Far from the ruins of the fallen kingdom, where ash no longer stained the sky, a quiet village slept beneath the stars.
It was a place untouched by war.
Or so it believed.
A gentle wind passed through the fields, bending the tall grass like waves in a silent ocean. The night was calm, almost too calm—as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Then—
A boy opened his eyes.
His name was Aren.
He sat up suddenly, gasping, his heart racing as if he had just run from death itself. Sweat covered his face, his hands trembling.
The dream again.
No… not a dream.
A memory.
Flashes burned in his mind—fire, shadows, a black throne, and a voice that did not belong to any living thing.
"You belong to it…"
"No…" Aren whispered, gripping his head. "I don't…"
But deep inside, something stirred.
Something ancient.
Morning came, but the unease remained.
Aren walked through the village like any other day, helping with chores, speaking little, avoiding eyes. To others, he was just another boy—quiet, distant, strange.
But not normal.
Never normal.
"Oi, Aren!" a voice called.
It was Kiran, his only friend, running toward him with a grin. "You look like you saw a ghost again."
Aren forced a small smile. "Just didn't sleep well."
"Yeah, you never do," Kiran laughed. "One day you'll tell me what's going on in that head of yours."
Aren said nothing.
Because how could he explain something he didn't understand himself?
That evening, everything changed.
The sky darkened too quickly.
Clouds gathered out of nowhere, swallowing the sun in a matter of moments. A cold wind swept through the village, stronger than anything they had ever felt.
People stepped outside, confused… then afraid.
"What is this?"
"Storm?"
"No… this feels wrong…"
Aren froze.
He knew this feeling.
His chest tightened as the same whispers from his "dreams" returned—soft, distant… calling him.
Come back…
"No…" he muttered.
The ground trembled.
A crack formed in the earth at the center of the village, glowing faintly with ancient symbols.
The same symbols.
From his dreams.
Panic erupted.
Children cried. People ran. The earth continued to shake as the crack widened, revealing darkness beneath—endless, alive.
Then something emerged.
A shadow.
Not a man. Not a creature.
Something in between.
It rose slowly, twisting unnaturally, its form shifting like smoke. The air grew heavy, impossible to breathe.
"This… is one of them," Aren whispered, fear flooding his voice.
The shadow turned.
And looked directly at him.
Everything went silent.
Out of all the people in the village…
It chose him.
The whispers grew louder, clearer.
Found you…
Aren stumbled back. "Stay away from me!"
The shadow moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
Before anyone could react, it lunged toward him like a living nightmare.
But just as it reached—
Something exploded.
A burst of light.
Blinding. Powerful. Unnatural.
The shadow screamed, thrown back violently as the ground beneath Aren shattered with glowing energy.
The villagers froze.
Because the light…
Was coming from him.
Aren stood at the center, his body surrounded by ancient symbols burning in the air around him. His eyes glowed faintly, his fear replaced by something deeper.
Something older.
"I…" he whispered, staring at his own hands.
The shadow trembled, retreating slightly—not in fear of the villagers…
But of him.
"Impossible…" it hissed.
"You were not meant to awaken so soon…"
Aren looked up.
Confusion. Fear. Power.
All at once.
"Who… am I?" he asked.
The shadow answered, its voice shaking for the first time.
"You are not a boy…"
A pause.
Then the truth fell like a curse.
"You are the heir of the Cursed Empire."
The wind howled violently.
The sky cracked with thunder.
And in that moment, Aren realized—
The war had never ended.
It had only been waiting for him. 🔥