Twilight of the Evergreen

Aelor lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling of the small bedroom Gordon had offered him. The bed, despite being soft and warm, did little to quell the storm of questions swirling in his mind. The weight of everything that had happened, the strange encounters, and the mysteries he still couldn't grasp—he felt suffocated by it all. Sleep was a distant thought, a luxury he couldn't afford.

Gordon had been kind, offering him food, water, and shelter, but it didn't make the gnawing uncertainty inside him go away. What had Rylan really meant by sending him here? Was it truly for his safety, or had Rylan been trying to distance himself from the consequences of whatever they were both entangled in? And what of the dark magic, the strange figure Gordon had encountered, and the powerful forces now rising across Aldoria? It felt like a puzzle with pieces that didn't quite fit, and no matter how hard Aelor tried, he couldn't make sense of it all.

Unable to lie still any longer, Aelor decided to take a walk. He needed fresh air, a chance to clear his head. The moonlight bathed the world outside, casting long shadows on the ground as he crept quietly out of the house, carrying a small candle to light his way. The village was eerily quiet, with only the faint rustling of trees and the chirping of nocturnal creatures breaking the silence. It was peaceful, almost too peaceful.

As Aelor wandered further from the blacksmith's home, the cool night air ruffled his hair, and he paused, closing his eyes for a brief moment, letting the wind blow across his face. It was as though the wind was calling him, pulling him toward something. His hair fluttered around his face, and when he opened his eyes, he saw it—a figure of sorts in the distance.

It wasn't a person, but rather the silhouette of something grand, almost ghostly. A church. Or what appeared to be one, standing alone on a hill, far removed from the village. A shiver ran down his spine, and though his instincts told him to turn back, something compelled him to move forward. His feet carried him through the night, the mysterious figure drawing him in.

As he got closer, the structure revealed itself more clearly. It was ancient—its white stone walls worn with time, the windows dark and empty. Yet there was something about it that felt… alive. A sense of presence, a quiet pull that tugged at his chest.

Aelor stood in front of the doors, his breath catching in his throat. They were ajar. No light, no sign of life, yet the door seemed to beckon him. His mind raced, but his feet moved on their own, pushing the door open with a creak that echoed in the stillness of the night.

Inside, the church was even more beautiful than Aelor had imagined. The stone walls were lined with ancient carvings, faded over time, but still somehow powerful. The air was heavy with the scent of old incense and something deeper, older—like forgotten history. At the center of the room, illuminated by the ethereal light of the moon shining through the stained-glass windows, lay a coffin.

The coffin was ornate, carved from dark wood, and covered in intricate designs that seemed to dance and shimmer in the low light. It was positioned on a raised platform, and the moonlight made it look almost... sacred. Aelor's breath hitched as he approached, his heart pounding in his chest. The soft glow of the moon seemed to bathe the coffin in a gentle, almost otherworldly light. There was something hauntingly beautiful about it.

The air grew colder as Aelor stepped closer, his footsteps muffled on the stone floor. He felt as though he were standing on the edge of something important, something he was not meant to see. His gaze lingered on the coffin, unable to tear himself away.

It was almost as if the coffin called to him.

Aelor reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he touched the surface of the coffin. The coldness of the wood sent a shiver through his fingertips, but there was something more—something beneath the surface. His pulse quickened as he gently traced the intricate symbols carved into the wood. They felt... familiar.

It was then that he heard it.

A soft, distant whisper—just a breath on the wind. His heart leapt in his chest. He pulled his hand back quickly, his pulse racing, but the whisper didn't stop. It was as though the very air around him had become alive with an ancient energy.

He couldn't make out the words, but it didn't matter. The voice felt like it was speaking directly to him, and yet, at the same time, it wasn't. It was just a faint murmur in the back of his mind, a reminder of something he'd forgotten—or something he wasn't meant to remember.

Aelor stumbled back, his eyes wide with fear, the candle flickering in his hand as he struggled to make sense of what was happening. He turned toward the door, but as his feet moved, a sudden chill swept through the church. The temperature dropped so quickly that his breath clouded in the air.

The whisper became clearer.

"Aelor…" The voice was unmistakable now, sharp and commanding.

Aelor froze, his heart pounding in his chest. The name—his name—echoed in the empty church, but there was something wrong about it. The voice wasn't just calling to him. It was pulling him.

He turned back to the coffin, his body stiff with fear, and saw the surface of the coffin shimmer. A dark shape began to move beneath the surface—something shifting, like the faintest trace of smoke swirling inside the wood.

Suddenly, the door behind him slammed shut with a deafening bang. Aelor's heart skipped a beat, and he spun around to see the once-ajar door now completely sealed. He was trapped.

The whisper grew louder, and the coffin's lid began to creak. Something—someone—was awakening inside.

And it wasn't something Aelor was ready to face.

Aelor's heart raced as the air around him seemed to thicken with tension. The whisper was relentless, echoing in his mind like a command, urging him toward the coffin. He glanced back at the door, but it remained firmly shut, trapping him inside the ancient church. There was no escape, no immediate way out—only the coffin and the eerie presence that now seemed to be surrounding him.

With his hands trembling, Aelor stepped forward, the faint glow of the candle flickering wildly in the air as if it were struggling against the pressure of the darkness. He had no choice but to act. If he didn't, whatever was inside the coffin would remain a mystery—perhaps something far worse than he was ready to face.

His mind screamed at him to leave, to turn and run, but his body moved on its own accord. His magic had always been instinctual, and though it wasn't always refined, he trusted it when he had no other option.

Aelor stretched out his hands toward the coffin's lid, feeling the pulse of magic inside him, trying to summon its strength. His first attempt failed, the flow of energy dissipating into nothing as his magic collided weakly with the wood. He gritted his teeth, frustration mounting. No. That wasn't enough. The whispering in his mind grew louder, more insistent, as though the coffin itself were demanding him to try again.

Closing his eyes, Aelor inhaled deeply, grounding himself in the moment. He could feel the magic beneath his skin, simmering and hot, just waiting for the right moment to burst free. This time, he focused on more than just his knowledge or his willpower. He reached deep into himself—into his heart, into the very core of his being. He allowed his emotions to blend with the magic, raw and untamed, mixing it with his deepest fears, his lingering confusion, and even his unresolved anger.

A faint glow surrounded his hands, and this time, the magic took. The lid of the coffin groaned and shuddered, as if it had been sealed for centuries, and with a sharp snap, it cracked open.

Aelor held his breath as the coffin's lid creaked open further. A chill rushed out from the cracks, washing over him in waves. The air grew colder still, and Aelor's skin prickled. At the center of the coffin, the figure of a man lay, pale and unmoving. His black hair cascaded across his face like a veil, and his features were delicate, almost ethereal.

Aelor's heart thudded in his chest.

The man didn't look dead—at least, not like any corpse Aelor had ever seen. His skin was flawless, untouched by the decay that time had left on the world around him. It was as if he were merely sleeping, unaware of the passage of time. His chest rose and fell, ever so faintly, almost imperceptibly, and Aelor could feel the heat of his body even from a distance.

Aelor stepped back, his breath catching in his throat. The man was... beautiful, in an unsettling way. His features were sharp, aristocratic, and his black hair framed his face like a dark halo. There was something about him that seemed impossibly perfect, almost too perfect. His skin glowed pale in the moonlight, smooth and unmarred by time or age. He looked untouched.

Aelor's cheeks flushed a deep crimson as he realized the man was completely naked. His gaze darted downward, and he immediately turned away, feeling an overwhelming rush of heat flood his face. His mind screamed at him to look away, but his eyes were drawn back to the figure on the coffin.

Aelor had never been one to be easily flustered, but this was different. The sheer proximity to someone so... perfect, so delicate in his stillness, left Aelor feeling more exposed than he ever had before. His pulse quickened, and his heart beat in his ears.

What was he supposed to do now? His magic had opened the coffin, but what came next? Was this person even alive? Or was he just some remnant of a forgotten age, a relic of an ancient time? And why had the coffin been placed here, in this forsaken church, for Aelor to find?

He hesitated, stepping backward a few more steps, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Should he check for a pulse? Should he leave? Was this man dangerous? Was he cursed?

Suddenly, the pale figure stirred slightly, his chest rising higher than before as if drawing in a deeper breath.

Aelor's heart skipped a beat. His gaze snapped back to the man. The figure's fingers twitched, and his lips parted ever so slightly, as though he were about to speak or call out.

Aelor froze, unsure if he should intervene or step back. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to leave before whatever magic had kept the man in this coffin was unleashed, but something in the man's movement—or lack thereof—held Aelor rooted to the spot.

The man's eyes fluttered open, and Aelor gasped, his breath catching in his throat.

The eyes—bright, blood-red—locked onto his.

Aelor's pulse raced, and he stumbled back in shock, the candlelight flickering violently as if responding to the raw surge of magic now stirring in the air. The man's gaze held him in place, his stare intense, unblinking.

"Who... are you?" Aelor whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart.

The man did not answer immediately. Instead, his eyes narrowed, and Aelor could feel the weight of a thousand questions being asked in that one look.

Something about those eyes, so red, so piercing, unsettled him deeply. There was a depth there, a knowledge, something older than Aelor could understand, and it sent a chill down his spine.