The forest on the outskirts of Diamond Gates was a place no one visited after dark. Even during the day, it felt wrong—too quiet, too still, as if the trees were listening to you instead of the other way around. Atlas had only been there once, during a school hiking trip. Even then, he remembered feeling watched.

Now, running toward it at night with three shadow-creatures behind him felt like a terrible plan.

But the pendant kept urging the same message into his mind:

“Run to the Keeper.”

He didn’t know who the Keeper was—human, creature, friend, or enemy—but the pendant had saved him already, and right now it was the only thing keeping him alive.

Atlas sprinted across the old bridge, lungs burning, legs aching. Crickets chirped loudly in the grass, suddenly falling silent as he crossed into the first row of trees. The moment he stepped under the forest canopy, the air changed—colder, heavier, almost electric.

Behind him, the shadows stopped at the tree line.

Atlas slowed, gasping.

The three dark figures hovered like ink clouds waiting at the edge of a page. They didn’t cross. They didn’t disappear. They simply watched him.

“Great,” he panted. “You can chase me across town, but trees scare you? Seriously?”

His voice cracked, though, because part of him wondered if this meant something worse lived inside the forest.

Still, the pendant warmed again—gentle, encouraging, pulling him deeper.

Atlas took a shaky breath and stepped forward.

The forest swallowed him whole.

⸻

Leaves crunched under his sneakers as he made his way down a narrow path, barely visible in the moonlight. The trees arched overhead like crooked ribs, letting through only thin silver beams. Strange symbols were carved into some trunks—spirals, eyes, slashes. Old. Ancient.

“I swear,” Atlas muttered, “if a giant owl jumps out at me, I’m leaving this planet.”

He kept moving until he reached a clearing he’d never seen before. In the center stood a small hut made of dark wood, its roof covered in moss, its windows glowing faintly with amber light.

Smoke curled from the chimney.

Someone was inside.

Atlas hesitated. What if it was a trap? What if the “Keeper” was some creature waiting to gut him? What if the pendant was malfunctioning?

But then the door creaked open.

A figure stepped out—a tall woman wrapped in a dark brown cloak, her face half-hidden by braided silver hair. She carried a wooden staff decorated with feathers and tiny crystals that clicked together softly.

Her eyes—sharp, bright gold—locked onto Atlas instantly.

“You took long enough,” she said.

Atlas froze. “I—I don’t even know who you are.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Of course not. Children never know when they’re important.”

“I’m not important,” Atlas said quickly. “I’m just… Atlas.”

“Atlas Millionis,” she corrected. “Son of Derin. Bearer of the Aethron Key.”

Atlas’s throat tightened.

“How do you know my name?”

The woman stepped forward. Her presence was calm yet powerful, like a storm waiting to happen. She stopped just a meter away and rested her staff on the ground.

“I’ve been waiting for you since the day you were born.”

Atlas blinked. “Okay, that sounds extremely creepy.”

Her lips twitched—almost a smile.

“I am Orien. Keeper of the First Light. Guardian of the Aethron Core. And your father’s old ally.”

Atlas felt the world tilt. “You… knew my dad?”

Orien nodded slowly. “Very well. He trusted me with secrets that would destroy weaker minds. He trusted me with your safety, too.”

Atlas swallowed hard. “Then where is he? What happened to him? Why did he leave?”

Orien’s eyes flickered with something—sadness? Anger? Regret?—but she didn’t answer.

Instead, she gestured to his pendant.

“Show me.”

Atlas hesitated. Then he lifted it gently.

The pendant glowed instantly—stronger than before—filling the clearing with orange-gold light. The symbols on Orien’s staff lit up in response.

She inhaled sharply.

“So it has awakened.”

Atlas lowered it quickly. “Yeah. It’s been doing that all day. I don’t understand any of this. There are shadows chasing me. People disappearing. My dad left weird warnings. And this thing—” he pointed at the pendant “—keeps whispering in my brain like a low-budget horror movie.”

Orien studied him quietly.

“You are frightened. That is normal.”

“No,” Atlas said, voice trembling, “I’m terrified.”

Finally, Orien nodded slowly.

“Then come inside. The shadows will not enter sacred ground.”

She turned and walked into the hut.

Atlas followed, glancing at the forest behind him. The shadows still waited at the edge—silent, patient.

He stepped into the hut and closed the door.

At once, the warm interior wrapped around him. Candles flickered along the walls, illuminating shelves of jars filled with herbs, glowing stones, and folded parchments. A map of Diamond Gates—old, ink-stained, marked with strange symbols—covered the largest table.

And in the center of the hut, surrounded by protective runes, lay a stone pedestal.

What rested on it looked like the broken half of an ancient sphere—cracked, glowing faintly, pulsing like a weak heartbeat.

Atlas stared at it. “What is that?”

Orien touched the pedestal with reverence.

“That is the Aethron Core—what remains of it. Its light is fading. And if it dies completely…”

She looked up at him, her golden eyes serious.

“…the world as you know it will be swallowed by darkness.”

Atlas’s stomach dropped. “And me? What does any of that have to do with me?”

Orien stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Because you, Atlas Millionis…

…are the last one who can restore it.”