The sun was setting.
The horizon of the sky was painted in crimson,
like a curtain stained with blood, fading into twilight.
The last golden rays filtered through the branches of the trees,
illuminating the earth,
slowly surrendering to the darkness.
The wind howled within the forest,
making the leaves whisper and tremble.
Beneath a great tree, Noa leaned against its trunk.
His face had turned pale, his lips dry,
his bloodied and exhausted body was growing colder.
What a torturous path lay behind him:
the battle with Elyan and the two soldiers,
blood and death.
And now—he was alone.
Breathing was agony.
Each inhale pierced him like a knife driven into his chest.
His hands were soaked in blood,
beneath his nails still lingered red traces.
He tried to close his eyes,
but the sharp pain would not allow it.
"Why… am I still alive?" he muttered, his voice breaking.
He did not know to whom this question was directed.
To the sky?
To the tree?
Or perhaps to himself,
lost deep within a heart that could no longer answer.
Another question lingered inside him:
why had no power awakened?
The bloodline?
The might of the dragon's kin?
Nothing.
He only felt pain—
human pain.
His bleeding wounds would not heal,
his strength would not return.
"Who am I?" he thought.
"A mere mortal body?
Or a toy in the hands of fate?"
From the depths of the forest came strange sounds.
The birds had long since fallen silent,
replaced by unknown whispers.
Between the branches, something shifted—
a fleeting shadow appeared,
then vanished again.
Noa pressed harder against the trunk,
fighting to remain conscious.
Blood streamed from his hand,
seeping into the bark of the tree.
Then, from afar, came the noise of men.
The glow of torches cut through the night.
The shouting of soldiers drew ever nearer.
"Find him!"
The command echoed through the forest.
"He cannot escape!" another voice cried.
Noa narrowed his eyes,
struggling to steady his breath.
He knew: if they found him like this,
everything would end.
Yet he lacked the strength to flee.
Every step would bring him closer to death.
And then—
within him—
a whisper:
"…on the path of blood… continue…"
Noa nearly fainted.
His vision blurred,
branches and stars seemed to merge together.
He pressed his head back against the tree,
summoning the last of his strength not to fall.
He looked skyward.
The stars were visible,
their cold light seemed to whisper:
you are alone.
Memories flickered before his eyes.
His father carrying him on his shoulders
through these same forest paths.
His mother pressing him to her heart, saying,
"Crying is not weakness, Noa.
Crying cleanses the soul."
His brother holding his hand firmly,
vowing,
"I will never abandon you."
Noa's lips moved.
"You all… liars…
you all… left me…"
A tear streaked down,
blood mingling with it.
Yet this time,
he wept.
It was not weakness.
It was the return of the past—
of tragedy.
The soldiers' footsteps grew louder,
torches consuming the forest's darkness.
Noa lay against the tree,
drenched in blood,
staring into the stars.
Only one thought echoed in his mind:
Even if I die… this world will not know peace…
Then, once more, came the whisper:
"…awaken…"
Noa forced his eyes open.
For a moment, it all felt like a dream—
Elyan's throat torn apart,
the soldiers' screams,
the fear in Lilia's eyes…
But when he looked at the dried blood on his hands,
he knew—
it was no dream.
He tried to breathe deeply,
but pain tore through his chest,
his veins stretched taut like strings.
The agony was unbearable;
he gripped the tree tighter to keep from collapsing.
Blood dripped from his fingers,
soaking into the bark.
From the distance, voices grew clearer.
"Hold the torches higher!
He hasn't gone far!"
"There's blood! This way!"
Noa's heart raced.
He could not run.
But he could not accept death either.
Again, the whisper:
"…the way is opened with blood…"
He clutched his ears, shaking his head.
"No! That is not me!
Do not speak to me!" he growled.
But the voice did not fall silent.
It echoed from every drop of his blood.
More memories surged before him:
his father's laughter,
his mother's loving gaze,
his brother's promise never to leave.
These memories crushed him.
He asked himself:
"Why… did you abandon me?..
Why am I the one who lives?.."
The evening wind rustled the leaves,
casting shifting shadows over him.
And then—
he felt it.
His heart beat strangely.
As if another heart was inside him,
pounding faster and faster.
"…awaken…"
"…you are the chosen one…"
Noa closed his eyes.
Tears, laced with blood, ran down his cheeks.
His body trembled,
growing cold.
Suddenly, black birds took flight from the treetops.
Their wings clattered like iron,
merging with the soldiers' noise
to form a savage symphony.
The torchlight drew dangerously near.
"There he is!" shouted one soldier.
"By the tree!"
Noa tried to rise,
but his strength failed.
His knees buckled,
he collapsed to the ground.
Looking up,
the stars blurred into haze.
Even if you die… this world will not know peace…
The words tore through his soul.
His eyes slowly closed.
But then—
from his chest spread a burning warmth.
At first it felt like pain,
then gradually,
like fire awakening within him.
The soldiers' steps grew louder,
the torchlight engulfing the tree.
Noa's lips trembled, whispering:
"I… am not finished yet…"
Yet beneath the tree, he lost consciousness.
His sight dimmed,
his breath faltered.
And still, the whisper lingered:
"…awaken… choose the path of blood…"
But this time, Noa did not resist.
His strength drained away,
his body collapsed to the earth.
He gazed one last time at the stars,
and whispered faintly:
"I… am finished…"
At that instant,
something descended from above—
a shadow cutting through the branches.
A fierce wind shook the tree.
In the blink of an eye,
a figure stood beside him—
a young man cloaked in black,
his face hidden in shadow.
The soldiers rushed in, torches high.
"There he is! He's here!" they shouted.
But as they neared the tree,
the cloaked figure raised his hand.
A storm of darkness erupted,
snuffing out every torch.
The forest drowned in night,
and the soldiers cried out in panic.
"What happened?!"
"The torches are out!"
In the dark,
only a cold, steady voice was heard:
"He does not belong to you."
A crash resounded.
One soldier was hurled into a tree.
Another fell before raising his blade.
A third tried to scream,
but a black hand smothered his mouth,
silencing him.
Within moments,
the forest was still again.
Only the wind stirred the leaves,
and the broken groans of the fallen.
The cloaked man—Rion—returned to Noa.
He knelt, gazing at his battered, bloodied face.
The streaks of tears mixed with blood
pierced even his hardened heart.
"Even in this state, you live…" he murmured.
"Then it is true—you are the one."
Rion lifted Noa gently.
The boy's body, drenched in blood,
felt like a weight of ice upon his shoulder.
Step by step,
he carried him into the darkness.
Behind them,
the soldiers relit their torches.
Horror seized them at the sight of their fallen comrades.
"What was that?.."
"Someone slaughtered us…
That boy could not have done this!"
But Noa was already gone.
And so Noa was carried into the shadows,
his fate uncertain,
his path—written in blood yet unfinished.
But what do you think will happen next?
Will Noa awaken to the power within him,
or will the darkness consume him first?
Leave your thoughts, your voices, your comments.
Every word shapes the journey.
Save this tale to your library—
for the story of blood and destiny is only beginning.