Days passed slowly, or maybe the island simply ran on its own time. I never saw a clock here, but the sun and moon seemed to move differently—sometimes rising together, other times disappearing behind silver clouds that glowed even at night.
The island had a rhythm, a heartbeat, and I was beginning to feel its pulse under my feet.
After the Elder, Aarion, told me the truth about Aarvak Island—the Island of Eternal Veil—I started seeing the land differently. It wasn't just beautiful anymore. It was alive. Every tree, every stone, every breeze seemed to watch me, whisper my name, or echo my thoughts.
I wanted to understand it. So one morning, while the masters were meditating near the silver tree, I quietly slipped away to explore.
The path between the trees was soft and glowing faintly, as if the light grew from the soil itself. Strange fruits hung from high branches, glowing like tiny lanterns. When I brushed my hand over one, it pulsed with a gentle warmth, like a heartbeat. I plucked one and bit into it—the taste was sweet but unlike anything I had ever eaten, reminding me of honey and rainwater mixed.
Not far from there, I heard faint whispers carried through the wind. It wasn't the voices of people. It was softer, like the rustling of leaves trying to speak.
When the whispers grew louder, I followed them deeper into the forest. The trees began to change the further I went. Their trunks were twisted, their roots covered in inscriptions glowing with blue light. I ran my fingers over one carving—it shimmered faintly, and for a moment, I saw something.
A flash of images—men and women in robes, fighting monsters, their swords glowing, their eyes burning with light. Then the picture vanished, and the glow faded.
"Don't be afraid," a voice said behind me.
I turned quickly. It wasn't Aarion or any of the other masters. It was a faint figure, made of smoke and light, shaped like a person but transparent.
"Who are you?" I asked, my voice shaking slightly.
The spirit smiled, though its face was hard to see. "A memory," it said. "This island holds the dreams of those who once lived, fought, and perished here. You walk in their footsteps."
Before I could ask more, the figure floated backwards and disappeared into thin air. All that remained was a low hum, as if the air still remembered its voice.
I stood there, breathless. The island had ghosts—not ghosts of fear, but ghosts of memory. Its past was alive, whispering all around me.
As I walked further, I noticed stone pillars half-buried in moss. They looked ancient, far older than anything man could build. Each one carried strange symbols—circles, stars, and lines connecting them in patterns that made my eyes dizzy. In the centre of the ruins stood a broken archway, its top carved with seven glowing gems.
When I stepped closer, the air around me shimmered like heat. The arch seemed to hum faintly, almost like it was breathing. And then, for a heartbeat, I saw something through it—a vision.
A grand city floating in the clouds, its towers made of crystal, its streets filled with light. People in white robes walked through it calmly, their eyes glowing like golden suns. A voice echoed in my mind—soft and powerful.
"The Heir of Seven shall awaken the lost gates of Aarvak."
Then it was gone.
I stumbled back, breathing hard. The archway dimmed again, nothing more than stone. But I knew what I had seen was real.
Suddenly, a light wind blew through the ruins, swirling around me. The sand and dust lifted into the air, forming shapes—spirits of animals, maybe. I saw faint lions, eagles, serpents, and wolves taking shape for a split second before vanishing again.
It was terrifying and beautiful all at once.
I heard Aarion's voice far away, calling, "Mukul!"
The echo of his voice broke the strange trance, and I turned to run back. The forest seemed different now—like it was watching me move, guiding me safely out. When I reached the clearing, all twenty masters were standing near the silver tree, waiting.
Their eyes told me they already knew where I had been.
Aarion sighed but didn't look angry. "The island calls to the one who listens," he said. "It seems Aarvak has already accepted you."
I hesitated, clutching my sketchbook to my chest. "I saw things," I said softly. "Ruins… spirits… even a city of light through a broken gate."
The masters exchanged quiet glances. Then a woman stepped forward. She had black hair streaked with silver and eyes as sharp as a hawk's. "The city you saw is called Aarthis, the lost heart of Aarvak," she said slowly. "It was once where the guardians lived before the island vanished."
"So it was real?" I asked.
"More real than most of what men believe," Aarion replied. "The gateway you found is one of the Seven Seals. When the Seven Stars align in this realm, those gates will open again. And when they do, your path—the path of your destiny—will begin fully."
I looked at my hands and then up at the silver tree. The glowing leaves shimmered like silent rain around us. "If this island hides all this… Who built it?" I asked.
Aarion looked toward the horizon. "It was not built," he said quietly. "It was born. Aarvak is a living world—a bridge between divine creation and mortal existence. What you see now are only its dreams made solid."
His words sent shivers down my spine. I wasn't just standing in a forest—I was standing inside something alive, something ancient and beyond understanding.
That night, I couldn't sleep. I sat by the lake again, watching the silver reflections. The stars above formed a circle, and one of them, the brightest, seemed to flicker directly above me.
I thought of home—of Mama, Papa, Dadu… and the veranda where we celebrated birthdays. I wondered if they were staring at the same stars, wondering where I had gone.
The wind whispered faintly across the lake. For a moment, I almost heard a reply. Not words, but a feeling—warm, reassuring.
Maybe the island was listening. Maybe it was telling me I wasn't as alone as I thought.
As the moonlight danced across my sketchbook, I looked down to see that my trembling hand had drawn, once again, the same thing I always drew—seven stars in a circle. Only this time, a faint glow shimmered over the ink, as if the drawing itself were alive.
And I realised the island wasn't done revealing its secrets.
It had only just begun.