The market square of Eldervale buzzed with its usual afternoon bustle. Merchants haggled with customers, children darted between stalls, and a bard sang tales of ancient heroes near the central fountain. Among them walked Thomas Wheelwright, a slender young man with unruly brown hair who moved with unexpected grace for someone of his station. He navigated through the crowd carefully, balancing a stack of wooden wheels destined for his father’s workshop.

As the son of the town’s only wheelwright, Thomas had resigned himself to a life of carving, sanding, and fitting axles. Yet something inside him had always felt… different. Not just his dreams of adventure beyond Eldervale’s stone walls, but something more tangible—a strange energy that occasionally surged through his veins when emotions ran high.

Today was just another day of deliveries and errands. Or it would have been, if not for the screams that suddenly erupted from the east end of the market.

“Dragon! Dragon in the skies!”

Thomas looked up, his heart hammering against his ribs. Sure enough, a massive emerald-scaled beast circled overhead, its wingspan casting an enormous shadow across the square. People scattered in panic, knocking over stalls and trampling goods in their haste to flee.

But Thomas stood frozen, watching as the dragon descended toward a group of elven merchants who were desperately trying to gather their exotic wares. Among them was Lyra, the silver-haired daughter of the elven ambassador, whom Thomas had admired from afar for months.

Without thinking, Thomas dropped his cargo and ran—not away from the dragon, but toward it. His father would call it foolishness, but something pulled him forward. That familiar energy surged through his body, stronger than ever before.

The dragon landed with an earth-shaking thud, sending clouds of dust billowing across the marketplace. It reared its massive head, jaws opening to reveal rows of gleaming teeth, each the size of a dagger.

“Run, Lyra!” Thomas shouted, but his voice was drowned by the dragon’s deafening roar.

Time seemed to slow. The dragon’s chest expanded as it inhaled, preparing to unleash a torrent of flame upon the elves. Thomas felt the strange energy explode within him, and suddenly he was moving—faster than he’d ever moved before, faster than any human had any right to move.

The world blurred around him. In the space of a heartbeat, he had crossed the square, scooped Lyra into his arms, and carried her to safety behind the sturdy stone wall of the town’s meeting hall. Then he returned for the other elves, moving them one by one, faster than the eye could follow.

When the dragon’s fire finally came, it scorched only abandoned market stalls and scattered goods.

Thomas stood panting, his body tingling with the strange power that now coursed openly through him. The elves stared at him with wide, astonished eyes.

“What—what manner of human are you?” Lyra asked, her melodic voice trembling.

“I’m just… Thomas,” he replied, equally bewildered by what he had done.

But he wasn’t “just Thomas” anymore. Not to the people of Eldervale who had witnessed his impossible feat, and certainly not to himself.

---

Word of Thomas’s heroism—and his unexplainable speed—spread through Eldervale like wildfire. By nightfall, his father’s workshop was besieged by curious townsfolk hoping to catch a glimpse of the “Scarlet Swift,” a nickname born from the crimson blur he had supposedly left in his wake.

“You cannot stay here,” Thomas’s father told him that night, his weathered face creased with concern. “The Baron’s men were asking questions. And that dragon… it was no coincidence it came to our town.”

“What do you mean?” Thomas asked.

His father sighed heavily. “There are stories, ancient ones, about people with extraordinary gifts. The Gifted, they were called. Heroes of old who protected the realm during the Age of Shadows. Most believe them to be legends, but…” He looked at his son with new eyes. “Perhaps not all legends are false.”

Thomas struggled to comprehend. “Are you saying I’m one of these… Gifted?”

“I don’t know, son. But I fear what others might do to discover the truth.”

That night, with a small pack of provisions and his father’s blessing, Thomas slipped away from Eldervale—the only home he had ever known. His destination was the great library of Crystalspire, where the dwarven scholars were said to keep records dating back to the Age of Shadows. If answers existed about what he was and why he had these abilities, he would find them there.

---

The journey to Crystalspire took Thomas through the ancient Whisperwood, home to creatures both magical and mundane. As he made camp on the third night, the strange energy within him had begun to feel more familiar, more controllable. Experimentally, he found he could channel it to move at extraordinary speeds for short bursts, though it left him ravenously hungry afterward.

It was near dawn when Thomas awoke to the sound of snapping twigs. He sat up, instantly alert, and found himself staring at a small, green-skinned figure with pointed ears and oversized eyes.

“A goblin,” Thomas whispered, reaching slowly for the dagger at his belt.

“Please,” the goblin said, raising his hands. “No harm. Pip just hungry.” He pointed to Thomas’s pack where dried meat was visible.

Thomas hesitated. Goblins were known as mischievous tricksters at best and dangerous thieves at worst. But this one seemed genuinely frightened.

“Where’s your clan?” Thomas asked, cautiously offering a strip of dried venison.

Pip snatched it gratefully. “No clan. Pip too small, too weak. Clan leave Pip behind.”

As the goblin ate, Thomas noticed fresh bruises on his skinny arms and a makeshift splint on one leg. Something in him softened. “You can travel with me for a while, if you want. Safety in numbers.”

Pip’s enormous eyes widened further. “Human help Pip? Why?”

Thomas couldn’t explain it himself. “Let’s just say I know what it feels like to be different.”

---

With Pip as an unlikely companion, Thomas’s journey became both easier and more complicated. The goblin knew the forest paths well but attracted suspicious looks from travelers they encountered. At a riverside trading post run by a family of halflings, they were nearly turned away until Thomas offered to repair their broken wagon wheel.

“You’ve got the hands of a craftsman,” observed the halfling merchant as Thomas worked. “What brings you to these parts?”

“I’m seeking knowledge about the Gifted,” Thomas replied cautiously.

The halfling’s friendly demeanor instantly changed. “Those are dangerous waters, young man. The Baron’s proclamation has forbidden such inquiries.”

“What proclamation?”

The halfling looked nervously over his shoulder before answering. “Baron Blackthorn has declared all research or discussion of the Gifted to be treasonous. His Crimson Guard have been confiscating books, arresting scholars. They say it’s to prevent panic, but…” He trailed off.

“But what?” Thomas pressed.

“Some say the Baron himself is hunting the Gifted for his own purposes. Dark purposes.”

Thomas felt a chill run down his spine. Could the Baron somehow know about him? Was that why the dragon had attacked Eldervale?

That night, as Pip snored softly nearby, Thomas made a decision. He would still go to Crystalspire, but with caution. If Baron Blackthorn was indeed hunting people like him, the answers he sought were more important than ever.

---

Crystalspire rose from the mountainside like a creation of the gods themselves—towers of white stone inlaid with veins of crystal that caught the sunlight and scattered it in dazzling rainbows. The dwarven city was known throughout the realm for its architecture, its craftsmanship, and most importantly, its Great Library, which housed knowledge spanning millennia.

“Big shiny place,” Pip observed as they approached the main gates. “Too big. Too many people.”

Thomas had to agree. After days in the relative solitude of the Whisperwood, the bustling crowds of Crystalspire were overwhelming. Merchants from every corner of the realm haggled in a dozen different languages. Armored guards patrolled the streets. And everywhere, the distinctive red uniforms of Baron Blackthorn’s Crimson Guard stood out like blood against snow.

“We need to be careful,” Thomas told Pip. “Stay close and try not to draw attention.”

Easier said than done when traveling with a goblin. Though Thomas had purchased a hooded cloak to conceal Pip’s distinctive features, suspicious glances followed them through the crowded streets.

The Great Library stood at the heart of the city, its massive bronze doors engraved with scenes from dwarven history. Thomas approached with trepidation, Pip hiding behind his legs.

“State your business,” demanded the dwarf guard at the entrance, his beard elaborately braided with golden beads that marked him as a veteran.

“I seek knowledge of the ancient times,” Thomas replied, choosing his words carefully. “The Age of Shadows.”

The guard’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Historical research, eh? And the goblin?”

“My assistant,” Thomas improvised. “He can reach the highest shelves.”

The guard chuckled at that. “Very well. But mind yourselves. The Crimson Guard conducted a raid just yesterday. Our head librarian, Master Bronzebeard, is most displeased about the volumes they confiscated.”

Inside, the library took Thomas’s breath away. Towering shelves stretched toward a domed ceiling painted with astronomical charts. Scholars of all races moved quietly among the stacks, their whispers creating a gentle background hum.

“How do we find what we need in all this?” Thomas wondered aloud.

“Perhaps I might be of assistance,” came a voice from behind them.

Thomas turned to find himself face to face with a dwarf whose beard was so long it had to be tucked into his belt. His eyes were kind but shrewd behind wire-rimmed spectacles.

“Master Bronzebeard?” Thomas guessed.

The dwarf nodded. “And you are a young man asking dangerous questions in dangerous times. Come with me.”

---

In a private study room deep within the library, Master Bronzebeard closed the door and fixed Thomas with a penetrating stare.

“Show me,” he said simply.

“Show you what?” Thomas asked, though he suspected he knew.

“Whatever it is you can do that brings you seeking knowledge of the Gifted.”

Thomas hesitated, then nodded to Pip. The goblin pulled a small copper coin from his pocket and tossed it into the air. Before it could begin its descent, Thomas channeled his energy, moved across the room in a blur, and caught the coin. To Bronzebeard and Pip, it would have appeared as if he had vanished from one spot and instantly materialized in another.

The dwarf librarian’s eyes widened, but he showed no fear—only fascination. “Extraordinary. A velocity manipulator. I haven’t seen one of your kind in… well, never mind how long.”

“My kind?” Thomas leaned forward eagerly. “Then there are others like me?”

“There were,” Bronzebeard said sadly. “Many, once. The Gifted were the protectors of the realm, blessed with abilities beyond those of ordinary folk. Some could command the elements, others possessed incredible strength or the power to heal with a touch.” He sighed. “But that was before the Purge.”

“What happened?” Thomas asked, his throat suddenly dry.

“Fear happened. Fear and a man named Lord Obsidian, who convinced the people that the Gifted were a threat rather than protectors. He led the hunt to exterminate them all.”

Pip, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly spoke up. “Bad man still hunts Gifted? That why Crimson Guard take books?”

Bronzebeard’s expression darkened. “Lord Obsidian vanished centuries ago, presumably died. But his ideology lives on in men like Baron Blackthorn. And yes, the Baron’s interest in the Gifted has been… concerning.”

“Is that why he sent the dragon to Eldervale?” Thomas asked.

The dwarf’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “Dragon? What dragon?”

Thomas recounted the attack on his hometown, the event that had triggered his powers. As he spoke, Bronzebeard’s face grew increasingly troubled.

“That was no ordinary dragon,” the dwarf said when Thomas finished. “It sounds like one of the Controlled—beasts bound to a master’s will. Such magic is ancient and forbidden.”

A cold suspicion formed in Thomas’s mind. “Could Baron Blackthorn be a Gifted himself? Using powers while hunting others like him?”

Bronzebeard stroked his beard thoughtfully. “It would be the height of hypocrisy, but not impossible. However, I suspect something even more sinister.” He rose and retrieved an old tome from a nearby shelf, its cover worn and its pages yellowed with age.

“There is a prophecy,” he said, opening the book to a marked page, “about the return of the Gifted. It speaks of a ‘crimson blur’ who will awaken when darkness rises anew, who will inspire others of his kind to emerge from hiding and unite against an ancient evil reborn.”

Thomas stared at the illuminated text, unable to read the ancient script but recognizing a drawing that looked remarkably like the blur he created when running at super speed.

“The Scarlet Swift,” he whispered.

“Indeed,” said Bronzebeard. “And if Baron Blackthorn believes this prophecy, if he fears the return of the Gifted might threaten his power…”

“Then I’m in danger,” Thomas finished. “We all are.”

A commotion outside the study room interrupted them—shouting, the clatter of armored boots on stone.

“The Crimson Guard,” Bronzebeard hissed. “They must have been watching the library. You need to leave, now!”

“Come with us,” Thomas urged.

The dwarf shook his head. “I’m too old for running. Besides, they have no proof I’ve done anything wrong.” He pressed the ancient tome into Thomas’s hands. “Take this. It contains the histories of the Gifted and may help you understand your powers.”

The door shuddered as someone pounded on it from outside.

“Open in the name of Baron Blackthorn!”

Thomas looked frantically around the room. There was no other exit, no windows, nowhere to hide.

“Pip scared,” the goblin whimpered.

“It’s okay,” Thomas assured him, an idea forming. “Bronzebeard, is there somewhere safe you can direct us to? Someone who might help us?”

The dwarf considered for a moment. “Seek the Silver Enclave in the Mistpeak Mountains. Ask for Lady Moonshadow. If anyone can help you understand what’s happening and why, it’s her.”

The pounding grew louder. The door wouldn’t hold much longer.

“Thank you,” Thomas said, tucking the book into his pack and crouching down. “Pip, climb on my back and hold tight.”

The goblin obeyed, wrapping his skinny arms around Thomas’s neck. Thomas took a deep breath, focusing on the energy within him. He’d never attempted to use his speed while carrying someone before, but there was no time like the present to find out if he could.

As the door burst open and the Crimson Guard stormed in, Thomas channeled every ounce of his power. The world slowed around him. He darted past the guards, their movements as languid as figures underwater, and raced through the library at a speed that rendered him nearly invisible to the naked eye.

Behind him, he heard a guard shout: “The prophecy is true! The Scarlet Swift lives!”

Outside in the streets of Crystalspire, with Pip clinging to his back, Thomas ran faster than he ever had before. The weight of the ancient book and the gravity of his discovery pressed upon him. He wasn’t just a wheelwright’s son with strange abilities. He was part of a legacy, perhaps the first of a new generation of Gifted.

And somewhere out there, whether it was Baron Blackthorn or something far worse, an enemy awaited—one who feared his very existence.

As Crystalspire fell away behind him and the path to the Mistpeak Mountains stretched ahead, Thomas felt something new alongside the fear and uncertainty: purpose. Whatever his destiny as the Scarlet Swift might be, he would face it head-on—not just for himself, but for all the Gifted who might still be in hiding, waiting for a sign that it was safe to emerge.

The sign that, according to prophecy, he was destined to provide.

Feature Photo by mali maeder