JulietSanal
Mist hung low over the rolling heather of the Vale of Eryndor, curling around gnarled oaks and ancient standing stones etched with half-forgotten runes. Dawn's first light seeped through tear-shaped rivulets in the sky, gilding the dew with liquid gold. For centuries, bards had sung of the Vale's magic: how bloodlines entwined with the land itself, how destiny was as much carved in granite as in the hearts of its people. Yet this morning, a single figure lay curled beneath the boughs of the Heart Tree, shrouded in moonlit mist, unaware of the power thrumming through its veins-or the peril that hunted her.
The girl stirred, eyelids fluttering open to reveal storm-gray eyes. She sat up, clutching a broken staff bound with silken cords, its crystal tip dim. Around her, the runes glowed faintly, resonating with the pulse of her breath. But she knew none of this. All she possessed was a name: Eloria-whispered to her by a voice like wind through reeds. Beyond that, nothing but questions.
The Vale stirred-its ancient stones awakening to her presence, its hidden watchers holding their breath. For in this one who knew nothing, lay the seed of a story yet unwritten. And fate, it seemed, was breathless in anticipation.