The world had forgotten sunlight.
In the land of Varn, a place where crows fed on tombstones and rivers sang old names, Ruin Veylock walked beneath a sky the color of old bruises. His cloak dragged behind him, wet with grave-dirt and old blood. His boots had no soles left, just stitched leather and the memory of walking.
He hadn't spoken in five years.
Not since the scream.
BACK THEN…
They called it a miracle. At first.
A village boy, born without a voice — cursed with a sealed tongue, his mouth marked black like someone tried to burn the sound out of him in the womb. No crying. No laughter. Just breath and silence.
He had a brother — older, stronger, kinder. The only person who never feared him. The only one who tried to make him laugh. The only one who ever sang to him. That boy's name was…
> Ruin doesn't remember.
He gave it up.
He gave up everything, the day they came.
The Voices of Harmony — fake priests in white robes, silver lips, and empty eyes — said they could "cleanse" the curse.
They said: "We can make him sing."
They said: "We can open his voice to the gods."
They lied.
They carved runes into his chest. Forced his brother to stand in the circle.
They said: "Only a blood bond can unlock the Blackmouth."
They screamed when it worked.
Because when Ruin finally spoke, he didn't say a word.
He roared.
And it tore the entire temple apart.
He woke up days later, alive. Alone.
The only thing left was a tooth. His brother's.
He wore it around his neck from then on.
And he locked his jaw shut.
Forever.
NOW…
Ruin stood in a valley of cold grass and forgotten names. He stared at an empty horizon where no birds flew and no beasts dared howl.
He had no destination. Only a pattern.
> Walk.
Sleep.
Don't speak.
Survive.
Repeat.
His only companion was the sound of memory.
Not his own — other people's.
When your mouth is cursed, you hear the dead.
Not ghosts — voices stuck in soil, in objects, in the wind.
Echoes.
Sometimes they whisper.
Sometimes they scream.
Today, they sang.
> "Ruin… Ruin… Ruin…"
He froze.
That wasn't an echo.
That was his name.
---
The Stranger in the Fog
Out of the gray mist stepped a figure, humming something soft.
A man in ragged armor, face half-covered in cloth, eyes glowing faint white.
Ruin didn't draw his sword.
He didn't need to.
The man stopped ten paces away and smiled like he'd just met an old friend.
> "You're still alive," he said. "After all this time. The Cursed One himself."
No response.
> "Still not speaking? Good. That mouth of yours should've never opened."
Still no response.
> "Don't worry," the stranger chuckled. "I'm not here to kill you. Not yet."
Ruin tilted his head.
The man pulled out something small: a tooth.
Identical to the one Ruin wore.
> "Funny, isn't it? All that screaming, and the only thing your brother left behind… was bone."
Ruin's eye twitched.
His hand gripped the hilt of his curse-blade — still wrapped in seals.
The stranger waved mockingly.
> "Relax. I'm just a courier. Message from someone who remembers you.
Said you'd know who it is if I said this:"
> "Sing for me, Ruin. One last time."
The wind stopped.
The sky grew heavier.
And for the first time in years, Ruin's curse mark pulsed.
The scream was trying to come back.
He dropped his hand from the sword.
The man vanished — like fog. Gone without a trace.
And Ruin stood alone again, the tooth warm against his chest, the voice of his dead brother whispering behind his sealed jaw.
> "Don't listen to them.
Don't remember.
Don't become what they want you to
Ruin sets off toward the Stilllands, a silent territory where speaking means death, hoping to disappear for good.
But the world is remembering him again.
And that means it's already too late.
END OF CHAPTER 1