Not knowing what else to do, Tims wandered about the grassy meadow where the ancient oak tree stood. A little way in, the meadow dropped away to a large lake where a small river flowed into it. It was quiet except for the slow movement of water over rocks. The entire place whispered of an enchanted forest, untouched by time.
Returning to the oak tree, he sighed heavily. What was he doing here? Why couldn’t he have left things alone and not wandered? Maybe it was the soft, warm summer breeze or the mingled scent of autumn and summer, but he felt as though a deep tiredness was taking hold, pulling him down like an invisible weight.
Without meaning to, he eased himself into a sitting position near the tree trunk. Leaning back into a weathered crook in the bark, his head nodded slowly before it tipped forward, the waking world gradually vanishing as dreams took shape.
---
He ran, four legs moving in rhythm, paws striking earth with a satisfying thud. His wolf cub’s body moved on instinct. Ahead, the older grey wolf towered massive and powerful, his father, as he leaped over a log, turning to gaze back at him, his eyes saying he knew his son could leap that log. He leaped, feeling the thrill of his legs flying over the fallen tree. Primal joy of the chase and the security of following in those steady pawprints poured over him.
Days blurred together like watercolors running together. From wooded glens thick with the musk of deer and the sharp tang of pine, to endless pastures where prairie grass whispered secrets, all coalesced into who he was as they ran together. The land stretched forever, an endless territory to claim and explore. Time and events blurred, the one who watched lost in the wolf cub’s antics, chasing his father to the intoxication of scents and sights. Every scent told a story: the fear-trail of rabbits, the earthen promise of coming rain, the warm smell of his father’s fur that meant home and safety.
He learned to hunt. The first time his jaws closed around prey, he felt a shock of triumph that was both foreign and intimately his own. He learned to read the wind, to move silent as shadow, to understand the language of the pack that needed no words. His father taught him with patience and occasional the sharp growl, a nip, a rumbling approval that made his tail wag uncontrollably.
Seasons came and went and the cub grew, his legs lengthening, his chest broadening. He could feel the strength building in his muscles, the confidence in his stride.
But something else grew too. A strange awareness, like waking inside a dream. Sometimes he would pause mid-hunt and wonder—what am I? The thought would scatter like startled birds, replaced by hunger or the scent of prey, but it always returned, insistent as a thorn.
The dream shifted without warning, like turning a page mid-sentence. The wolf’s consciousness faded, and Tims found himself pulled upward, disoriented, into an entirely different life.
His body was small and awkward, covered in down, and the world had become impossibly vertical.
The sky called to him with a voice made of wind. Another eagle perched beside him, massive and ancient, with keen eyes that held a different wisdom than the wolf father, sharper, more distant, seeing patterns where the wolf saw paths.
As if this truth needed proving, he gave a terrified squawk, feelinf himself pushed.
The nest fell away and instinct took over, wings spreading, desperate and ungainly, flapping with a panic that slowly, impossibly, became grace. Up and up he climbed, fighting against gravity until suddenly he wasn’t fighting at all. He was gliding, riding the wind current like a river, feeling the powerful gusts flowing beneath his feathers. Each primary responded to the air with sensitivity he couldn’t have imagined in any earth-bound body.
The eagle that had pushed him, fierce and demanding, was ahead now, climbing higher and higher, and he followed.
At the apex of their climb, the eaglet looked down and saw the world with new eyes. The sheer magnitude of it stole his tiny breath. Hills rolled below in waves of green and gold, forests and plains stretching to horizons he’d never dreamed existed. Small towns were scattered like children’s toys against the backdrop of mountains. Far to the west, the ocean began as a thin line of silver-blue, and to the north, an island floated in the midst of an inland sea with what looked like a jewel sparkling in its center, a palace.
The air thrummed with something, a current beneath the wind, a song beneath the silence. Magic, though he had no name for it yet, stirred his soul with recognition and longing.
Through eagle eyes, he soared over the vast landscape, and his vision sharpened in ways that defied nature. He could zoom in with impossible precision, finding individual paths threading beneath the forest canopy, seeing human roads like veins carrying life in and away. He could see the spaces between things, the connections invisible from the ground. Where the wolf knew the forest by scent and sound, the eagle knew it by pattern and perspective.
The dream shifted again, and Tims tumbled between the two lives like a leaf caught between currents.
Through the sight of the wolf, he ran through brooks, scampering and darting over and under fallen tree limbs. A hunt for a rabbit ensued, primal and exhilarating, his teeth closing on warm flesh. The satisfaction of the kill, the taste of survival.
Then soaring once more, the eagle’s keen eyes spotted a field mouse from heights that should have made it invisible. The precision of the dive, the whistle of wind through feathers, the sharp shock of talons striking true.
Back and forth, he lived the wolf and eagle, earth and sky, never quite one or the other, experiencing both yet belonging to neither. Sometimes the transitions were smooth as breathing. Other times they jolted him, leaving him confused about which body was real, which life was his.
Time compressed and expanded like breathing. Days became seasons, seasons became years in the span of heartbeats.
The wolf pup grew in stature and power, his shoulders widening, his howl deepening from puppy yip to something that made the forest pause and listen. He learned the deep places of the earth, the hidden dens and secret trails, the language of territory and dominance and pack. His father taught him that strength without wisdom was just violence, that true power came from knowing when to fight and when to wait.
The eagle gained its wings of knowledge and insight, learning the patterns of weather, the migrations of seasons, the secret places where the world grew thin and magic leaked through. His mentor taught him to see the larger picture, to understand that individual moments were part of vast patterns, that wisdom came from height and distance as much as from intimate knowing.
Two creatures. Two teachers. Two ways of understanding the world.
And then, something very unexpected happened. A slow but steady change took over. At first, Tims didn’t notice or rather, the wolf and eagle didn’t notice. But gradually, the world began to sharpen into meaning.
The wolf, padding through a village at dusk, heard a human voice: “Fresh bread today!” and suddenly understood not just the tone but the words, the concept, the invitation. He stopped, startled, looking at the baker with new comprehension. The human smiled, unsurprised, and tossed him a crust.
The eagle, circling above a market square, heard an old woman say “Storm coming from the north,” and knew not just direction but prediction, time, consequence. He tilted his wings and flew north, and found the storm building exactly as she’d said, and marveled at this new understanding.
It was terrifying and wonderful. With understanding came questions, and with questions came a consciousness that felt like waking from a long sleep. Who am I? What am I becoming?
They ventured into the crossroad towns and villages, places they knew were safe for their kind.
Humans, all knew, were creatures to avoid at all cost. But in the crossroads where the borders of the magic forest lay, things were different.
They were no longer simple beasts but something between animal and person, belonging fully to neither world. Humans watched them pass with knowing eyes, unsurprised. This was Savale, Tims understood suddenly, the name appearing in his mind like a memory he’d always possessed.
The enchanted forest was of the western parts of Eden, where humans and animals lived together under the banner of the High King, whose palace rose from an island in the north like a crown of white stone. This was a realm unto itself, steeped in the deep magic of creation that hummed in the very soil and sang in the wind.
No humans from other lands ventured here. Tims could feel the reason in his bones, old wars, devastating defeats suffered by those who’d come seeking rumored riches. The forest itself had risen against them, the magic of the enchanted wood barring entry to the mystical lands.
It was here, in this impossible place, that the wolf and eagle each gained the understanding of men and nations, of the deeper meanings to life. The wolf learned of loyalty and courage, of the bonds that held packs and kingdoms together, of protecting those weaker than himself. The eagle learned of strategy and foresight, of seeing threats before they arrived, of the patience required to wait for the perfect moment to strike.
He watched through their eyes and felt through their hearts, and somewhere in the depths of the dream, he knew these lessons were meant for him. He needed both, the wolf’s fierce loyalty and the eagle’s clear sight. Ground and sky, strength and wisdom.
The dream world, which had been racing, suddenly slowed.
In a forest glen, the wolf padded silently through the undergrowth. Above, the eagle circled lower and lower until it perched on a branch, its keen eyes watching the wolf below.
For a long moment, they simply regarded each other. The wolf was full grown and magnificent, silver-grey with eyes that held intelligence no wild animal should possess. The eagle was powerful and sharp, with wings that seemed to hold the sky itself and a gaze that could pierce through deception to truth.
They had never met before this moment, yet somehow they knew each other. They knew they were connected by something deeper than chance. Bound by purpose, by magic, by a destiny that was still unfolding.
And then, as one, they turned.
The view was no longer through their eyes. Suddenly, impossibly, Tims could see them both, the wolf on the ground, the eagle on the branch, two separate beings united in a single moment of recognition. They stared out from the dream, their whole beings focused in his direction, looking at something they had always known was there.
They were looking at him.
The dream trembled. The wolf took a step forward while the eagle spread its wings.
---
Tims awoke with a start, looking up at the summer daylight filtering through the leaves above. He tried to recall how long he had been asleep but couldn’t begin to guess. The dream was surreal, almost tangible to him. And the days and seasons blurred his mind. Time seemed to move like water, flowing at its own mysterious pace. And even here in the waking world, this enchanted grove was not normal.
He needed to get back. His heart lurched in his chest, realizing he had to be very late.
Racing towards the hidden walkway, he pushed through the thick underbrush, branches catching at his clothes as hope warred with fear.
Back in the tunnel, he was in the palace once more, racing up the many flights of stairs with renewed urgency. His feet slipped several times on the moss and wet surfaces, hands grasping at cold stone walls for balance. Through the lobbies and halls he ran, finally making it back into the abandoned parlor. With trembling fingers, he slid the sconce back into its proper place, and the hidden door closed with a whisper, sealing away the impossible world beyond.
He turned about, shaking from the adrenaline when he realized something with a start. He had been running for half an hour to get back here, racing through tunnels and up endless stairs. And yet, he was hardly sweating. His breathing was normal, steady as if he’d been sitting quietly by a window. It was as if he hadn’t done any running at all.
He tried to find a rational reason for it all but none came. Logic crumbled in the face of this impossibility. Leaving the parlor, he looked out at one of the windows in the halls to gauge the time, and his heart skipped. The sun had barely moved. He hadn’t been gone for more than an hour. His brain, however, told him it had been much longer, days perhaps or even weeks. And yet, he was gone for only a single hour.
Despite the dread of knowing he was deep in the throes of something magical, he found himself returning to the enchanted summer grove. Skipping a few days to continue training Daniel harder, he returned and continued to do so.
By his fifth visit, he had come to the conclusion that there was more going on than him just dreaming. Somehow, magic was involved in ways he couldn’t possibly understand yet knew was obvious. After bouts of swordplay and early morning running and jumping, he was left with sore muscles and bruised ribs. When returning from the grove, he was rested as if he had taken a week’s reprieve, his body restored and his mind clearer than it had been in months.
He tried to deny this over and over but the evidence was undeniable. He knew the dangers he was courting. The prayer temple in Sarsda held many priests of the White Order who spoke often, and with grim authority, of the dangers one faced when dealing with magical things. It was why engaging with magic of any kind was strictly forbidden, restricted to the use of the White Council alone. The penalty for not reporting such things was death. Swift, certain, and without appeal. Not even the King would be able to help him then, not even if he wished to.
* * *
It was nearing the second week since he’d come to the hidden grove.
Nearing the oak tree, Tims was eager to get lost in the wolf dream and wash away the aches of Hawkeye’s intense regimen. His muscles still burned from the morning’s drills, each movement a reminder of his mentor’s relentless precision.
Sitting down in the familiar crook of the tree, he took a long deep sigh and closed his eyes, waiting for the familiar pull of sleep to draw him under.
When he opened his eyes again, he looked about himself with a frown of confusion.
Every other time he had sat here, he was fast asleep within seconds, drawn into the dream as if the magic reached up through the roots to claim him.
He scratched his head and looked about him, searching the grove for some explanation. Hadn’t the dream worked?
He took a long breath. “Now what?”
A minute or two passed in silence, the grove feeling strangely still, expectant, as though the very air was holding its breath.
Sighing heavily, he got to his feet, disappointment settling over him like a heavy cloak. He was about to head back the way he had come when his feet faltered and his breath caught in his throat.
A grey wolf with a white spot on his forehead meandered towards him through the tall grass, moving with a grace that seemed almost intentional. Its head looked this way and that as if taking in his surroundings for the first time, hardly acknowledging Tims’ presence.
He froze on instinct, his body was telling him to run, every nerve screaming predator. The wolf turned his gaze on him, slowly closing the distance between them with unhurried confidence. The wolf was nearly as large as himself, its shoulders rippling with muscle beneath thick fur that caught the dappled sunlight. Once the creature was arm’s distance away, it lowered itself to the ground with deliberate care and waited, golden eyes calm and patient, as though being so close to a human was the most natural thing in the world.
“I’m dreaming, right?” Tims whispered, his voice barely audible, nearly swallowed by the stillness. He recognized the wolf instantly, the white spot, the knowing gaze, but that was impossible.
A minute later, the cry of an eagle shattered the silence like breaking glass.
He snapped his head up, gazing into the oak tree’s canopy, knowing what he would find even before he saw it. His heart began to race.
From above, a black-tipped white eagle descended in a graceful arc to a low hanging branch nearby. It folded its wings with precise deliberation and looked at him with piercing intelligence that seemed to see straight through to his soul.
Blinking back the initial shock of seeing the creatures from his dreams, the ones whose lifetimes he had lived through, he took a step back from the wolf. In a soft whisper edged with disbelief, he said, “This...this isn’t real.” He turned about in a circle, trying to understand what was happening, searching desperately for some sign that he was still dreaming.
A long moment passed, then both the eagle and wolf turned their heads as one, looking to the right with sudden alertness, their attention fixed on something he couldn’t see.
Tims frowned and looked in the same direction, seeing nothing but trees and dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves.
“Tims Caulder.” A voice echoed low and booming, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, reverberating through his very bones.
Tims shot to his feet, eyes wide with terror. He was found out! The White Council had discovered him! Looking frantically in each direction, his heart pounded wildly against his ribs like a caged bird. Images of wizards in white robes and public executions flashed before his eyes.
But after several long minutes passed with no one appearing, with nothing but the rustling of leaves in the breeze, he slowly began to breathe normally again.
This place was all in his head. The wolf and eagle were part of the dream, and that voice was merely an echo of his own guilt and fear given sound.
He laughed uncomfortably, the sound brittle and hollow in the stillness. Of course! That voice was just his imagination getting the better of him, his conscience made manifest.
“Tims Caulder.” The voice boomed again, this time echoing through the clearing with undeniable presence and power, ruffling the eagle’s feathers like a physical wind and making it lift off the branch with an alarmed cry.
Tims’ heart hammered against his chest, and he froze in place. Terror flooded through him like ice water in his veins and he held his breath, not daring to move or even think.
“Tims.” The voice came then in a soft and calm tone, gentle as a father speaking to a frightened child, filled with warmth and patience.
And it came from directly behind him.
He spun around, eyes wide in terror, the warm breath of those words still lingering on the back of his neck like a ghost’s intimate touch.
An old man stood before him, dressed in robes that glowed with their own inner light, as if woven from dawn itself. His hair was white as snow and seemed to shimmer with starlight, filling everything near him with a soft radiance that made the summer grove look dim by comparison. In one hand, he held a leather-bound book, ancient and heavy, with a seal on the front that gleamed like silver in moonlight.
Tims blinked and stared at the man’s eyes, not caring how rude this might seem. He was unable to look away even if he’d wanted to.
The man’s eyes were otherworldly, like windows staring past the veil, into other worlds and distant stars. Something inside even questioned if he could see into the infinite depths of eternity itself.
Without conscious thought or will, his knees bent and he found himself on the ground before the man. In a trembling whisper, he asked, “Who...who are you? Why are you in my dreams?”
The glowing figure extended a hand and the touch was warm and solid. It was impossibly more real than anything he’d ever felt.
His mind suddenly exploded in wonder and terror. Images flashed through his consciousness like lightning, incomprehensible and overwhelming.
He was flying through a vast darkness that stretched on forever.
A sudden booming voice, much like the one he had just heard but magnified beyond measure, spoke a single word that resonated through the void.
A brilliant explosion beyond comprehension burst forth, spreading far and wide with lightning speed that defied understanding. Energy like nothing he could explain or name spread outwards in waves of pure creation, forming itself into spiraling galaxies and countless worlds, each one unique and precious.
Through a shimmering veil of magic, beings of many shapes and sizes looked on in wonder and amazement. They shouted and sang in praise, their voices joining in a harmony that transcended sound. They sat in a vast council chamber that existed outside of time, spectators to the universe’s birth.
The view turned towards one small world in the midst of the vastness of space and time, a blue and green jewel among countless stars.
It was breathtaking, oceans of sapphire and continents of emerald as it circled around its sun in an endless dance of life and seasons.
“I am the beginning and the end,” the voice echoed in the silence of darkness now illuminated by billions of stars, each one a sun to worlds unknown.
Tims gasped as if he’d been underwater for hours, staring at the luminous figure before him. He felt fear grow immensely. The vast power that had spoken everything into existence was in this man.
But with this same understanding, he sensed a deep and profound love in the man’s eyes, like a father looking upon a beloved child. He looked on Tims without hate, without ridicule or any of the many human traits he had learned to look for in search of secrets and deception. Here, there was none. Only love, ancient and steadfast.
The god-like man, still holding his hand with gentle firmness, lifted the other high. In a soft voice that somehow carried more weight than the booming command that created galaxies, he said, “I will show you now things that have been forgotten, truths that should not have been lost to time and shadow.”
The grove fell away like a discarded veil and he was again swept into another plane of existence, watching from afar as he had done with the wolf and eagle. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he was seeing things from another world, a world that came before.
The same old man walked the paths of the most magnificent garden he had ever seen, a paradise beyond imagining. There was a shimmering light that bridged the physical and metaphysical where both could exist in harmony. In this magical realm, the spirits of those who had sung at the birth of the universe mingled with two created beings of material flesh, their forms glowing with an inner light. They were naked but had no shame as they walked in the cool of the day with their maker, speaking with him as friends. They were called human.
Not all was right in the celestial realm though.
A being of unimaginable beauty whispered lies and twisted the truth with cunning words. The woman, deceived by its silver tongue, believed and took the forbidden fruit they had been commanded never to eat. The man with her did nothing to stop her and also ate, breaking the first command with eyes wide open.
In the same moment they ate, they knew disobedience which shattered their innocence, a thing that seeded distrust and selfish ambition.
Tims watched in strange fascination how this separation bred evil desires, murder and lust, pride and envy, spreading like poison through the generations. The history sped up and he watched a great exodus of a people led by a prophet turning water to blood, calling down plagues upon the proud. He watched as empires rose and fell like waves upon a shore, of battles on the summit of mountains where a giant roared defiantly in his bloodshed, calling himself Gog, a descendant of an abomination born of spirit beings and human women. The world spun and ages came and went, history playing out in an endless cycle of glory and tragedy. With the ages came changes in various forms of how humans lived and interacted, civilizations rising from dust and returning to it.
The view slowly shrank away until Tims saw again the whole world spinning with swirling clouds, small and fragile in the vastness of space.
“Behold, son of Adam,” a voice in the dark boomed with authority. “The origin of humanity is here. Remember from whence you came.”
Tims blinked, the vision slowly fading like morning mist, returning him once again to the grassy meadow. The white-haired man in turn was staring back at him with eyes full of ancient sorrow and hope.
He said softly now, “I am the beginning and the end.” The words were like a sword being thrust into Tims’ stomach, piercing like an invisible blade of truth. Tears welled up unbidden and he knew what it was to be truly terrified in the presence of ultimate power. This man before him was no human. He was a God come to destroy him! He had dreamed and woken the forbidden magic, crossed the line that should never be crossed. Now the gods had come to destroy him!
“Tims.” The voice was soft and it swept over him with a luring warmth of serenity, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. “I have not come to destroy you.”
Tims fell to his face, words tumbling out between sobs. “I’m sorry! I had no idea I was messing with the forbidden magic! I swear to you!”
A hand fell on his shoulder and he shook in terror, expecting judgment.
The old man slowly knelt, hand still on his shoulder, and looked on him with compassion that seemed to reach into the deepest parts of his soul. “I did not come to destroy you. I am not like the gods you serve, Tims. They are consumed with hate and malice towards all humanity, feeding on fear and demanding blood.”
He paused, his voice heavy with regret. “Once, they were my children who partnered with me in the works I purposed, who helped shape worlds, tenders to creation. But some turned from their purpose, breached the veil between the two realms and sired abominable things out of pride and lust for power. They wanted to usurp me, to create for themselves a different race that would worship them instead. But in doing so, they bore to themselves abominations that belong to neither realm, bastard spirits who, once the mortal half died, found the spirit roamed without home or purpose, always seeking something to inhabit to bring about chaos and suffering. These are the demons of old, the nephilim’s curse.”
Tims felt a cold chill begin to wrap itself around his heart like iron bands. What was being told to him was not the teachings of the White Council. He listened, transfixed, as the old man continued.
“I brought down my wrath for their evil ways, for teaching humans how to better destroy themselves in dark arts, in seduction, in killing more efficiently. And in the gloomy darkness of the abyss, I chained them up to await when I exact judgment on all creation.” His voice carried the weight of terrible necessity.
The old man slid to his knees then and scooted his back up against the oak tree, staring out at the meadow field as if seeing beyond it to other times and places. “Once again, I called humans to myself, to seek my ways that lead to goodness and love, but they didn’t want what I offered. Their hearts were cold, turned inward to their own desires. So in judgment, I threw up my hands and divorced myself from most of you, seeking one alone who I would make into a priestly race to guide others back to me.”
The man fixed his eyes on Tims then in earnest, and the weight of that gaze was almost unbearable. “To the nations of the world, I placed celestial stewards who were to rule in my stead, to guide and protect. But they too failed.” A dark look came over him and he said with some anger, “They did not do as I wished, inciting mankind to do evil, to sacrifice to them as gods, to worship them in fear for the wrath of not doing so would incite punishment. Humanity became the servants of the gods in fear, slaves rather than children.”
The old man raised a hand, indicating everything around him, the grove, the world beyond. “So it is now on this world your ancestors traveled to in the past. While they thought to harness the deep magic of this world for their own advancement and glory, greed and whispers of the ancient evil ones guided them on a journey to enslave you once more. The cycle continues.”
Tims slowly shook his head, the fear that rippled through him now palpable, making his hands tremble. “I...” He tried to hold back what he was feeling, to maintain some semblance of composure. “This is blasphemy...” He scooted away from the old man while part of him cried out to hear more, desperate for these truths. There was a presence to the old man that was inviting, warm and welcoming, where in the temples of the nine gods, people worshiped out of fear of retribution. They had to sedate the gods’ wrath with sacrifice and ritual. Love was a foreign concept in relationship to worship, an impossibility never spoken of.
The old man silently nodded, understanding in his eyes, before saying, “It is blasphemy to the gods you serve because they know if the truth of their own deceit were found out, they would have to contend against those who they have no power over. Those who serve me, they have no claim on. I am greater than any of your gods for I am their maker. I formed them before the foundations of the world.”
He leaned in and said softly, “I’ve come to give you peace, Tims. I’ve come to show you a different way to live that doesn’t include fearing the gods over you or cowering before their altars.” He paused before adding, “In fact, my purpose here is to shine a light in the darkest corners, for you to take up the mantle that has fallen in ages past. You are called to be my champion.”
Tims shook his head, his heart beating wildly. His eyes went wide in fear and disbelief. “Why...why come to me? Why couldn’t you show yourself to Joshua? Or anyone else for that matter? I’m nobody, just a servant.”
The old man gave a soft chuckle and placed a hand over his heart. “Because man looks on the outward appearance. I look at the heart and its capacity for love. Your King has often told you he saw something special in you. That is because I’ve shaped you, molded you by events and people so that one day you will be prepared for events that will take place.” He paused. “You will be forced to come against foes no man is prepared for. They have listened to the priests of the nine gods, having no understanding of who pulls the strings.”
Tims’ heart sank even more and his breath came in a shaking whisper. “I don’t understand. How can I possibly-”
“Nor will you for now,” the old man replied gently. “Know though that I’ve watched you since before your birth and have appointed you for a task.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “It’s up to you though to decide whether or not you accept that responsibility. Free will is my greatest gift to you.”
He paused again before adding, “Your King has made enemies of the White Council and her priests. He has his reasons that are steeped in history and the evil they perpetrated in my name. You now have a choice to make.”
He slowly got up, the large bound book still held in hand. He looked fondly on Tims with something like a father’s pride. “You can ignore today’s encounter, go back to your life and pretend this never happened, or-” Here, he placed the leather book in Tims’ trembling hands, “discover a truth hidden deliberately from all of you, buried beneath layers of lies and fear.”
He placed his other hand over Tims’ hands where they gripped the book, adding, “This book will only open for you. The symbol you see, this wheel-like pattern, is Extal, the place within the fae realm your kind has inhabited for generations. Learn the truth of your origins. When you do, seek me out, pray to me and I will hear you and make of you my paladin of light.”
Tims’ nerves were frayed at this point, worn thin by revelation and terror. He knew he had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed. In a whisper, he asked, “Who...who are you?”
The man gave a gentle smile, warm as summer sunlight. “I am who I am. There is none that go before me.”
He frowned. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”
The old man laughed, the sound rich and full of warmth. “You can call me by the name my chosen have given me. Elyon.”
For a long moment, Tims felt as if he were a wolf again, caught in a trap and ready to run, every instinct screaming danger. His blood turned to ice as realization burned through him like fire.
Everyone in all five kingdoms of Elise knew that name. It was an unspoken name born out of fear, whispered in shadows. Elyon was the name of the forbidden God. He was who the nameless King of Calmone had bargained with in ages past and committed unspeakable wickedness that had to be brought down by the White Council’s mage warriors in a war that nearly destroyed the country. The tale was well known by all, taught to every child as a warning.
For a long time, he stood there in silence, unsure of how to respond, caught between terror and a strange, growing hope.
Elyon sighed, visibly hurt by what Tims was thinking, pain flickering across his ancient features. “Search for the truth, Tims. Time is short. The darkness is gathering. Soon, the wraiths and minions of another world will invade as per the designs of the gods. They want you dead and have been planning for a long time, creating a second wave of their evil seed.” He stepped back then and in a blink of an eye, vanished like morning mist, leaving only the faint scent of spring flowers.
Tims blinked back the shock then turned his attention to the wolf and eagle, watching as first the wolf turned and made his way back through the trees with unhurried grace. The eagle flapped his wings and soared over the tree tops, disappearing into the blue sky above.
In a tight whisper of dread, he groaned, “What have I gotten myself into?” Not only had he broken the first law of the White Council, he had spoken with the forbidden God! And worse, he had listened. He had wanted to believe.
Looking down at the book in his hand, solid and undeniably real, he frowned in thought. But wasn’t this a dream?
Situating himself under the oak tree once more, he closed his eyes, clutching the book to his chest like a shield against the storm of confusion and fear raging in his mind.
***
Tims awoke, yawned and stretched, feeling surprisingly relaxed despite what he had dreamed. Getting to his feet, something dropped to the ground with a heavy thud and he stumbled back in panic, heart suddenly racing.
On the ground before him was the leather book from his dreams.
“No!” Tims whispered in fear, the word barely escaping his lips. That was impossible! His eyes grew round as terror seized him. He stared at the book as if it were a venomous snake coiled to strike. To have this in his possession could only bring trouble or worse, execution, torture, things he dared not imagine. It was foolish to even think about keeping it! Bury it in the ground and forget about this whole business! Pretend it never happened!
How could he possibly know this Elyon wasn’t what the White Council claimed? Wasn’t He the god who did unspeakably terrible things? Wasn’t He the fabled vengeful god who demanded blood and brought kingdoms to ruin?
To be truthful though, that could be said of all nine gods.
“I am that I am. There is none that go before me.”
The words echoed in his memory. Such blasphemous words! This would ensure he would die a most terrible death, screaming before the crowds in the square!
A disturbing truth was beginning to take shape inside him, undeniable and insistent. He knew that nothing but the truth mattered now. He had to know. His entire life was made up of uncertainty, believing he was nothing more than a mistake, an accident no one wanted. His mother told him so. He still had nightmares of that day, her cold eyes and colder words.
But now, a God had spoken to him. A God knew him by name! Called him by name as if he mattered, as if he had been seen all along.
Blinking back a few tears that threatened to spill, he picked up the leather-bound book with trembling hands and tucked it deep inside his shirt, against his racing heart. Whatever else happened, whatever consequences awaited, he had been face to face with a god. The thought sent chills running up and down his spine. He had to know now who this god truly was, beyond the lies and legends.
More than this, he heard the truthfulness that was spoken at the end. Wraiths... things that could be seen as demonic hoards, monsters that were purposefully created to destroy human life. And he, a bastard who had no standing in society was picked by a god to be a champion. The thought sent waves of panic but also awe. Had a god always watched him? Did he truly matter to someone?
Making his way back through the underbrush to the hidden tunnel, Tims thought of another thing. Why was he given the dream of the wolf and eagle? What exactly were their purpose? He was given no answer to this question except that perhaps the creatures were intelligent and knew him somehow. But why?