Echoes beyond the kingdoms

Morning came quietly to Willowmere.

Mist clung to the fields surrounding the little village, turning the distant hills pale beneath the rising sun. Dew glittered on rows of wheat, while the old wooden houses slowly emerged from the fog.

Beyond the village stood the Willowmere Woods, a vast stretch of forest that separated the farmland from the deeper wilderness of Asteria.

For generations, Willowmere had been a peaceful place.

Nothing important ever happened here.

At least, that was what everyone believed.

A boy ran along the dirt road carrying a bundle of firewood across his shoulders.

Kryst Knight, sixteen years old, stopped at the edge of the village and dropped the bundle beside a small cottage.

"Finally..."

He wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"That's the last one."

"You're late."

Kryst froze.

A woman's voice came from behind him.

He slowly turned.

An elderly villager stood there with her hands on her hips.

"I—"

"You said you'd bring the firewood before sunrise."

Kryst glanced at the sky.

"The sun isn't even fully up yet."

"That's not what you promised."

"...Right."

The old woman sighed.

"You've got too much of your father in you."

Kryst smiled faintly.

"Is that supposed to be an insult?"

"Depends on the day."

She walked away, muttering to herself.

Kryst chuckled.

This was his life.

Work.

Training.

Helping the villagers.

And occasionally getting scolded.

Nothing extraordinary.

Nothing adventurous.

Nothing that would make him important.

He looked toward the eastern horizon.

Beyond those distant hills lay the heart of the Asteria Kingdom, with its great cities, royal roads, castles, and armies.

Farther still were lands Kryst had only heard about in stories.

The frozen Frosthelm Empire.

The ancient forests of Valewood Kingdom.

The mysterious lands of Sylvanreach.

The deadly Duskveil Desert.

The volcanic Emberreach Mountains.

And, far to the north, the terrifying territory of the Vyreth Dominion.

Kryst had never seen any of them.

He had barely traveled beyond Willowmere.

But lately...

He had begun dreaming about them.

Not ordinary dreams.

Dreams of a black sky.

A ruined city.

A strange symbol glowing crimson.

And a voice calling his name.

Kryst.

He shook his head.

"Just a dream."

Then—

BOOOOOM!

A thunderous explosion shook the village.

Birds erupted from the trees.

People screamed.

Kryst spun toward the northern road.

A column of black smoke was rising beyond the forest.

For several seconds, nobody moved.

Then someone shouted:

"The watchtower!"

Kryst's expression changed.

The old watchtower stood on the road leading away from Willowmere.

It was supposed to warn the village of monsters, bandits, or other dangers approaching from the wilderness.

But now...

Its warning bell began ringing.

CLANG!

CLANG!

CLANG!

Kryst stared toward the smoke.

Something had entered Willowmere's territory.

And whatever it was...

The village watchtower had been destroyed.

Kryst grabbed the old sword hanging beside the cottage door.

He had no idea what was coming.

He only knew one thing.

For the first time in his life—

Willowmere was no longer safe.