The morning sun rose sluggishly over the Forest of Whispers, casting long, trembling shadows through the veil of mist. Arav stood motionless at the edge of a cliff overlooking a vast ravine, where darkness seemed to pour like liquid from the earth's wound.
His heart was silent. For the first time since he had picked up that cursed sword, he didn't feel the weight of it in his hand—it was as if the blade itself was holding its breath.
"Zia…" he whispered.
Her name echoed in the wind, swallowed by the hush of dawn.
Behind him, footsteps crunched softly on the fallen leaves.
"You haven't slept," said Rivan, approaching from the rear, eyes sharp with concern. "You stood there all night."
"I can't sleep. Not until I understand what happened in the ruins."
Rivan looked at him carefully. "The Shadowborn spoke to you… didn't it?"
Arav turned to face him, his eyes darker than the night they had walked through. "It didn't speak. It showed me something. A memory that wasn't mine—but it felt real. Too real."
Rivan stepped closer. "That's what they do. They feed on forgotten truths. Painful ones. The ones that shape us but we bury."
"What was that place?"
Rivan exhaled slowly. "That ruin was the Temple of Araksha—the last stronghold of the Silent Order. Long before you were born, they protected the balance between the worlds of the living and the dead."
"And what happened to them?"
"They were betrayed… by one of their own."
Arav stiffened.
"You're not saying—"
"Yes," Rivan nodded grimly. "Your father."
---
Flashback: The Betrayal
In Arav's mind, the vision flared back to life.
Torches lined the massive stone walls of the Temple. Hooded monks chanted in a forgotten tongue. At the center stood a young man with midnight hair and eyes like obsidian—Aarian, Arav's father.
A voice boomed from the shadows.
"You were chosen, Aarian! Not to control death—but to contain it!"
But the man laughed, consumed by power. "Why must we fear death? Why not wield it?"
And so he did. He unlocked the Gate of Murkhaal, and with it, the curse began.
---
Back in the present, Arav fell to his knees.
"He was the reason this began," he gasped. "My father… he started the war between light and death."
Rivan nodded. "That's why you were marked. The sword chose you… not just to continue his legacy—but to undo it."
A silence hung between them.
Then, without warning, the trees around them shook. A shriek tore through the forest—animal, yet somehow human.
"Run," Rivan growled. "They found us."
From the mists emerged creatures cloaked in smoke—the Forgotten. Lost souls denied afterlife, twisted by the Shadowborn.
Arav rose, his blade pulsing. But this time, something was different.
He wasn't afraid.
---
Battle: The Swarm of the Forgotten
The first creature lunged. Arav ducked low, twisted, and cleaved upward—his blade hummed with ancient runes, singing through the air. The soul-wretch evaporated into ash.
Three more came. One from above. Two from behind.
Rivan unleashed a glyph from his hand—blinding light burst forth, searing their shadows into nothing.
"They're endless!" Rivan shouted.
"No," Arav said coldly. "They're echoes. And echoes die when the voice is silenced."
He closed his eyes… and then screamed.
The runes on his sword blazed gold. With a single swing, a wave of pure energy erupted outward, flattening the forest around them.
When the dust settled, only Arav remained standing.
The forest was silent again.
---
The Message in the Flame
Later that night, as they camped in the ruins of an old waystation, Zia approached Arav. Her arm was bandaged, her face pale, but her eyes… they burned with a new fire.
"You saw him, didn't you?"
Arav nodded.
"My father was no hero," he said quietly.
"Neither was mine," she replied. "But you… you're not them. You're something else."
She touched his hand. "You're the break in the curse."
He looked at her, startled.
"You still believe in me? After everything?"
Zia's voice cracked. "You gave me a reason to survive, Arav. Let me be your reason, too."
For the first time in days, he smiled.
But just then—Rivan interrupted.
"There's something you both need to see."
He held out a scroll, freshly burnt at the edges. It wasn't there a moment ago.
It bore the royal insignia of the Kingdom of Kael.
Rivan unrolled it. His expression turned to ash.
"It's a royal decree," he said. "The Queen has declared you… Arav of the North… a traitor to the realm. Wanted. Dead or alive."
Arav clenched his fists. "She's scared. She knows I'm coming."
Zia looked up. "What now?"
Arav stared into the fire.
"We find the Gate. We end the curse. And we burn her lies to the ground."
---
Interlude: Dreams of Blood
That night, Arav dreamed of the battlefield.
Corpses strewn across an endless desert. A broken crown. A child weeping in a pool of crimson water.
And above all… himself.
Draped in shadows. Eyes hollow. Voice like thunder.
"You can't outrun your blood, Arav," the shadow said. "You are your father's son."
When Arav awoke, his sword was glowing.
And in the flames, he saw a sigil: The sigil of the Black Citadel.
The last key to ending this nightmare.
---
Closing Scene: Rise of the Black Citadel
Far away, in the west, behind mountains and fog, the Black Citadel stirred.
A figure sat on a throne of bones, surrounded by legions of silent knights. The crown on his head pulsed with dark power.
"Send word to the East," he said in a voice made of ice and steel.
"The boy lives. And he's coming."
His eyes glowed red.
"Let him come. He carries death in his hands… and in death, we are reborn."
---
🖋️ End of Chapter 6
📘 To be continued in Chapter 7: The Black Citadel Awakens