The kingdom of Terra was shaped by time, not force. From the sky, it looked like a handprint pressed into the land—the central city carved into a crescent of cliffs, surrounded by bands of tilled fields, clustered farmsteads, and quiet mine paths that trailed off toward the region’s edges. Farther still, past the last lantern-lit road, the land thinned into wild hills and scrub, and beyond that, the sea. There was only one bridge that led into and out of Terra, and very few ever crossed it.

  The capital—Terra’s Heart—was nestled in the cliffside like a buried gem. Homes and shops weren’t stacked like in other kingdoms; they were shaped, smoothed into place by generations of stonemasons. Buildings looked as if they’d grown from the land itself: rooftops sloping like hills, windows cut from polished rock, walls warm with the day’s heat.

  It was a typical kingdom, as kingdoms went—peaceful, clean, and steady.

  Some said nothing ever changed in Terra. But most wouldn’t say it aloud.

  Alden darted through the morning crowd, his boots thudding softly against the stone-paved road as he weaved beneath a rack of hanging herbs. The market square was already busy. Not noisy or chaotic, just alive—with steady voices and a rhythm that hummed through every exchange.

  The merchants of Terra spoke plainly and moved slowly. No flashy signs, no wild bargains. Just measured words, steady hands, and predictable prices.

  Alden found it incredibly dull.

  “Why settle for the same old jars of spice, the same polished bowls, the same carved things,” he mumbled under his breath. “Someone’s gotta bring something new eventually.”

  He adjusted his satchel and grinned. Ahead, beneath the overhang of an old archway, was the shopkeeper’s stall.

  Perfect.

  The shopkeeper stood hunched over a stack of jars, muttering to himself as he rearranged labels.

  Alden marched up to the counter and slapped his hands down dramatically.

  "Shopkeeper! I bring you something special today!"

  Without looking up, the shopkeeper let out a grunt. "You again? Shouldn’t you be off studying? Or maybe working? Or better yet, not bothering me?"

  "I’m here on business."

  That got a sideways glance. "Business, huh? What could a boy like you possibly have that I’d want?"

  Alden reached into his satchel and pulled out a small, polished carving—a figure shaped in the likeness of a boulder-bodied titan, stylized like the ones etched into Terra’s ancient temple walls. The Origin of Terra, or at least, how people imagined it. Round head, arms like pillars, face left blank.

  He placed it down with exaggerated care.

  "A genuine imported carving," he said proudly.

  The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow. "Imported, is it? Looks more like the work of a kid with too much free time and a chisel."

  Alden tried not to smile. "Does it matter? Quality's quality."

  The shopkeeper picked it up, turned it in his hands. The grooves were smooth, the weight was good. His lips pressed into a thin line.

  After a moment, he sighed and tossed a few silver coins onto the counter.

  "You’re too clever for your own good, boy."

  "I like to think of it as having a talent," Alden replied with a wink, scooping up the coins.

  "But don’t worry—I’ll bring something even better next time."

  "You always say that."

  "Yeah, and one day I’ll be right."

  He turned from the stall, grinning, when a familiar voice called out behind him.

  "Scamming old men again, Alden?"

  He groaned without looking.

  Lyn.

  She approached with her usual no-nonsense posture—arms crossed, boots scuffed, expression unimpressed. Her tunic sleeves were rolled up, and her dark hair was tied back with a leather strap. She looked like she was always ready for a hike or a fight.

  "It’s not scamming if they still buy," Alden said innocently.

  "One day someone’s going to call your bluff and chase you out of the market with a broom," she replied.

  "I’ll just sell them the broom first," he shot back.

  A soft voice piped in behind Lyn. Louie, quiet as always, was trailing a few steps behind. His hands were in his pockets, head tilted as he watched Alden with calm interest.

  "You always want more, huh?" he asked.

  Alden stretched his arms, letting the weight of his pouch jingle.

  "Of course. If I stay here forever, I’ll end up stuck selling the same stuff my whole life."

  Lyn gave a flat look. "You say that every week. And every week, you’re still here."

  "That’s because the king hasn’t given me a merchant’s pass to leave yet," Alden replied, dramatically. "Otherwise I’d be out there right now—trading in the frost markets of the north, or the glass bazaars across the sea."

  "You’re thirteen," Lyn said. "You’d get eaten alive before lunch."

  Louie shrugged. "He might make it to dinner."

  Alden laughed. "See? That’s the spirit."

  Louie smiled faintly, but said nothing more. He never said much—just listened, followed, and watched. And yet, somehow, Alden always felt like Louie saw more than he let on.

  They walked through the market together, letting the quiet energy of the crowd carry them along until a gathering up ahead caught Alden’s eye.

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  An old storyteller sat cross-legged near a platform, surrounded by a half-ring of curious listeners. His cloak was patched and faded, and his hands moved like he was painting pictures in the air.

  "—and so the giant was sealed away, deep beneath the cliffs, where no man would ever find it again—"

  Alden slowed. His ears perked up.

  "But if you ever see the ruins at the edge of the land," the old man continued, voice dropping, "best leave them be. Some things are meant to stay forgotten."

  A few villagers chuckled. A few looked away.

  Alden leaned in, curious.

  "Don’t tell me you’re actually thinking about this," Lyn said, stepping in front of him.

  "Think about it," Alden said, eyes gleaming. "What if it’s real? What if there’s something out there—some old treasure no one’s touched in hundreds of years?"

  "Or something that’ll get you flattened by a falling rock," Lyn muttered.

  Louie was quiet again. Then:

  "And if there is something… what are you going to do with it?"

  Alden grinned.

  "Depends on what I find."

  The storyteller’s words stuck in Alden’s mind like burrs in wool.

  "Best leave them be. Some things are meant to stay forgotten."

  Maybe the old man believed that. But Alden didn’t.

  If no one had touched the ruins in ages, he reasoned, then whatever’s inside probably isn’t cursed. And even if it was… wasn’t that how legends got started?

  As they walked through the quieter parts of the market, the sun slipping behind the stone ridges to the west, Alden’s thoughts drifted farther from home and closer to the horizon.

  They passed by a small stone courtyard where elderly tailors were folding fabric, the scent of hot dye clinging to the air. A pair of farmers wheeled carts of stacked grain uphill, while a courier walked briskly past, scrolls bound under her arm. Everything was ordinary. Peaceful. Predictable.

  Too predictable.

  Lyn broke the silence.

  "You’re really going to try it, aren’t you?"

  Alden blinked. "Try what?"

  She gave him a long look.

  "The ruins. You’re planning to sneak out. I can see it all over your face."

  He offered a crooked smile. "I mean… maybe?"

  "You know you’re not allowed to leave Terra without a pass. Not unless you’re a courier, a soldier, or the king’s nephew."

  "I’m working on it. The king just hasn’t noticed my brilliance yet."

  Lyn sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Alden."

  "Look, it’s not like I’m heading out to storm the gates of another kingdom. I just want to peek at some old rocks!"

  "Old rocks that could collapse on your head."

  Alden stopped walking and turned to face her fully.

  "Lyn. If I don’t go now, I never will. I’ve already got a route in mind—the mines curve toward the edge of the farming fields, and past that, there’s an old trail that leads near the cliffs. I can follow it."

  "You’ve never even been out that far," she muttered.

  "Not yet."

  Louie, who had been quiet for a while, finally looked up from where he’d been studying a carved drain along the road.

  "You’re really doing this tonight?" he asked.

  Alden nodded. "Before anyone can stop me."

  "Or throw you in the stocks," Lyn added.

  Alden shrugged. "Then I’ll learn from the experience."

  Louie didn’t say anything more. Just walked alongside them, thinking.

  That night, the city of Terra’s Heart fell into its usual hush. Lanterns glowed behind windows carved into the stone, and the low hum of conversation gave way to the occasional wind whistling through carved arches.

  Alden slipped inside his family home as quietly as he could, hoping the shadows would hide him.

  "You’re late," came his mother’s voice, steady as stone.

  Alden winced.

  She sat at the kitchen table, tallying figures in a worn ledger, surrounded by coils of twine and wrapped parcels of carved goods ready for tomorrow’s deliveries.

  "I made a few extra sales," Alden said quickly, holding up his coin pouch.

  His mother didn’t look up. "And how many of those came from stretching the truth?"

  "Stretching isn’t the same as lying."

  "Mhmm."

  A moment passed. She finally looked up, tired but not angry.

  "You’re clever, Alden. But clever doesn’t mean safe. Be careful who you sell to, and what stories you spin."

  Alden nodded. "I will."

  He meant it. Sort of.

  In his room, Alden gathered supplies with a mixture of excitement and nerves.

  A carving knife, sharp but small—perfect for stone, and maybe other things, A length of coarse rope from the supply shed, A lantern, flint, and a pouch of oil, Two wrapped flatbreads from the kitchen, A worn map of Terra, hand-copied by Alden months ago, with some corners missing and “ruins???” scribbled near the edge.

  He paused at the window before slipping out, staring up at the pale moonlight as it painted the rooftops in silver.

  One bridge in. One bridge out. But there’s always another way, he thought.

  Alden crept through the quiet back paths of Terra’s Heart, hugging the walls and narrow stairways carved into the stone.

  The outer edge of the city overlooked a steep drop, but there was an old side route—the miner’s trail, partially overgrown, leading toward the fields and the outer cliffs.

  He rounded a corner, practically bouncing with adrenaline—

  "I knew it."

  Alden jumped. "AH—Lyn?!"

  She stood with her arms crossed, waiting in the shadows like a parent catching a runaway child.

  "You were going to leave without telling me?"

  "I… didn’t think you’d let me."

  "Exactly."

  "So, logically, I had to sneak out."

  Lyn glared at him. Then, wordlessly, she grabbed his satchel off his shoulder, threw it over her own, and marched ahead.

  Alden blinked. "Wait. What are you doing?"

  "Making sure you don’t get yourself killed."

  He blinked again. "You’re coming?"

  Lyn sighed. "If I don’t, who’s going to drag you out of a cave when it collapses on your head?"

  From behind them, footsteps.

  Louie emerged from the shadows, calm as ever.

  "I figured you two wouldn’t wait," he said.

  "Were you following me?" Alden asked.

  "Kinda."

  "Why?"

  Louie shrugged. "I was curious. Besides, you’d get lonely without me."

  Alden looked between them—his best friend ready to yell at him the entire way, and his other best friend ready to follow him without question.

  He grinned.

  "So… we’re doing this."

  Lyn rolled her eyes. "Apparently."

  Louie just nodded. "Let’s go before someone catches us."

  And just like that, the three of them set off, quiet footsteps echoing over stone, their path winding toward the dark edge of Terra.

  Toward the ruins.

  Toward the beginning of everything.