In the realm of Eloria, there was a mystery known exclusively to two or three: a secret entryway, the Ethereal Door, that isolated the universe of people from the domain of sorcery. It remained at the core of the immense and old woods of Lyrin, where the trees murmured in a language more established than time itself. Nobody had at any point thought for even a moment to move toward it, for the entryway was watched by creatures of extraordinary power — gatekeepers decided to safeguard the world from what lay past.
Some time in the past, the door had been made by the old mages to hold the powers of murkiness back from spilling into the world. These powers, known as the Shadowborn, were a race of animals produced using the actual embodiment of haziness and bedlam. The Ethereal Entryway was their jail, and the gatekeepers were their prison guards.
Another Watchman
Soren was not a legend. He had consistently felt customary, simply one more face in the group. Brought into the world in a little town close to the boundary of the captivated woodland, he had grown up hearing accounts of the unbelievable gatekeepers. His dad, when a defender of the entryway, had vanished a long time back, abandoning just murmurs of his grit and the secretive obligation that accompanied it.
Soren never respected these accounts, however one evening, as he meandered through the timberland close to his town, he felt an unusual draw — an unexplainable power that directed him more profound into the forest. The trees appeared to part for him, and the twilight cast an ethereal shine on the way forward. His heart dashed as he followed the force, uncertain of what looked for him.
Abruptly, he wound up remaining before the Ethereal Door.
The door was not normal for anything Soren had at any point seen. Made of shining silver and gold, it remained as tall as a mountain, shrouded in old runes that gleamed delicately in obscurity. It murmured with a power so serious that Soren could feel it in his bones.
Before he might really move forward, a voice reverberated to him.
"Who really thinks about moving toward the Ethereal Door?"
Soren froze. His heart beat as he went to see a figure shrouded in shadow remaining before him. The figure's eyes sparkled with an extraordinary light, and its presence appeared to deplete the very air around him.
"I — I'm simply... going through," Soren stammered, yet the figure was not tricked.
"You are picked," the figure said. "The entryway has called you, Soren. The time has come."
Soren could scarcely accept what he was hearing. Picked? By the door? He had never requested this.
"Yet... I don't have the foggiest idea how to be a watchman," Soren dissented, shaking his head. "I'm simply a rancher's child."
The figure ventured nearer, and interestingly, Soren saw that the figure's shroud was not made of texture yet of moving, whirling fog, similar to smoke in the night air. The figure lifted a hand, and with a delicate signal, the entryway before them gleamed, uncovering an old stone tablet.
"The guardianship is certainly not a decision," the figure made sense of. "It is an obligation. You will acquire the strength of your progenitors. You will shield this world from the murkiness that lies past."
Soren peered down at the tablet, its runes shining more brilliant as time passes. His heart dashed as he connected and contacted it. The second his fingers connected, a flood of energy coursed through him, and a dream flew away with a sense of finality.
He saw himself remaining before the door, a blade close by, confronting a multitude of Shadowborn. He saw his dad, remaining close to him, their sharp edges raised against the obscurity. And afterward, he saw the door break, the domain of enchantment pouring out like a flood.
Soren wheezed, staggering back as the vision blurred. Once more, the figure talked, its voice delicate however loaded up with an unfaltering order.
"You have seen the future, Soren. You should forestall it. You are the last line of safeguard."
The Preparation Starts
Soren's life changed that evening. The figure, whose name was Aeloria, turned into his coach and guide. Aeloria uncovered the mysterious history of the watchmen, showing Soren how his dad had once been one of the best defenders of the Ethereal Entryway. He was shown the methods of the watchmen: how to bridle wizardry, how to use weapons, and how to channel the force of the actual entryway.
Throughout the next weeks, Soren went through extreme preparation, figuring out how to dominate the old expressions. The watchmen were not simple champions — they were defenders of the harmony between the domains. They been able to control the components, control the progression of time, and even cooperative with the actual powers of nature.
In any case, regardless of his developing power, Soren felt ill-equipped. He had never needed to be a legend, and the heaviness of the obligation squeezed vigorously on his shoulders. The recollections of his dad, who had evaporated during a bombed mission, tormented him.
One night, as he remained solitary in the patio, Aeloria moved toward him. "You question yourself," she said, detecting his internal conflict. "Yet, you have the core of a watchman. Not your solidarity characterizes you — it is your boldness to confront the dimness, regardless of how solid it becomes."
Soren gazed toward her, his eyes loaded up sincerely. "I'll do it. I'll safeguard the door."
Aeloria grinned, however there was a sprinkle of trouble in her eyes. "It's anything but a simple way, Soren. In any case, you won't walk it single-handedly."
The Shadowborn Assault
The day the Shadowborn came was not normal for some other. A tempest not at all like any Soren had at any point seen cleared across the sky, obscuring the sun and diving the world into a chilly, unnatural dusk. The earth shuddered, and the breeze yelled as though it were alive.
Soren remained at the door, feeling the tension of the looming assault. He could hear the animals past, their murmurs like the stirring of leaves in a tempest. His heart hustled as he had his spot close to Aeloria, who stood quietly, her eyes fixed on the door.
"They are coming," Aeloria said, her voice grave.
Soren drew his blade, the heaviness of it out of nowhere weighty in his grasp. The opportunity had arrived. The obscurity had arrived.
The primary flood of Shadowborn showed up, their structures moving like smoke, their eyes gleaming with a malevolent craving. They poured through the hole in the door, their numbers developing as time passes.
Aeloria lifted her hand, and the ground shook. The air gleamed with enchantment as she summoned a hindrance of light, pushing the Shadowborn back. Yet, there were too much. The boundary wavered, and the animals flooded forward, their hooks going after Soren.
He ventured forward, his sword shining with enchantment. His preparation kicked in as he dealt with the animals directly, everything he might do exact and determined. In any case, the Shadowborn were persevering, and their power appeared to be perpetual.
Amidst the fight, Soren acknowledged something — he was in good company. His dad's presence was with him, directing him, similarly as Aeloria had guaranteed. He called upon the force of the door, releasing a flood of energy that pushed the Shadowborn back.
With one last strike, Soren pierced the core of the head of the Shadowborn, and the animals dissipated, their structures dissolving into smoke.
The Tradition of the Watchmen
The fight was finished, however the conflict was simply starting. The Ethereal Door had been saved, for the present, yet Soren realize that the obscurity would return.
He had turned into a genuine watchman, in strength as well as in soul. The door was his obligation, and it was his obligation to safeguard it, regardless of the expense.
As he remained before the entryway, presently fixed and secure, he felt the heaviness of the inheritance that had been passed down to him. His dad had once been a gatekeeper, and presently it was his chance to lead.
The shadows might return, however Soren would stand prepared. He was a watchman, the defender of the Ethereal Entryway, and nothing could at any point break the connection among him and the enchanted that coursed through the world.