Through Light and Shadow

It's been several days since we ventured into Verdalis Glade—the encounter with Ragnak still lingers in my mind like an echo in a vast chamber. And then... the Ancient Tree—the Elderheart Tree. Just thinking about it sends a ripple down my spine. That was the tree Aldric spoke of when we first crossed into Verdalis, and yet... I haven't told him about the meeting. It was too mystical, too personal—a secret I find myself clutching close to my chest. Some things are meant to be kept in the quiet of one's own soul.

The day after our visit to the capital, Aldric offered to train me, and naturally, I agreed. Power without understanding is dangerous, and I need to know what I truly am. Yet, for four days now, our training has consisted solely of meditation. I expected spellcasting, combat drills—something more... active. But no. Just silence. Stillness. Sitting cross-legged beneath the forest canopy, the soft rustle of leaves overhead my only company.

I won't lie—it was frustrating at first. Sit. Breathe. Feel. That's all Aldric said. Feel what? I wanted to scream. But... something shifted on the third day.

At first, it was faint—like the brush of wind against skin—but then they appeared: tiny pinpricks of light, floating around me like curious fireflies drawn to a flickering lantern. Now, I can sense more of them each day—orbs, pulsing gently in the space between breaths. Some are luminous white, their glow pure and warm, like the first rays of dawn. Others are blue—cool, soothing, like moonlight rippling across a calm lake. Then there are the green ones, vibrant and alive, reminiscent of moss-laden trees after rain.

But beyond those? Nothing. No matter how hard I strain, no other colors reveal themselves. Why only these three? Aldric claims there are more—that I must find them on my own. How? He never says. Just offers that infuriatingly calm smile of his, as if the answer is obvious.

Today, during a break, Aldric finally explained—really explained—what's happening to me.

"You're not just a Light Wielder, Aveline," he said, his gaze thoughtful. "Most wielders see their element as a singular force, but you—" he gestured toward the floating orbs, "—you see the fragments of light itself, the echoes of every element as refracted through the prism of your magic. That's rare. More than rare—it's almost unheard of."

His words echoed in my chest. Fragments of light from every element...?

He continued, explaining that wielders usually remain bound to their homeland's element—Earth, Water, Fire, Air... or Light. Through years of training, they awaken a unique ability reflective of their soul. Like the Water Wielder in Nerysia who reshapes water into annimal forms who have souls or turn the waters into ice to trap enemies. Or Diana—fierce, wild Diana—whose gift for speaking with animals transcended into full shapeshifting. Their essence became their strength.

What would mine be? What part of me is strong enough to shape magic itself?

And yet... Aldric warned me of something more. "You're not just a wielder. Your magic's potential... it leans toward sorcery." His voice dropped to a hush, as if speaking it too loudly might awaken something neither of us was ready for.

Sorcerers—beings who bend the world's natural forces through sheer will—are rare. Wielders channel. Sorcerers command.

"But raw power isn't enough," he added. "To truly harness this, you must understand the language of the Shattered Star."

The name sent a chill down my spine. I'd seen the symbol etched into ancient stones during our travels—always accompanied by warnings, always half-erased by time. It's not just a language—it's the original tongue of creation, spoken when the realms were forged. Aldric insisted that before I can even touch that magic, I must unearth the truth that flows through my bloodline.