiting for something to change.
Now it had.
Thus began the journey of seeking the truth...