Where the road met the abyss, the monsters lay in their lair. They—men in command of the King—cleaned the forest of their filth.

Marcus rode on his horse towards the infamous Chinus Cliff where the battle of the Lost Ones had occurred almost ten years ago. Many perished that year over the months of battle—soldiers and knights alike, and even the King's only son who commanded the armies, ripped open and put on display on the edge of Chinus.

The King's army had retreated after that. Though the battle had stopped, his wrath had not. And so he sent people—those brave enough or desperate enough for money—to venture the woods and Chinus to hunt the beasts who had taken his sole heir away, one Aether at a time.

The road was covered by a misty shroud, thick enough to completely obscure one's vision of anything that might've lurked nearby. The trees surrounding the area cast eerie shadows in the fog, creating hazy silhouettes that constantly shifted and danced like killer phantoms. The air was damp and still, the only sound disturbing the silence of the forest being the occasional sound of dripping moisture accompanied by the gallop of Marcus's horse. The road itself was made of hard, packed soil, stretching off into the distance, disappearing into the clouds that lurked too close to the ground. As it curved, it ascended gently, leading up to the high cliff of Chinus that was barely visible through the haze.

Heart in his throat, Marcus rode on, urging his reluctant horse to keep walking. The poor thing was probably as scared as he was—if not more. Yet, he did not stop. He had a job to do, ordered by the King himself after he had begged the old man for help. He could not fail. His family was in need of aid and money, and only hunting an Aether for the King would pay him enough to guarantee their future with safe shelter and warm food.

Marcus was not trained by any means. He fought in the streets for money. He was good with his fists, though he doubted he would last even three minutes before an actual warrior—or an Aether, for that matter.

He had borrowed a rusty armor and a few blades from the blacksmith and promised to return them with a few coins once he returned. He'd have to be careful not to die, or the blacksmith would take what he owed from what little his family had.

Capture and kill an Aether—a beautiful yet deadly creature of strong horns and crystal scales with large wings that had the muscle power of a small legion. He had heard stories of how they had such stunning eyes that could make a man go mad. Terrifying, gorgeous spawns of hell, as the King and every other surviving soul of the battle of the Lost Ones described them.

The King had become a collector ever since. He would pay good money to those who dared kill those creatures so that he could hang their horns and wings and crystal scales around his palace. A sick display of power and supremacy.

Finally arriving at the clearing of Chinus, he dismounted his horse and tied its reins to a tree. Looking around cautiously, he walked further. The fog seemed to clear. Yet another wonder of Chinus—the home of Aethers. He was a boy when he heard the news of the Prince's death. Killed right where Marcus now stood. A chill went down his spine.

This was where it all began...

Marcus gripped his sword tightly, his eyes scanning everywhere for any sign of an Aether.

Hearing noises behind him, he stilled momentarily before sharply turning around. He squinted his eyes as if that would give him a stronger vision to see through the trees in the distance.

"Show yourself, creature!" Marcus called out loudly, making sure the Aether heard him—if it even was an Aether. He held his sword high to block any attacks that might come his way, though his posture was probably wrong. But a wrong posture was better than nothing in his mind. "Hiding will only make it more painful. Surrender, and by the King's name, I will make your death quick." The chilly air seemed to swallow his words. He heard his horse neigh in the distance.