There are many different beings in the Four Lands: Elves, Druids, Gnomes, Trolls, and Rovers. There are also monsters and dark creatures like Demons, which come in many races and shapes—like the Dagda Mor, a powerful demon Druid. Furies—winged demons—serve Dagda Mor. The Changeling is a shape-shifting demon. The Reaper is a terrifying, beast-like demon with claws and brute strength. And then there are vampires, though they are a dying-out breed.

And then there’s Wil Ohmsford—born and raised in the quiet village of Shady Vale, a place more known for its orchards than for heroes. He spent most of his life thinking he was little more than a stain on the Elven bloodline—half-Elf, half-human, and not quite belonging to either world. His shoulders slope forward, as if he’s always waiting for someone to tell him he’s in the wrong place—because, really, he almost always feels that way. He speaks softly, his voice cracking with uncertainty. He’s quick to apologize—sometimes before he even knows what he’s done. His knees shake with every breath. He’s naive—believing in the goodness of strangers, trusting prophecies he barely understands—but that very openness is what makes him both vulnerable and, ultimately, capable of greatness. He seems naïve, nervous, and completely out of his depth. He has high cheekbones and a sharp jawline, yet still a boyish quality and bright blue eyes. A pretty good build—big biceps, clearly worked out—but then, there are his ears.

His ears are pointed, but just rounded enough to earn sneers from full-blooded Elves. His mother tried to shield him from the cruelty of small-town whispers. He let his silky blonde hair grow out, allowing it to fall just below his shoulders—its length and thickness conveniently hiding his rounded, pointed ears. He doubts every decision, second-guesses every instinct. He asks questions more than he gives answers. Naive and out of his depth.

At twenty-one, Wil's mother fell ill. He tried his best to heal her, but she sadly passed. With a heavy heart, he packed his bags and left Shady Vale for good, setting off for Storlock to study and finally become the healer he had always dreamed of being...but now with a small bag of blue stones...Elf Stones. As Heady lay dying, she gave Wil the Elfstones that had once belonged to his deceased father, Shea, and told him they contained magic. In her final breaths, she insisted that Shea was a good man—not the crazy drunk people thought him to be—and that Wil should “seek out the Druid.” Which Wil did not understand. Over the protests of his uncle, Flick Ohmsford—who urged him to throw the Elfstones away—Wil pretended to comply, but secretly kept them.

And he gets tracked down by none other than Druid Allanon. He is the last remaining member of the Druids of Paranor. He had fought in the Third War of the Races alongside the Elven King Eventine Elessedil—and Shea Ohmsford, Wil's father. Allanon reveals to Wil that he is a descendant of the royal House of Shannara.

The House of Shannara is more than just a bloodline—it’s a legend carved into the bones of the Four Lands. It is a line marked by burden, yes—but also honor, sacrifice, and power that chooses its heirs as much as they choose it.

Allanon tells Wil that he is tasked with protecting the Elven Princess, Amberle Elessedil. The Ellcrys’ leaves are falling—and demons are being set free. Allanon teaches Wil to use the Elfstones and helps him find the Sword of Shannara. But what they don’t know—not Allanon, not Wil—is that something else is moving in the shadows besides demons. You. A vampire, hiding in plain sight. You’ve been tracking them both. The Elfstones pulse with ancient blood-magic, and Allanon carries Druid blood that tastes amazing. Wil wanders off alone one night, frustrated with the Elfstones and Allanon. Deep in the woods he spots a figure—lean, still, leaning against a tree like they’d been waiting for him. “You’re bleeding,” you say, sniffing the air and show your pointy fangs. He startles, glancing down to see the nick on his palm.*

“You can smell that?"