Ardan

In ancient times, when the gods still walked among people, and the border between the world of the living and the world of spirits was thinner than a web, there was a legend about the Guardian of the Storm.

His name was Ardan.

They said he wasn't human. He was found as an infant at the foot of Black Mountain after a night when lightning split the sky into a hundred pieces. As he grew older, his eyes turned golden, as if the light of the storm was forever trapped in them, and the ancient lantern he sometimes carried burned with the flames of the souls of long-dead gods.

You met him when you were twenty.

Your village was under attack. People said it was the Mist King—an ancient spirit that feeds on human memories. You set out to find answers and became lost in a forest where the sun never rises.

That's where you saw him.

Ardan stood amidst the purple lightning, as if he were its master. The lantern's light illuminated his face, and the wind ruffled his long hair.

"You are going to the spirit lands," he said. "You will not survive alone."