The sky above the ruined village had darkened unnaturally, as though night had descended early. Clouds churned in slow spirals, crackling faintly with arcs of violet lightning. The masked leader stood in the open square, his aura pressing outward like a crushing tide. The two lesser figures flanked him, their movements sharp and wolf-like, their shadows stretching unnaturally across the cobblestones.
The protagonist adjusted his stance, feet planted wide, one hand gripping the sword's hilt while the other hovered close to the crystal pouch. The relic's warmth had not faded—it pulsed like a heartbeat, steady and deliberate, as if waiting for his call.
Behind him, the girl huddled near the rubble, eyes wide and luminous in the gloom. She hugged her doll as though it could shield her from the gathering storm. Her presence anchored him, reminding him that his battle was not only for himself but for those who could not fight.
The leader raised an arm, and the ground itself responded. Tendrils of shadow slithered like serpents, converging on the protagonist in a sudden lunge. He leapt sideways, barely evading their grasp. His boots skidded over loose stones, sparks scattering from the friction.
Too close… they're faster now.
He countered with a slash of his sword, the golden flame at its edge burning away the shadow tendrils with a hiss. The embers flickered, weak but steady, feeding on his will. He knew he couldn't rely on brute strength alone; he needed to think.
The second masked figure darted forward, its body bending unnaturally as it lashed out with claws made of condensed darkness. The attack whistled past his cheek as he twisted his body, parrying with the flat of his blade. A shiver ran through his arm—the force behind the blow was immense.
Before he could counterstrike, the third figure lunged low, attempting to sweep his legs. He pivoted and brought his knee up sharply, knocking the creature back. Dust rose as it skidded across the broken street, hissing like a feral beast.
The leader chuckled, the sound low and hollow."You wield the relic well… for a novice. But you cannot grasp its true nature."
The protagonist's eyes narrowed. "I don't need to understand it fully. I only need to use it to protect."
In answer, the leader raised both arms. The clouds above churned faster, and a column of black fire erupted from the ground at the center of the square. The heat from it was unlike normal flame—cold, biting, gnawing at the edges of his resolve.
So that's their source of power… he realized. The Flame of Origins had a counterpart, a twisted fragment of it—one the masked figure commanded.
As the black fire spread like cracks in shattered glass, he planted his feet and let his senses open wider, seeking the ley lines beneath the earth. He felt them humming faintly, threads of ancient energy winding through the stones of the ruined village. He focused on the resonance between those lines and the crystal in his pouch.
The relic pulsed in answer.
A warmth spread from his core, seeping into his arms, into the blade. This time the flame that emerged was not merely golden but streaked with a faint crimson hue. It burned brighter, hotter, as if the earth itself had answered his call.
The masked leader's posture shifted—tense, wary.
Good. It was the first sign that the enemy could be unsettled.
He struck forward with renewed vigor. His sword carved a blazing arc through the first wave of shadows, scattering them like ash in the wind. The two lesser figures rushed him together, but he met their strikes with precision. Sparks flew where claw met steel, and each parry sent tremors of energy along the ley lines.
He realized he was not only fighting—he was learning. The crystal wasn't just lending him power; it was teaching him how to shape it.
The leader slammed a palm against the ground, sending a pulse of black energy rippling outward. The shockwave cracked the stones, throwing him off balance. A tendril whipped around his ankle, trying to drag him toward the growing column of black fire.
He gritted his teeth, plunging the sword into the ground for leverage. Flames erupted from the blade, searing through the tendril, freeing him just in time. The effort left his chest heaving, but he didn't retreat.
"I see it now," he said aloud, voice steady despite the strain. "This village was a seal… wasn't it? You burned it to break the protection around the relic."
The masked leader tilted its head slightly, as if impressed. "Clever. But too late."
The ground beneath the column of black fire split further, revealing a jagged rift glowing with molten light. The energy rising from it was chaotic, ancient, and hungry.
The girl gasped from her hiding place. "Make it stop!"
He didn't turn—he couldn't afford to—but her voice reached him, grounding his resolve. He clenched the sword tighter, feeling the relic's warmth surge again in response to his determination.
"I won't let it devour this place," he vowed.
Summoning the flame once more, he plunged the sword tip-first into the ground. This time he didn't simply strike—he guided the energy downward, willing the ley lines to respond. The earth trembled, and a radiant pattern spread across the square like glowing veins of light.
The shadows recoiled where the pattern reached, hissing as if burned. The masked leader hissed as well, its posture breaking for the first time.
"You… you're attuning to it already…" it snarled.
The protagonist's reply was a quiet, firm whisper: "This power isn't yours to claim."
A final surge of energy burst from the ley lines, meeting the black fire head-on. The two forces clashed, light against shadow, filling the square with a storm of embers and ash. The lesser figures shrieked as the blast forced them back, their forms flickering.
The leader, however, merely stood still, its eyes glowing faintly behind the mask."This is only the beginning," it said, before fading into the retreating shadows as if it had never been there.
The rift closed slowly as the energy dissipated. The square fell silent, save for the ragged breathing of the protagonist and the soft sobs of the girl.
He pulled his sword free and sheathed it, then turned to her. She still hugged her doll tightly, but her eyes were fixed on him with something like awe.
"Are… are they gone?" she asked hesitantly.
"For now," he replied. His voice was weary but calm. "But they'll be back. We need to move before they return."
He looked down at the relic in his hand, its faint glow steady and unwavering. He knew now that it was more than just a fragment of an ancient flame. It was a key—one that the masked ones would never stop hunting.
And in his heart, he realized that his journey had only just begun.