They call me Uren. I live in a village forgotten by the world, nestled between the roots of the mountains in the southwest of the Dominion of Aerthas. No merchants from Veyrun come here, nor caravans with fragrant fabrics. Time burns slowly here, like embers beneath the ashes. The seasons pass, but nothing truly changes. The same faces, the same voices, the same dreams that never come true.
I’ve never had much, but I’ve never stopped wanting more. I’m not talking about wealth, not just that. I’m talking about possibility. About power. About freedom. As a child, while others played with sticks and mud, I watched. I imagined. I dreamed of escaping, of becoming someone. My father vanished on a snowy night, my mother followed soon after, and my grandmother raised me like one raises a wild plant: not with many caresses, but with deep roots. She taught me to survive, not to live. She told me stories, bedtime tales, but without sweetness. Her words were like polished stones: hard, but precise. She spoke of distant kingdoms, of knights who never returned, of fires that devoured entire villages. No fairies, no happy endings. Only shadows, silence, and omens.
I couldn’t tell if she was trying to scare me or prepare me. Maybe both. But I didn’t really listen. Her stories slid off me. I had already decided I wouldn’t stay there, wouldn’t live like her, bent to time and earth. I wanted more.
That day the market felt different. The air was tense, as if something was about to happen. It wasn’t big — four stalls, a few old men bartering cheese, barefoot children running — but there was movement. New faces, clothes too clean to be from here.
I stopped at the edge of the square, hands in my pockets, pretending not to look. Three men were talking near the well. They weren’t selling anything, weren’t buying anything. One had a face marked by a scar drawn in anger, another wore a dark cloak with golden embroidery, and the third… the third didn’t speak. He watched. And his gaze was like a knife stuck in wood.
I approached calmly, pretending interest in a stall of apples. Their words were broken, whispered. “…the cave…”, “…before they move it…”, “…we won’t come back a second time…”. I didn’t understand everything, but it was enough to spark something. A name, a place, a treasure. It was as if the world was winking at me.
Then I saw her. In the crowd, as if she had appeared out of nowhere. Tall, elegant, dressed in black. Her silver hair tied in a high, voluminous ponytail that swayed behind her like a war banner. Pale skin, distant gaze. She didn’t speak to anyone. Didn’t touch anything. But everyone seemed to avoid her, as if her passage left an invisible trail.
It felt like the whole world had stopped to make room for her. I froze. I couldn’t look away. She wasn’t just beautiful. She was… out of place. As if she didn’t belong to that world. As if she had appeared by mistake, or by destiny.
And in that moment, one of the men at the well turned and saw me. His gaze met mine. He said nothing. But the message was clear: I had listened too much.
I walked away slowly, heart pounding. The silver-haired woman had vanished.
That night sleep came late. I tossed in bed, my mind fixed on those whispered words at the well. “…the cave…”, “…before they move it…”. And her. The silver-haired woman. I couldn’t get her out of my head, even though I didn’t know why.
Then the dream. I was in a vast hall, black marble floor, golden columns rising to an invisible ceiling. In front of me, a lavish table: fruits I’d never seen, brimming goblets, silver plates. And seated around it, men and women dressed like kings, laughing and looking at me as one of them.
I stood up. I had a cloak on my shoulders. My hands full of rings. I walked and everyone bowed. Then a door opened. And behind it, a mountain. The same one I see every day from my window. But this time, at the summit, there was a glow. And I knew: the treasure was there. My new life was there.
I woke up with my heart pounding. It wasn’t fear. It was hunger. That hunger that’s burned inside me since I was born. I got up. Took my backpack. Didn’t say a word to anyone. It was time to go.
I set off before sunrise, when the sky was still dark blue and the air cut through the skin. In front of me, the mountain. White, still, immense. It seemed to watch me from afar, as if it knew I was coming.
Each step was silence. The village behind me grew smaller, then vanished. Ahead, only snow and stone.
The path climbed slowly, covered by a thin layer of ice. My shoes slipped, my fingers grew numb. But I didn’t stop. I felt something inside, like a thread pulling me upward. It wasn’t courage. It was hunger. Hunger for something I had never had.
By mid-morning the wind changed. It blew strong, icy, carrying with it the scent of resin and silence. I stopped under an overhanging rock, sheltering for a few minutes. I looked up. The summit was still far, but closer than it had ever been.
I started walking again.
The sun was high, but the cold didn’t let up. The wind scratched my face as I climbed through rocks and snow, until I found it. A crack in the mountain, narrow, dark, invisible unless you were looking for it. It looked more like a wound than an entrance.
I approached. The air changed. Denser. Quieter. As if the world were holding its breath. I entered.
The lantern’s light flickered, casting shadows that seemed to move whenever I turned my gaze. The ground was uneven, damp, covered in fragments of stone and old bones. Some too small to be from animals. My heart pounded, but it wasn’t fear. It was hunger. That hunger that had driven me there.
The cave opened into a natural chamber, wide, with stalactites hanging like claws and stalagmites that looked like broken columns. And there, at the far end, I saw it.
The treasure. It wasn’t like in dreams. No divine lights, no celestial music. But it was real. Wooden chests, some broken, others sealed. Inside, ancient coins, jewels, sealed scrolls. Swords with jeweled hilts, silver goblets, stones that gleamed like serpent eyes.
I knelt, my hands trembling. It was all mine. Finally.
I moved like a thief, but with the fury of the starving. I filled my backpack, my jacket, my pockets. I tied bags to my back, to my belt. Every object promised something. Every gram, a dream to chase. I didn’t think about the path. I didn’t think about going back. I only thought about escaping. About becoming someone.
Then, a sound. A whisper? A breath? I turned sharply. Nothing. Just darkness. Just the cave. But something had moved. Or maybe it was me. Maybe the weight was starting to take its toll. Maybe the mountain didn’t want to let me go.
I stood up. My body bent, my legs already tired. The treasure pulled me downward, but I smiled. I had won. I had found what no one had ever dared to seek.
I turned toward the exit. The lantern’s light flickered. The world outside was still there. Cold, white, motionless.
The sun began to set, tinting the snow red. The path seemed narrower, more treacherous. Every step was a struggle. The weight bent my back, slowed me down. But I couldn’t stop. Not now. Not with all this on me. Not with a new life just a step away.
My breath was short. My legs hard as stone. The frost bit my fingers, but I gripped the straps, the bags, the backpack. Every item was a promise. Every coin, an escape. Every jewel, a redemption.
I thought about what I would do. Where I would go. Who I would become. I thought of Veyrun, its wide streets, its inns full of music. I thought of a house with large windows, of clothes that didn’t smell of smoke. I thought of hands that didn’t dig earth, of eyes that looked at me with respect. I thought of myself, different. Better.
Then, a thought. A flash. What if I don’t make it? I pushed it away immediately. It was the voice of fear. I had won. I had the treasure.
The wind rose, whistling through the rocks. The ice beneath my feet cracked. I took a step. Then another. Then…
Crack. The world tilted. My foot slipped. My body followed. The weight dragged me down. I felt the void open beneath me. My hands searched for something, anything. But there was nothing. Just air. Just falling.
Time slowed. I saw the sky, the mountains, my backpack breaking free and flying away. I saw the snow rise like dust. I saw my life, all of it, in an instant.
And then… a hand. A cold, strong hand grabbing my wrist.
I stopped. Suspended. My heart exploded in my chest. I looked.
It was a woman. Beautiful. Still. Her silver hair swayed in the wind. Her eyes had no color, only depth. She held me as if time didn’t exist. As if I were a feather.
And I… didn’t understand. It was the woman from the market. I had seen her before. I knew it. But there, in that moment, she wasn’t the same. Or maybe… I wasn’t the same anymore. Something about her escaped me. Something that shouldn’t be there. And yet it was. And she looked at me.
My mind raced. Searching for a grip. Searching for answers. Who are you? How are you here? Why are you holding me?
Then, a sound. A roar. Distant. Deep. Ancient.
The dragon. I froze. My heart stopped. My grandmother’s stories. The legends. The woman in black. The white dragon. Death that comes in two forms. One that looks you in the eyes. The other that devours you.
She looked at me. Didn’t speak. Didn’t smile. But at last I understood: “You’ve always walked with me…”
It was over.
I closed my eyes. My body relaxed. My fingers opened. I let go.
The wind wrapped around me. The void welcomed me. And as I fell, a thought crossed my mind, clear, sharp.
“How foolish I’ve been…”
"Each soul finds its path. Some encounter calm, others chaos. Death comes, but how we face it is ours to choose."
Serath Eilun, chapter IX