Chapter Two: The Echoes of the Past


    Jim awoke with a start.


    His breath came in short, ragged gasps, his body slick with sweat as he sat up. The world around him felt... sharper. The chirping of birds outside the farmhouse seemed unnaturally loud, the rustling leaves of the trees more distinct than ever before. He could even make out the faint creak of the wooden beams overhead as they shifted in the morning heat.


    For a long moment, he sat still, trying to recall the dream that had startled him awake. Golden towers. White marble streets. A whisper carried by the wind, just out of reach.


    “Awaken, Dragon Rider.”


    The words lingered at the edge of his thoughts, but the details slipped away like water through his fingers. Frustrated, he rubbed his temples and exhaled slowly. It was just a dream. Or was it?


    His hand instinctively reached into his pocket. The gem was still there. Warm. Pulsing. Almost… alive. He swallowed hard.


    Shaking off his unease, Jim forced himself out of bed. It was morning, and there was work to do. He wasn’t about to let strange dreams and glowing rocks get in the way of his farm.


    As he stepped outside, the crisp morning air filled his lungs, and for a moment, everything seemed normal. The dew-covered grass shimmered in the dawn light, the scent of fresh earth and hay filling his senses.


    Then he noticed something odd.


    His dog, Bramble, stood at the edge of the field, ears flat against his head, growling low. The moment Jim stepped forward, the dog’s hackles rose, and he took several steps back, his gaze locked onto Jim’s pocket.


    “Bramble?” Jim called, his voice softer than usual.


    The dog let out a small whimper and bolted toward the barn, tail tucked between his legs.


    Jim frowned. That was strange. Bramble had never acted that way before. He was fiercely loyal, always following Jim around the farm, never shying away from him.


    Unease coiled in Jim’s gut.


    His horse, Storm, reacted the same way. When Jim approached the stable, the stallion snorted and stomped his hooves, tossing his head wildly. He refused to let Jim come near him, his large eyes filled with something Jim had never seen before—fear.


    Jim took a slow step back, his heart hammering against his ribs. His animals were terrified of him. Or rather… of whatever was in his pocket.


    As he got to work, Jim noticed other changes.


    His body felt stronger, more alive. The aches and pains from the previous day’s labor were gone. When he swung his axe, it felt lighter. His movements were sharper, more precise. He finished chopping firewood in half the time it normally took him.


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    Then there was the heat in his fingertips.


    Every time he touched the gem, his hands tingled, as though something was trying to reach through his skin. Once, while gripping it too tightly, a faint flicker of blue light had sparked from his fingers. It had been gone in an instant, but the memory of it burned in his mind.


    What is this thing?


    The unease inside him grew. He needed answers.


    Jim knew there was only one person in the village who might have any clue about the strange relic he had found—Old Garret.


    The old man was a relic himself, one of the last true storytellers of the village. Most people dismissed his tales as nothing more than the ramblings of a man too deep in his cups. But Jim had always listened. He remembered sitting by the fire as a child, enthralled by Garret’s stories of ancient warriors, lost civilizations, and the mighty dragon riders who once ruled the skies.


    And now, he needed those stories more than ever.


    Jim saddled up, despite Storm’s obvious discomfort, and made his way toward the old man’s cottage on the outskirts of the village.


    Garret’s home was a weathered shack, hidden beneath the embrace of gnarled trees. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, and the air was thick with the scent of burning sage and something older, something that sent a shiver down Jim’s spine.


    He knocked on the wooden door.


    The sound of shuffling came from within, followed by a slow creak as the door swung open. Garret peered out at him with sharp, knowing eyes.


    “You look like a man with questions,” the old man said, stepping aside to let Jim enter. “Come in, boy.”


    Garret listened intently as Jim recounted his discovery, the strange visions, the changes he had begun to notice. He left nothing out, not even the animals’ fear.


    When he finished, the old man let out a slow breath, rubbing his hands together as if trying to warm them against an unseen chill.


    “I never thought I’d live to see the day,” Garret muttered, mostly to himself. “And yet, here we are.”


    Jim leaned forward. “What do you mean?”


    Garret’s gaze locked onto Jim’s pocket. “That stone you carry—it’s not just some ordinary rock, lad. It’s the Heart of the First Riders.”


    Jim’s mouth went dry. “The what?”


    Garret nodded. “Long ago, when dragons still ruled the skies, they chose humans to bond with, warriors strong enough to guide them, keep the balance in the world. But it wasn’t a simple thing. The bond required a piece of the rider’s soul. And in return, the dragon gave a piece of its own.”


    Jim swallowed hard, his hand tightening around the gem in his pocket.


    “They say the last of the dragon riders vanished two thousand years ago,” Garret continued. “And with them, the dragons disappeared as well.”


    Jim shook his head. “That’s just a story. A legend.”


    Garret fixed him with a knowing stare. “Aye. That’s what they want you to believe.”


    Jim’s pulse pounded. “Who’s ‘they’?”


    Before Garret could answer, a sudden gust of wind rattled the shutters. A deep, guttural growl echoed from the forest beyond the cottage.


    Garret’s expression darkened. “They’ve found you.”


    Jim turned toward the door, his muscles tensing. Shadows moved in the trees, slithering between the trunks like living nightmares. The air grew colder, the wind carrying an unnatural stillness.


    Then, he saw them.


    Tall, lanky figures with hollow, glowing eyes. Their skin was stretched thin over their bones, their mouths filled with jagged, needle-like teeth. The Devourers—creatures from old myths, monsters that should not exist.


    Jim’s breath hitched. This can’t be real.


    Garret moved fast for an old man, grabbing a dagger from his belt and shoving it into Jim’s hand. “Run, boy.”


    Jim clenched his fist around the weapon, but something inside him rebelled. He was done running.


    The gem in his pocket flared to life, and a deep, ancient voice echoed in his mind. “Awaken, Dragon Rider.”


    Then, the world exploded into fire and chaos.