Chapter 18
Chapter 18
Somewhere deep in sleep...
The wind was cold.
It brushed against his cheeks as he climbed the rocky side of a hill. Boots slipping on moss, gravel crunching beneath his feet, Marcus Ardent—eight years old—pushed himself upward, defiant and full of pride.
The sky above was a vivid, brilliant blue. Clouds floated lazily, and the scent of pine mixed with the thrill of quiet adventure. He had wandered away from his parents during a family trip. The nobles were too busy discussing politics, alliances, and land disputes. He had wanted something more.
He had found it.
From the top of the hill, the world opened before him—forests bathed in gold, rivers that shimmered like glowing veins, and distant mountain spires that touched the clouds.
But he made a mistake.
One misplaced step sent his foot slipping off a loose stone. His body tumbled down the slope like a ragdoll. Dust flew. Branches scratched.
Pain exploded in his leg.
Snap.