Coker woke with sweat on his face and a pressure in his chest. Not pain — not anymore. Just pressure, like something pressing outward, waiting to be let out. Waiting for him to stop pretending.
The morning sky over Vaelgard was dull, gray, and heavy. Clouds drifted slow, like they were afraid to move too fast. The village was quiet. Unusually quiet.
He washed his face in the cold water bucket by the door. His hands shook a little.
"You're not crazy," he whispered to himself. "You're just… changing."
From the small table, Mina looked up, chewing a piece of dry bread. Her hair was messy. She was always up before him.
"You okay?" she asked.
Coker nodded too quickly. "Yeah. Fine."
She tilted her head. "You had another dream, huh?"
He didn't answer. Just grabbed the other piece of bread and walked outside.
---
The village felt different. People weren't just avoiding him now. They were scared. He felt it. Their eyes. Their whispers. Mothers pulling their children away. Old men pretending not to see him.
He passed by the well and heard one of the elders murmur, "That's the boy the shrine spoke to."
Coker kept walking.
His legs carried him without plan, without aim. But somehow, they brought him back to the broken shrine. Of course they did.
The stones didn't move this time. No voice called out. No glowing eye opened. But still, he felt it.
The pressure.
The heat inside him.
He sat down cross-legged in front of the wall and closed his eyes.
"I know you're still in there," he said softly.
Nothing.
"I'm not scared of you. Not anymore."
Still silence.
He reached inside himself. Not with magic. Just with thought. With breath. With whatever it was that had been waking up inside him.
And something answered.
Not in words — in feelings. Fire. Movement. Power. Hunger.
The stone in front of him cracked. Just a hairline. But it was enough.
The pressure in his chest surged.
Suddenly, a gust of wind hit the shrine from behind, knocking over a wooden post. Birds flew up from nearby trees. The sky dimmed, just for a moment.
Then it all went quiet again.
Coker stood up.
"You're listening," he whispered.
He didn't know who he was talking to.
But something was listening.
---
He returned to the village with dirt on his clothes and a fire in his eyes.
Drell was waiting near the training grounds. His red cloak fluttered lightly in the wind. Beside him stood two older students — both had already passed their combat trials.
"You're not supposed to be here," Drell said.
Coker shrugged. "Didn't know you were the gatekeeper now."
One of the older boys stepped forward. "Drell says you're cursed."
Coker looked at him. "You always listen to loudmouths?"
The boy clenched his fist. Fire flickered around his knuckles.
Coker didn't move. "Go ahead. Hit me. See what happens."
The fire wavered.
The boy hesitated.
Then stepped back.
Drell narrowed his eyes. "What did that wall give you?"
Coker smiled. "Something you'll never have."
He walked past them. No one followed.
---
That night, the stars were hidden behind thick clouds.
Mina was asleep on the floor beside a weak fire. Their father's old cloak covered her like a blanket. She still held a wooden doll in her arms. One Coker carved for her last winter.
He watched her for a moment. She was the only part of him that felt real.
Then he stepped outside.
The wind howled. The trees whispered.
He followed the pull. Not with his eyes — with his bones.
It led him beyond the fields. Past the ridge. Into the old woods.
There, deep in the shadows, he found it.
An old circle of stone. Hidden by vines. Covered in moss.
It pulsed.
His chest responded.
He stepped into the circle.
And the world shifted.
---
Flames rose from the stones.
Not burning. Not hot.
Just… alive.
A voice spoke, not male or female, not loud or soft. Just there.
**"You've come, Devourer."**
Coker swallowed. "Stop calling me that."
**"It is your name."**
"No," he said. "My name is Coker."
The flames shifted. Formed shapes. Faces. Memories.
He saw his mother — the way she smiled when she brushed his hair.
He saw Mina — her tears when their father didn't return.
He saw himself — small, weak, unwanted.
And then he saw the throne.
Made of bones.
Waiting.
**"You were born to end this world,"** the voice said. **"Or to remake it."**
Coker's fists clenched. "I don't want to be your weapon."
**"Then be your own."**
The flames surged.
The sky cracked.
His eyes burned.
And in that moment, something inside him broke — and reformed.
Not a power.
A truth.
He wasn't like them.
He never was.
And he never would be.
When the flames died down, he stood alone in the circle.
But not empty.
The fire was in him now.
Listening.
Waiting.
And for the first time…
He was ready to answer.