Astraeon: Echoes

Chapter 1.

In the heart of the ancient forest, where whispers of magic dance among the trees and shadows hold secrets untold, a single leaf fell, heralding the beginning of a tale that would echo through the ages. The gentle breeze stirred the trees and the brush as the warm sun gently peeked out from its hiding place beyond the mountains, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow across the forest floor.

Not a creature seemed to stir besides an occasional chirp or chitter, as if the very essence of the forest held its breath in anticipation. The flowing streams aired out a pleasing and refreshing sound, their melodious babbling harmonizing with the rustle of leaves and the occasional creak of branches swaying in the wind.

Yet, despite the apparent tranquility, there was an undeniable sense of anticipation in the air, as if the forest itself was waiting for something—or someone—to arrive and set its wheels of fate into motion.

A solitary figure, cloaked in the muted hues of tan, stood at the water's edge, their form obscured by the shifting shadows of the forest. Clad in armor of weathered leather plates, they appeared as a spectral presence, as if drawn from the depths of the ancient woods themselves. With an air of enigmatic purpose, they knelt beside the murmuring stream, their presence casting an aura of mystery upon the tranquil setting.

The figure carefully dipped their hands in the cold refreshing water and brought their hands to their face to drink.

The figure carefully looked around as they drank as if they were expecting someone to be following them or trying to hunt them. Once they seemed appeased with the fact that no one else was in this forest besides themselves, the figure arose, and laid back the hood of the cloak and pulled down the mask from upon their face.

The figure was not a towering warrior clad in armor, nor a seasoned elder with tales of wisdom etched into their face. Instead, it was a younger girl, her form slender and graceful, her olive toned skin catching the gentle rays the sun had given and her black hair gently swaying in the breeze like the tendrils of shadow that danced among the trees. Yet, despite her youth, there was a sense of quiet determination in her stance, a steely resolve reflected in the fiery intensity of her red eyes that seemed to pierce through the forest with unwavering intent.

The girl's features were set in a mask of determination, her jaw squared with resolve and her lips pressed into a firm line. But it was the war paint adorning her face that spoke volumes of her story—a tapestry of swirling patterns and vibrant hues that told of battles fought and wars won, of sacrifices made and victories earned. Each stroke of color was a testament to her courage and her strength, a silent declaration of her allegiance to a cause greater than herself.

For the girl was no mere wanderer or curious traveler seeking solace in the embrace of the wilderness. She was a warrior, death's right hand woman, forged in the crucible of conflict and tempered by the fires of adversity. Her path had led her to this sacred grove, guided by the whispers of destiny and the call of her own innermost convictions.

"You did it again Zee" the girl whispered to herself "you just had to go and take a contract that targeted a powerful enemy didn't you?". Zee looked over at a body laying mangled in the grass. The grass around the fallen soldier was stained red from the fight he had tried to put up against her.

The hair on the back of Zee's neck prickled as a distant rumble reached her ears, the unmistakable rhythm of horse hooves pounding against the earth. With a sense of urgency, she cast a wary glance around the forest, her senses on high alert. The canopy above cast shifting patterns of light and shadow across the forest floor, dappling the moss-covered ground with patches of golden sunlight. Shafts of light pierced through the dense foliage, illuminating the dense undergrowth and casting long, eerie shadows that seemed to dance and sway with each passing breeze.