**Book 1**

  **Dream-Stone**

  **Awakening of the Gods**

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  **Chapter 1: Departure**

  Our story begins in a world full of danger, friendship, strange creatures, and mighty empires.

  In this world, 4500 years ago, Emperor Gestarius ruled over the entire Earth. One day, however, a revolution erupted with the goal of toppling him from the throne. Terrified of losing his power to the rebels, he summoned the elves and ordered them to forge a stone that would grant him any wish he desired.

  The elves accepted the task and created a stone made up of twelve smaller gems. Each of the twelve pieces shimmered in its own unique color. Only when they were joined together did they become something truly magical: the Dream-Stone.

  But the elves were not a race to be underestimated. Their own greed soon outweighed their duty. Why hand over such power to a human emperor? Why surrender a force that others would fear? So they devised a plan. They would send a messenger to deliver the stone, but once the elf stood before the emperor, he was to wish for Gestarius’s death, topple the empire, and place the elves on the throne instead.

  The elves had been careless, though. One of the emperor’s spies had already uncovered their scheme.

  When the elven messenger finally stood before Gestarius, he knelt and offered the stone with both hands. But the emperor had been warned. He rose from his throne, drew his sword, and drove it straight through the elf’s heart.

  They stood there for a moment—an emperor and the elf he had just struck down. The messenger coughed softly, whispering words no one could understand. The instant Gestarius pulled the blade free, the emperor himself collapsed. His eyes rolled back, his mouth opened in a silent scream, and he fell dead beside the elf.

  Even though the emperor had been forewarned, the elves’ plan had succeeded. The ruler’s life ended that day. The moment the fatal wish was spoken, the Dream-Stone shattered into its twelve pieces. Right before the eyes of the guards and the few elves present, the fragments vanished without a trace.

  The revolution soon reached the imperial capital, and the empire fell. Over the centuries, the Dream-Stone faded into nothing more than a legend.

  ---- Present Day ----

  Now, 4500 years later, in a village called Forhold, lived a young man named Dirk. He was known throughout the village for his kind heart and his extraordinary skill with a sword. And our story is about him and his friends.

  “Max!” Dirk shouted. “Damn it, where are you hiding this time?”

  He raced through the village, scattering a few startled chickens. It was a fresh, cool morning. The first rays of sunlight painted the treetops in golden light. Normally Dirk would still be asleep, but today he was ready to leave. Today, the journey would begin.

  An elderly woman at the village well watched him run past, yelling Max’s name at the top of his lungs.

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  “Dirk,” she called, waving him over.

  “A wonderful good morning to you, Mrs. Grünwald,” Dirk panted.

  She smiled gently. “Good morning to you too, Dirk. But could you please keep it down a little?” She pressed a wrinkled finger to her lips. “You’ll wake the children.”

  Sweat beaded on Dirk’s forehead from all the running, yet he kept scanning the area. “Sorry, but honestly, the children aren’t my biggest concern right now. I’m looking for Max. We’re supposed to set off today. Any idea where the hell he’s wandered off to?”

  Mrs. Grünwald suddenly ignored the question. Her face fell into shadow and her eyes flashed dangerously.

  “The children don’t interest you?!” she snarled, anger rising in her voice.

  That was Dirk’s cue to run. He bolted away from the old woman. Once safely hidden behind a house, he let out a sigh of relief.

  “She’s always given me the creeps,” he muttered. “I still remember the time she threw eggs at me just because I peed on her hut.” He paused, thinking back. “Okay, I was pretty drunk that night,” he admitted quietly.

  Then he heard it—loud howling. Wolf howls!

  Dirk sprinted past the houses until an old dirt path led him into the forest. It was the trail that would take him to the forest clearing. Determined, he followed it.

  The woods were pitch dark. Ravens cawed now and then, and the cool wind made the trees creak ominously. A few fairy deer peeked out from behind the trunks, but the moment they spotted Dirk they vanished into the thick undergrowth.

  Finally he reached the clearing. Just as his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight, he saw a pack of wolves circling a hooded figure in the middle of the glade.

  The figure wore nothing but a simple brown cloak, its face mostly hidden by the hood. The wolves growled and prowled around their prey. Dirk knew exactly who was being attacked.

  It was Max.

  Completely relaxed, Dirk sat down on a tree stump at the edge of the clearing to watch the show. The wolves hadn’t noticed him yet.

  Max stood calmly in the center, making no move to attack even though he had a bow and quiver slung across his back.

  Then it happened.

  All seven wolves leaped at Max at the exact same moment.

  Something strange occurred.

  Every single wolf slammed head-first into the others. Max had vanished.

  The wolves looked around in confusion. A sharp hiss cut through the air, and a volley of arrows rained down on them. Suddenly Max reappeared right in front of one wolf, fired an arrow straight into its skull, and disappeared again.

  The arrow storm finished off the rest of the pack. With pained yelps, the wolves dropped to the ground. Only two of them fled howling into the thicket.

  Max slung his bow over his shoulder and strolled casually toward Dirk.

  “What exactly do you do all day?” Dirk asked, peering over Max’s shoulder at the dead wolves.

  Max just shrugged.

  “What do you mean you don’t know?! I’ve been looking for you everywhere. We’re leaving today and you’re playing with dogs?!”

  Max nodded. Even in the sunlight, his face remained mostly in shadow.

  Dirk sighed and stood up from the stump. Together they followed the path back toward the village.

  By the time they arrived, the place was bustling. Merchants hawked their wares, men worked the fields, women gossiped, and children laughed as they darted through the crowds.

  Dirk and Max greeted a few villagers on the way until they reached their little hut. It was shabby and small, but for a wooden building it was surprisingly warm and sturdy. Once, during a terrible storm, their hut had been one of the few that remained standing. Ever since, they had treated it with respect and affectionately named it “Abigail.”

  Two hammocks hung from the ceiling. A small round table held a jug of water. In the center of the room was a fireplace, and at the far end a door led to the outhouse.

  Dirk grabbed a small blue backpack from the corner, slung it over his shoulders (it contained food, drink, money, and a change of clothes), then buckled on his gleaming silver sword.

  Max gathered his own essentials.

  Once they were back on the village square, Max pointed toward the forest.

  Dirk looked puzzled. “You want to go through the woods?”

  Max nodded. Then he pointed behind Dirk and urgently motioned for him to run.

  Dirk spun around and saw an enraged old woman charging toward them, armed with eggs. “There you are, Dirk! So the children don’t interest you, eh? They’re the future of the village, you…!”

  Panic, fear, and a healthy dose of respect flashed across Dirk’s face—mostly panic.

  When he saw the eggs, he looked at Max.

  “RUN!” he yelled in terror, and the two of them sprinted toward the forest.

  --- At the same time, deeper in the forest ---

  Deep within the woods stood a small house built of stone and timber. Bluish smoke curled from the chimney.

  Inside, an old man with black hair sat hunched over an ancient book. He wore gray trousers and a black robe, his nose almost touching the pages as he read.

  Beside him, a cauldron bubbled with a strange green liquid. The room itself was utter chaos: books were piled high on the bed, shelves held jars filled with spiders, lizards, and other creatures, the window was dusty and webbed, and the fireplace was fed by burning books. Scrolls, papers, and all sorts of odd items littered the floor.

  Yet the old man continued reading. Finally he shook his head, tore out several pages, and tossed them aside.

  “I just can’t make sense of these theories,” he chuckled. “Maybe I should write one myself.”