Nkosana wandered through the forgotten halls of the old monastery hidden deep in the Shiselweni mountains. The air was thick with incense and old blood. Every step he took echoed with whispers—voices only he could hear. Ancient chants. Forgotten curses. Echoes of power.
Symbols lined the stone walls, glowing faintly as he passed. They pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat… or the demon's. He wasn't sure anymore.
He paused at an altar covered in ash. As he brushed it away, the name *"Luthando"* was carved beneath.
His mother's name.
Suddenly, the walls trembled. A ghostly figure emerged—*Luthando's spirit*, veiled in fire and shadow.
"My son," she said, voice barely human, "you carry a curse that was never meant to reach you."
Nkosana stepped back, fear wrestling with longing. "Why didn't you tell me? Why let them bury the truth?"
"Because truth is dangerous," she said, her form flickering. "Even now, they hunt you. Not because of what you've done—but because of *what you might become*."
He clenched his fists. "Then let them come."
The ground cracked beneath him. From the shadows, the old monks—the Keepers of Silence—emerged, their eyes glowing white, weapons drawn.Luthando's voice echoed one last time:
*"Don't trust the living. The dead remember more."*
And then—
The battle began.