Eternal Realm: Shadows and Radiance

Volume One: “Omen of Fate”

Chapter 2: The Relic Emerges

The house of Elvin’s fathers, if such a grand name could even be whispered for it, squatted as a small, two-room dwelling, clinging precariously to the very edge of Oakhaven like a tenacious limpet to a barnacle-encrusted rock. It wasn’t much to behold, constructed of roughly hewn logs that grated against each other, chinked with a crumbling mix of mud and straw, its roof a sorry patchwork of weathered shingles that curled at the edges and moss-grown thatch that sagged under its own weight. Inside, the air clung, heavy and still, always holding the persistent scent of damp earth that rose from the floor and woodsmoke that permeated the very timbers, a lingering, musty aroma that relentlessly clung to the threadbare tapestries and faded, ghostly memories that remained as the only tangible inheritance Elvin truly possessed.

Sunlight, weak and watery even for the forgiving hour of mid-morning, barely managed to tentatively penetrate the grime-streaked windows that faced the east. Dust motes danced and swirled in the faint, fractured beams, momentarily illuminating the sparse, worn furnishings: a sturdy wooden table that bore countless scars from years of rough use, a few mismatched chairs that creaked ominously under even the lightest weight, and a large, imposing iron-bound chest that dominated one shadowy corner of the room, casting long, distorted shadows that stretched and shifted with the meager light. This chest, heavy and cumbersome to even contemplate moving, served as the reluctant repository of what Elvin’s family stubbornly considered their most prized treasures – not glittering gold or sparkling jewels, for those were extravagant luxuries they had never even remotely known, but humble objects deeply imbued with sentimental value, fragile relics desperately clinging to a past that was slowly, inexorably fading into the swirling mists of time.

Elvin stepped cautiously through the deepening dimness, his footsteps deliberately soft on the worn wooden floorboards that groaned under his weight. He was reluctantly engaged in the tedious, soul-numbing task of meticulously sorting through the chest’s chaotic contents, a tiresome chore he had been actively putting off, procrastinating, for weeks. His grandmother, bless her dearly departed soul that likely now roamed some ethereal plane, had undeniably been a prodigious hoarder of sorts, pathetically unable to willingly part with even the most utterly insignificant trinket if it even remotely held a fleeting memory, however faint, however meaningless to anyone else. Now, with the house feeling colder and emptier than ever in her echoing absence, Elvin felt a heavy, unwelcome duty to finally clear out the accumulated, suffocating clutter, to desperately impose some semblance of order, however futile, on the scattered, disjointed remnants of their long shared life. He sighed, his breath fogging slightly in the chill air.

He heaved upwards, straining muscles he didn’t know he had, lifted the heavy, stubbornly resistant lid of the chest, its aged hinges groaning loudly in pained protest after years of neglect and disuse, the sound scraping against the silence of the room. The interior air wafted outwards, smelling strongly of dry, decaying wood and something else, something indefinably musty and old, like brittle old paper that crumbled to the touch and dried herbs that released a faint, ghostly fragrance, a complex, layered fragrance that strangely evoked a bewildering mix of bittersweet comfort and profound melancholy. He reached tentatively into the dark chest, his hesitant fingers brushing nervously against layers of aged, yellowed linen that crinkled like dry leaves and fragile yellowed parchment that threatened to disintegrate at the slightest touch. He pulled carefully out a small, tightly bound bundle of his grandmother’s dried lavender, its once vibrant scent, though undeniably faded by time, still faintly lingering, a ghost of its former self. He inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring, a fleeting, involuntary ghost of a smile momentarily touching his lips as he remembered her meticulously placing it in his pockets as a child, whispering it would magically ward off ill humors and mischievous sprites. He set the lavender aside gently on the dusty table, his eyes now scanning, probing, the deeper, shadowy recesses of the chest, seeking something, anything, of real meaning.

He uncovered a tarnished silver locket, its once intricate carvings now sadly worn smooth and indistinct with the relentless passage of time and countless, loving handling. He flipped it open with a click, his gaze immediately falling, drawn as if by an invisible string, upon the faded miniature portrait nestled within – a stern-faced man with piercing, unnervingly intense blue eyes – his grandfather, a man he had frustratingly never known, a shadowy figure from whispered stories. He stared at the miniature, his brow furrowing, then closed the locket with a soft, decisive click, a sudden, sharp pang of inexplicable longing unexpectedly twisting painfully in his chest for a lineage he barely understood, a heritage shrouded in mystery and silence. He placed the locket carefully beside the lavender, reluctantly adding to the small, pathetic growing pile of sorted, mostly useless items. “Dust and memories,” he muttered under his breath, his voice sounding strangely loud in the quiet room. “That’s all we ever really leave behind.”

He delved even deeper into the chest, his hand now encountering something unexpectedly smooth and strangely cool beneath the scratchy layers of fabric. He frowned, his forehead creasing, his curiosity suddenly piqued, ignited. He pushed impatiently aside a heavy, intricately embroidered cloth – a faded, time-worn tapestry clumsily depicting a now indistinct scene of valiant knights valiantly battling monstrous, vaguely dragon-like creatures, undoubtedly another of his grandmother’s absurdly cherished relics – and finally uncovered the mysterious object that had so stubbornly caught his wandering attention. He leaned closer, his breath held, his eyes widening slightly.

It rested nestled snugly amongst the soft folds of the aged tapestry, utterly unassuming in its quiet presence, yet strangely, undeniably compelling, drawing his gaze, holding it captive. It was a stone, roughly the size of his own outstretched palm, a smooth, imperfect oval in shape and seemingly unremarkable at first, casual glance. It initially appeared to be crafted from some dark, dense obsidian-like material, almost black, yet it subtly possessed a peculiar, captivating inner luminescence that hinted at depths unseen. A soft, gentle glow mysteriously emanated from deep within its core, a faint, almost imperceptible pulsating light that strangely seemed to quietly breathe with a hidden life entirely of its own. It wasn’t a harsh, aggressive bright light that seared the eyes, but a subtle, soothing radiance, like ethereal moonlight softly filtered through dark, still water.

Elvin reached out slowly, hesitantly, lifted the stone carefully, his nervous fingers instinctively closing cautiously around its surprisingly smooth, cool surface. It felt unexpectedly light, almost deceptively weightless in his hand, yet undeniably solid and strangely substantial in his grasp, resting comfortably in his palm. As his tentative fingers finally made full, deliberate contact, a faint, unexpected warmth suddenly spread quickly through his hand, a subtle tingling sensation that gently moved stealthily up his arm like a slow, creeping electric current, awakening dormant nerves. He stared intently at the stone, his dark brows involuntarily drawing together in genuine puzzlement, his eyes narrowing in concentration. He had genuinely never seen anything even remotely like it before in his entire life. He rotated it slowly in his hand, his fingers tracing its contours, meticulously examining it closely from all possible angles, searching for any clue, any marking. There were no visible markings, no telltale carvings, just the uniformly smooth, dark, impenetrable surface and the soft, unwavering internal glow that pulsed gently.

He held it closer still to his face, his breath now shallow, his eyes now relentlessly scrutinizing its enigmatic depths, seeking answers within its dark heart. The soft glow inexplicably seemed to subtly intensify slightly, almost impossibly responding directly to his increasing proximity, or perhaps it was simply his overactive imagination, his mind nervously playing tricks in the dim, shadowy light, desperate for meaning. He suddenly felt an inexplicable, irresistible pull towards the strange stone, a silent, insistent invitation to bravely delve deeper into its alluring, unfathomable mystery. He nervously wondered aloud to the empty room where it could possibly have come from, how it could have inexplicably ended up amongst his family’s meager, mundane possessions, hidden amongst dusty tapestries and forgotten trinkets. His grandmother had inexplicably never mentioned it, never even vaguely spoken of such a unique, strangely glowing stone. It felt almost as if it had been deliberately, carefully hidden, purposefully tucked away in the deepest recesses of the chest and deliberately forgotten by everyone but the chest itself.

Intrigued beyond measure, Elvin instinctively tightened his grip protectively on the smooth stone, his thumb involuntarily stroking, caressing, its cool, polished surface. As he tentatively did so, the faint, comforting warmth in his hand abruptly intensified dramatically, suddenly spreading rapidly further up his arm, now inexplicably reaching his shoulder, tingling across his skin. The subtle tingling sensation now grew demonstrably stronger, no longer just gentle and pleasant but now undeniably possessing a distinct, almost aggressive vibrancy, a palpable, humming energy that distinctly vibrated insistently beneath his skin, raising gooseflesh despite the warmth. He suddenly felt a strange, unfamiliar pressure rapidly building in his chest, a constricting, tightening sensation that inexplicably made it slightly harder to breathe, his lungs struggling to expand fully.

Suddenly, shockingly, the stone clutched tightly in his trembling hand violently flared with a blinding burst of unexpected light. Not a searing, painful flash that burned the retinas, but a sudden, intensely powerful surge of the soft inner glow, unexpectedly bathing the previously dim room in an almost ethereal, otherworldly radiance that banished the shadows and illuminated every dust mote. The colors inexplicably trapped within the stone wildly shifted and swirled, violently becoming impossibly more vibrant, impossibly more sharply defined, pulsating with an inner fire. Elvin instinctively flinched, his eyes involuntarily widening in startled surprise, drawing sharply back, stumbling backwards. But he physically couldn’t release his grip on the stone. It inexplicably felt almost as if it had somehow magically fused itself directly to his hand, its comforting warmth now abruptly searing, almost painfully hot, yet strangely, inexplicably… exhilarating, intoxicating.

A massive, overwhelming wave of raw energy suddenly surged violently through him, inexplicably originating directly from the stone now fused to his hand, relentlessly coursing wildly through his veins like molten fire, igniting every nerve ending. His senses abruptly sharpened to an almost unbearable degree, the previously muted, background sounds of distant Oakhaven – the faint, rhythmic barking of a lonely dog, the slow, creaking groan of a distant wagon wheel, the muffled, indistinct voices drifting from the distant tavern – suddenly becoming startlingly crystal clear, almost painfully loud, assaulting his ears. The faint, familiar scent of woodsmoke suddenly intensified tenfold, violently filling his nostrils, overwhelmingly mingling with the musty, earthy smell of the old house and something else entirely, startlingly new, something sharply metallic and strangely clean, like the pungent tang of ozone that lingered in the air after a violent lightning strike.

His vision momentarily blurred and swam, the room spinning wildly, then just as abruptly snapped back into sharp, hyper-realistic focus, but the familiar world now undeniably looked profoundly different, somehow… impossibly brighter, impossibly more vibrant, as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes. Colors inexplicably seemed richer, deeper, almost impossibly saturated, the rough textures of the aged wood and worn fabric in the room suddenly more distinct, more tangibly real, more intensely present. He looked abruptly down at his trembling hand, still desperately clutching the now intensely glowing stone that pulsed in his grip. The light emanating from it rhythmically pulsated, strangely in perfect sync with the frantic, thunderous beating of his own terrified heart.

He suddenly felt something profound deep within him… violently awaken, stirring, stretching, coming alive. It was a wholly unfamiliar sensation, unlike absolutely anything he had ever experienced in his short life before, a raw, overwhelming feeling of immense, untapped potential suddenly, explosively stirring deep within his very core, unfurling like a tightly coiled spring suddenly released. It was strangely like a dormant, long-forgotten muscle violently flexing, a hidden, atrophied sense suddenly igniting, a vital, integral part of him that had been inexplicably sleeping, dormant, for his entire uneventful life abruptly, violently waking up, roaring to life. He suddenly felt a terrifying surge of raw, untamed power, utterly unfamiliar yet strangely, disturbingly… familiar, as if he had always unknowingly possessed it, hidden deep within, but had simply been completely, blissfully unaware of its immense, terrifying existence, its latent potential.

He involuntarily stumbled abruptly back, his legs suddenly feeling weak and unsteady, his knees buckling, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps that burned his throat. The familiar room violently seemed to wildly spin sickeningly around him, the solid world beneath his feet suddenly tilting alarmingly, precariously on its ancient axis, threatening to throw him off balance. He desperately clutched wildly at the sturdy table for much-needed support, his knuckles whitening starkly against the rough, splintered wood as he gripped it fiercely. The stone still inexplicably fused to his hand relentlessly continued to softly glow, its light now noticeably softer, strangely gentler, the terrifying intensity of its initial violent flare gradually, thankfully subsiding, receding. The overwhelming surge of raw energy violently coursing through him slowly, reluctantly receded, gradually leaving behind a lingering, comforting warmth, a subtle, persistent hum of residual power that still faintly vibrated persistently beneath his skin, a quiet promise of more to come.

He involuntarily closed his tightly squeezed eyes, leaning heavily, desperately against the solid table for support, his head still violently spinning, his stomach churning. He felt utterly disoriented, completely overwhelmed by the sheer sensory overload, yet also strangely, paradoxically… intensely invigorated, inexplicably alive in a way he had never even remotely been before, his senses heightened, his awareness sharpened. He slowly, cautiously opened his eyes again, his unfocused gaze finally falling once more, as if magnetically drawn, upon the strange, softly glowing stone still inexplicably clutched tightly in his trembling hand. It now steadily glowed with a calm, soft, unwavering light, no longer violently pulsating, its vibrant, impossible colors now thankfully muted, strangely calmer, almost… peaceful.

He stared transfixed at it, his mind desperately reeling, frantically trying to somehow make sense, to rationally explain what had just inexplicably happened, what he had just undeniably experienced. The impossible, mysterious streams of light in the ominous sky, the unreadable runes, the strange, unsettling unease he had inexplicably felt since that night, and now this… this impossibly glowing stone, this terrifying surge of unimaginable energy that had violently ripped through him. It suddenly felt as if the ominous night had not just been a distant harbinger, a vague warning, but a direct catalyst, a deliberate trigger that had inexplicably set something truly profound, something undeniably momentous, irrevocably in motion. And he, ordinary young Elvin, still standing trembling in his dusty, utterly unremarkable home, mindlessly holding this undeniably strange, softly glowing relic, was now somehow, terrifyingly, at the very precarious center of it all. He suddenly knew, with a dawning, chilling certainty that both inexplicably thrilled and utterly terrified him to his very core, that his previously ordinary life had just irrevocably, completely changed in a way he could never have possibly imagined. The quiet, predictable existence he had comfortably known was undeniably over, shattered into a million pieces. A terrifyingly new path, utterly unknown and undeniably perilous, had just violently opened abruptly before him, suddenly, irrevocably illuminated by the soft, insistent, yet now strangely comforting glow of the enigmatic Dawn Stone, still inexplicably fused to his trembling hand. “Dawn Stone…” he whispered, the words barely audible, tasting them on his tongue like a foreign, yet familiar, incantation. “Is that… is that what you are?”

《永恒之境：暗影与光辉》卷一《命运预兆》

第二章：遗物现世

艾尔文家那栋老宅，若也配冠以“家宅”之名，实已算抬举。它矮小、破败，仅有两个房间，如同一只固执的帽贝紧紧吸附在满是藤壶的礁石上一般，勉强地矗立在橡木镇的边缘。这房子着实不怎么起眼，由粗糙的原木胡乱搭建而成，木头之间相互摩擦，缝隙里填塞着早已干裂的泥土和稻草，屋顶上则铺着几片年久失修的木瓦，边缘翘起，长满青苔，在自身的重压下微微下陷。屋子里，空气沉闷而凝滞，永远弥漫着一股泥土的腥味和木柴燃烧后留下的烟火气，这股挥之不去的霉味，紧紧附着在那些破旧的挂毯和褪色的记忆上——这是艾尔文唯一真正拥有的遗产。

时至晌午，阳光依旧吝啬地不肯施舍多一点光亮，只是勉强地透过积满灰尘的东窗，投射进几缕微弱的光线。尘埃在光柱中飞舞、旋转，照亮了屋内那几件寒酸的家具：一张伤痕累累的木桌，历经岁月沧桑；几把东拼西凑的椅子，即便是轻轻一坐，也会发出吱吱嘎嘎的抗议声；一个笨重的、上了锁的铁皮箱子占据了房间一角，在微弱的光线下投下扭曲的阴影。这个箱子，沉重得让人望而却步，里面却装着艾尔文一家视若珍宝的东西——当然，不是什么金银珠宝，他们从未奢望过拥有这些，而是一些承载着回忆的旧物，紧紧地抓着那段正在逐渐消逝的过去，不肯放手。

艾尔文小心翼翼地走进昏暗的房间，脚步尽可能地轻，生怕踩坏了那些年久失修的木地板。他正不情愿地整理着箱子里的东西，这项枯燥乏味的任务，他已经拖延了好几个星期。他的祖母，愿她在天之灵安息，生前是个不折不扣的“收藏家”，哪怕是最不起眼的小玩意，只要承载着一丝回忆，哪怕这回忆再微弱、再无足轻重，她也舍不得丢弃。现在，祖母去世了，屋子里比以往更加寒冷、空旷，艾尔文感到一种沉重的责任，他必须清理掉这些堆积如山的杂物，给他们共同生活的痕迹，留下一点秩序。他叹了口气，呼出的气在冰冷的空气中凝成一团白雾。

他使出全身的力气，抬起那沉重的箱盖，那生锈的铰链在多年未使用后发出刺耳的抗议声，在寂静的房间里回荡。一股陈旧的气味扑面而来，那是干燥的木头腐朽的味道，还有一种难以形容的霉味，像是轻轻一碰就会碎掉的旧纸张和干枯的药草混合在一起的味道，一种苦乐参半又带着忧郁的气息。他将手伸进箱子里，手指划过一层层泛黄的亚麻布，发出沙沙的声响，还有那些脆弱的羊皮纸，仿佛稍一用力就会化为齑粉。他小心翼翼地取出一小捆祖母生前晒干的薰衣草，虽然香味已经淡去，但依旧隐约可闻。他深深地吸了一口气，紧抿的嘴角微微上扬，想起小时候，祖母总喜欢在他口袋里塞上几株薰衣草，说这样可以驱邪避灾。他将薰衣草轻轻地放在落满灰尘的桌子上，目光开始搜寻箱子深处，寻找着什么更有价值的东西。

他找到了一枚失去光泽的银质项坠，上面曾经精美的雕刻已经被岁月和无数次的摩挲变得模糊不清。他轻轻一按，项坠弹开，里面镶嵌着一幅褪色的小画像——一个面容严肃、眼神锐利的男人——那是他的祖父，一个他从未谋面、只存在于故事中的人。他凝视着画像，眉头紧锁，然后轻轻合上项坠，心中涌起一股莫名的惆怅，为了那段他知之甚少的家族往事，为了那段笼罩在迷雾和沉默中的家族传承。他将项坠小心地放在薰衣草旁边，加入到那堆已经被分拣出来，却大都无用的东西中去。“尘埃和回忆，”他低声自语，声音在寂静的房间里显得格外响亮。“我们最终留下的，不过如此。”

他继续在箱子里摸索，手指触碰到一个光滑而冰凉的东西。他皱起眉头，好奇心被勾了起来。他拨开一块厚重的、绣着图案的布料——那是一块褪色的挂毯，上面笨拙地绣着几个骑士与怪兽搏斗的场景，毫无疑问，这又是祖母珍藏的另一件“宝贝”——终于，他找到了那个吸引他注意力的东西。他凑近一看，屏住了呼吸，眼睛微微睁大。

那是一块石头，静静地躺在挂毯的褶皱里，毫不起眼，却又莫名地引人注目。它大约有手掌大小，呈椭圆形，表面光滑，乍一看似乎是由某种黑曜石之类的黑色材料制成，但它却散发着一种奇异的光芒，仿佛蕴藏着某种不为人知的秘密。石头内部隐隐约约地闪烁着微光，像是有生命一般，轻轻地跳动着。这光芒并不刺眼，反而柔和而舒缓，像是透过深色静水的月光。

艾尔文缓缓地伸出手，小心翼翼地拿起那块石头，手指轻轻地摩挲着它那光滑而冰凉的表面。石头拿在手里出乎意料地轻，轻得几乎没有重量，但又实实在在的存在着，让人安心。当他的手指完全接触到石头的那一刻，一股微弱的热流突然从他的手掌传来，沿着手臂向上蔓延，像是一股缓慢的电流，唤醒了沉睡的神经。他盯着这块石头，眉头紧锁，眼神中充满了困惑。在他的记忆中，他从未见过这样的东西。他将石头在手中转动，仔细地观察着它的每一个角度，试图找到一些线索，一些标记。但石头上没有任何可见的标记，没有任何雕刻，只有那光滑的、黑色的、坚不可摧的表面，以及那轻轻跳动的柔和光芒。

他将石头举到面前，仔细端详，试图从它那深邃的内部找到答案。那柔和的光芒似乎变得更亮了些，仿佛是在回应他的靠近，又或许是他在昏暗的光线下产生的错觉，为了寻找答案而产生的错觉。他突然感到一种无法抗拒的吸引力，仿佛有一股无形的力量，牵引着他去探索这块石头那深不可测的奥秘。他自言自语地问着这空荡荡的房间，这块石头究竟是从哪里来的，它是如何出现在他那寒酸的家中的，又是如何被藏在这些尘封的挂毯和被人遗忘的旧物之中的。他的祖母从未提起过它，从未说过这样一块独特的、会发光的石头。这块石头仿佛是被刻意隐藏起来的，被小心翼翼地藏在箱子的最深处，被所有人遗忘，除了这个箱子本身。

出于强烈的好奇心，艾尔文紧紧地握住那块光滑的石头，拇指轻轻地摩挲着它那冰凉的、光滑的表面。就在这时，他手中的那股微弱的暖流突然变得强烈起来，迅速蔓延到他的手臂，一直延伸到肩膀，让他的皮肤感到一阵酥麻。那酥麻的感觉也变得更加强烈，不再仅仅是柔和舒适，而是带着一种鲜明的、近乎侵略性的活力，一种能够清晰感知到的、嗡嗡作响的能量，在他的皮肤下振动着，即使在温暖的环境里也让他汗毛倒竖。他感到胸口一阵发紧，一种奇怪的、陌生的压力正在积聚，让他的呼吸变得有些困难，他的肺部难以充分扩张。

突然，他手中紧握的石头猛地爆发出耀眼的光芒。不是那种灼伤视网膜的刺眼强光，而是一股强烈的光芒，瞬间照亮了整个房间，驱散了所有的阴影，让每一个角落都纤毫毕现。石头内部的颜色疯狂地变幻着，变得更加鲜艳，更加清晰，仿佛燃烧的火焰一般跳动着。艾尔文吓了一跳，本能地向后退去，踉踉跄跄地向后退了几步。但他却无法松开那块石头，它仿佛已经与他的手融为一体，那温暖的感觉也变得灼热起来，几乎到了令人痛苦的地步，但奇怪的是…又让人感到一种莫名的兴奋，一种令人陶醉的感觉。

一股巨大的、势不可挡的能量突然从石头中涌出，传遍他的全身，像熔化的火焰一般在他的血管中流淌，点燃了他的每一个神经末梢。他的感官变得异常敏锐，远处橡木镇传来的那些微弱的声音——一只狗的吠叫声，马车车轮的吱嘎声，酒馆里传来的模糊不清的人声——突然变得清晰无比，几乎震耳欲聋。空气中那股淡淡的柴火味也变得浓烈起来，充斥着他的鼻腔，还夹杂着一股泥土的腥味，以及一种陌生的、金属般的味道，像是暴风雨过后空气中残留的臭氧的味道。

他的视线变得模糊起来，房间开始旋转，然后又迅速恢复了正常，但眼前的世界却变得截然不同，仿佛有一层薄纱被揭去，一切都变得更加明亮，更加鲜艳。色彩变得更加浓郁，更加深邃，房间里那些陈旧的木头和破旧的织物的纹理也变得更加清晰，更加真实，更加鲜活。他低下头，看着自己颤抖的手，依旧紧紧地握着那块发光的石头。石头有节奏地跳动着，与他那颗狂跳的心脏，奇异地同步着。

他突然感到内心深处有什么东西…被唤醒了，它在动，在伸展，在苏醒。这是一种完全陌生的感觉，与他以往的任何经历都截然不同，一种巨大的、尚未开发的潜能，突然在他的内心深处爆发出来，就像一根被紧紧压缩的弹簧突然被释放。这感觉就像是一块沉睡已久的肌肉突然开始活动，一种隐藏的、萎缩的感官突然被点燃，一个至关重要的、他生命中不可或缺的一部分，在他那平淡无奇的一生中，一直处于沉睡状态，而现在，它突然醒来，发出震耳欲聋的咆哮。他感到一股强大的力量，完全陌生，却又莫名其妙地…熟悉，仿佛他一直都拥有它，只是从未意识到它的存在，它的巨大潜力。

他踉踉跄跄地向后退去，双腿发软，膝盖打颤，呼吸急促而凌乱。房间在他周围疯狂地旋转，脚下的世界突然倾斜，仿佛随时都会将他抛出去。他慌乱中一把抓住桌子，才勉强站稳，指关节因为用力而发白。那块石头依旧牢牢地握在他的手中，继续发着光，但光芒已经柔和了许多，最初那阵强光已经逐渐消退。那股流经他全身的能量也慢慢地平息下来，留下一种温暖的感觉，一种持续不断的、嗡嗡作响的力量，在他的皮肤下轻轻地振动，预示着某种未知的可能。

他闭上眼睛，靠在桌子上，试图平复眩晕感和翻腾的胃。他感到极度的迷失方向，完全被刚才发生的一切所震撼，但同时，他又感到一种奇怪的…强烈的活力，一种他从未体验过的活力，他的感官变得敏锐，他的意识变得清晰。他慢慢地、小心翼翼地睁开眼睛，目光再次落在那块依旧握在他手中的、发着柔和光芒的石头上。石头现在正平静地、柔和地、持续不断地发着光，不再剧烈地跳动，那些鲜艳的、不可能的色彩，现在已经变得柔和，平静，几乎是…祥和的。

他盯着石头，思绪万千，试图理解刚才发生的一切，试图为这超乎常理的经历找到一个合理的解释。昨晚天空中出现的那些神秘的光带，那些无法解读的符文，他内心深处那股莫名的不安，以及现在…这块发光的石头，这股流经他全身的强大能量。这一切，仿佛都在预示着什么，一个模糊的警告，一个直接的催化剂，一个不可避免的开端。而他，平凡的艾尔文，依旧颤抖地站在他那落满灰尘、毫不起眼的家中，手中握着这块散发着柔和光芒的石头，不知何故，令人恐惧地，处于这一切的中心。他突然意识到，带着一种既让他兴奋又让他恐惧的情感，他那平凡的生活，已经彻底改变了，他所熟悉的那个平静的、一成不变的生活，已经彻底结束了，支离破碎。一条崭新的、未知的、充满危险的道路，在他面前展开，被手中这块神秘的黎明石那柔和而坚定的光芒所照亮。“黎明石…” 他低声说道，声音几乎微不可闻，这两个字在他的舌尖上，像是一句陌生的咒语，却又带着一丝熟悉。“你…你就是黎明石吗？”

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