Lisa ended the night's lesson with her usual warning: "Enough for today, Sam. Remember—control, not power."
But Sam's heart was restless. When Lisa returned to the village, he often stayed behind in the clearing or climbed higher into the mountains, his wooden training sword in hand.
One evening, beneath a sky heavy with storm clouds, Sam moved through the fighting stances Alfred had once taught him. Each strike grew sharper, his footwork stronger. But in his chest, the shadows stirred, hungry to be unleashed.
"Just a little," he muttered, gripping his pendant. "No one will know."
The darkness answered. It spilled from him like liquid smoke, gathering and rising until it took the shape of a towering giant—a massive shadow that mirrored his movements. Sam gasped but did not stop. With both hands, he swung his sword.
The giant swung with him.
The strike split the air with a deafening roar. A shockwave tore through the clearing, rattling the very bones of the earth. The mountainside trembled as if an earthquake had struck, trees snapped like twigs, and above—impossibly—the clouds themselves were sliced apart, leaving a jagged scar in the sky.
Sam stumbled back, his heart hammering. "I… I did that?" His hands shook as the shadow giant dissolved into mist, vanishing as quickly as it had come.
The silence afterward was suffocating. Birds had fled, animals had gone still, and only the echo of his power remained.
Sam gripped his pendant tightly. Excitement burned in his chest—but so did fear. If anyone had seen this… if Lisa had been there…
He whispered to himself, almost trembling: "This power… it's not just for protecting, is it?"
Far away, hidden in the forest, unseen eyes watched the scar in the sky with dread. The world was about to remember the darkness it thought was gone forever.
Alfred moved quietly through the forest, his basket half-full of wild herbs. The night air was crisp, filled with the usual hum of insects. But then… it changed.
A shiver ran down his spine, cold and unnatural, as though the very air had teeth. His breath misted in front of him despite the summer heat. What… is this feeling?
Before he could take another step, a gale tore through the woods like a raging beast. Trees cracked and ripped from their roots, flung aside like straw. Alfred dug his boots into the soil, clutching his basket, but the wind struck harder and harder until it hurled him off his feet.
He slammed against the ground, gasping, the world spinning. When he opened his eyes, his heart nearly stopped.
The sky—no, the clouds—were split apart, cleaved down the middle as though some divine blade had carved through heaven itself. The forest was deathly silent, save for the distant echo of something that had been far too powerful to belong to mortals.
Alfred staggered to his feet, his body trembling. "This… what kind of power is this?" His voice cracked, swallowed by the heavy night. He had lived through wars, seen the terror of monsters, yet never had he felt a presence so suffocating, so absolute.
Driven by instinct, he pushed deeper into the forest, searching for the source. Branches snapped under his boots, his pulse loud in his ears. He expected to find some beast, some invading Elethel, maybe even a sorcerer of immense power.
Instead, he found only silence. And on the ground—half-buried in dirt and grass—lay a broken wooden sword.
Alfred knelt slowly, staring at it with disbelief. It was small, a child's practice blade, its splintered edge still humming faintly with a darkness that made his skin crawl.
His hand hovered above it, hesitant, as a terrible thought entered his mind. "A child… wielding this kind of power?"
For the first time in twenty years, Alfred felt fear that did not come from beasts or war—but from the unknown. He clutched the broken toy, eyes scanning the ruined forest, and whispered:
"Who are you, child?"
Alfred stared at the broken wooden sword in his calloused hands, the faint trace of dark energy still crawling along its edge. His gut twisted, his instincts screaming, but his years as a blacksmith and a soldier taught him one thing above all—patience.
He slipped the shard of wood into his coat and walked back toward the village, his mind heavy with questions he dared not speak aloud.
That evening, Lisa welcomed him back as she always did, setting his soup on the table with a gentle smile. She noticed the shadows beneath his eyes, the way his hand trembled slightly when he reached for the bowl.
"Long day?" she asked carefully.
Alfred only grunted, staring at the steaming broth. "The forest…" he muttered, then caught himself. He forced a chuckle. "The storm must have torn through it harder than I thought."
Lisa tilted her head, but said nothing more.
Later that night, Alfred stood at the doorway of Sam's small room. The boy slept soundly, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, his face peaceful, almost angelic.
Yet Alfred could not shake the image of the torn sky, the shattering wind, and the power that had nearly brought him to his knees. His gaze drifted to Sam's hands—small, unassuming. But in his pocket, the broken toy sword seemed to burn against his skin, as if whispering the truth he did not want to believe.
"...What are you, boy?" Alfred murmured under his breath.
But he said nothing to Lisa. Not yet. He would watch. He would wait. And when the truth revealed itself, he would be ready—whether to protect Sam… or to stop him.
It began quietly.
At first, whispers traveled between villages—rumors of shadows moving in the woods, livestock slaughtered in the night, travelers vanishing without a trace. Most dismissed it as wolves, or thieves, or fear running wild.
But Alfred knew better. The weight in the air felt the same as that night in the forest.
Then came the first true sign.
One evening, smoke rose in the distance. A neighboring village—gone, burned to ash. Survivors stumbled into Alfred's home, trembling, their eyes wide with terror. They spoke of twisted forms, eyes burning with hatred, voices like screeches tearing through the night.
"The Elethels…" one man sobbed. "They're back."
The words struck Alfred like a hammer. Twenty-two years had passed since the great battle, and the world had believed them defeated forever. But now, their return meant only one thing—war.
Lisa's face went pale when she heard the news. Her gaze flicked toward Sam, who was outside in the yard, sparring with his wooden sword, his strikes carrying a sharpness beyond his years. She clenched her fists, a storm of fear and determination raging inside her.
Sebrina's words echoed in her mind:"He must live at all cost… and use his powers to protect, not harm."
That night, as Sam slept, Lisa and Alfred sat across from each other by the fire. The flames danced between them, but neither spoke for a long time.
Finally, Alfred broke the silence, his voice low and heavy. "The Elethels… if they have returned, this land will drown in blood once more. Every able hand will be called to fight." His eyes narrowed, thoughtful. "And if they cannot be stopped this time… we will need more than ordinary power."
Lisa's heart raced, but she forced a steady smile. "We'll endure. We always do."
Alfred studied her carefully. For a moment, it seemed as though he might say more—might bring up the storm in the forest, the broken sword, the power that shook the heavens. But he only sipped his drink, his silence sharp as a blade.
Meanwhile, outside, the night grew restless. Dark clouds gathered above, blotting out the stars. From deep within the forest, faint howls rose—long, piercing, unnatural.
The Elethels had returned.
And somewhere in that darkness, unseen, something was watching Sam.
Sam unaware of the upcoming threat quietly sneak out of his room and went back in the mountain to practice he went deeper then the usual to completly hide his presence and to not do the same incident as the last time this time he only try to control his power.
The mountain was silent save for Sam's ragged breathing. His palms trembled as the shadows curled around his fingers, dancing like restless smoke. He remembered Lisa's words: "Darkness is not fixed—it is a mirror. Shape it, guide it, and it will answer."
So he tried. Again. And again.
Each time, the shadows fizzled, dispersing into nothingness. Sweat dripped from his brow, his lungs burned, but he refused to stop. His heart thumped with stubborn resolve. He would not fail.
Then, at last, it happened.
A spark flickered on his fingertip—not red, not orange, but a flame blacker than midnight. It did not hiss or crackle. It gave off no heat. No light. The world seemed to lean away from it, as if even reality feared its touch.
Sam's eyes widened. "I… I did it."
Cautiously, he pointed toward a boulder nearby, his pulse quickening. The black flame slithered from his hand, no louder than a whisper, and touched the rock.
The result was instant.
No explosion. No smoke. No dust. The boulder simply ceased to exist—swallowed whole, erased from the world as if it had never been there. Not even ashes remained.
Sam staggered back, staring at the empty space where solid stone had once stood. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his mind racing. "What… what is this power?"
The flame flickered once more in his hand before fading, leaving behind only silence. For the first time, a trace of fear seeped into Sam's determination. This was not just strength. This was something… unnatural. Something dangerous.
And far above him, hidden among the trees, a pair of glowing red eyes watched silently. The creature did not move, did not breathe too loudly—but it had seen enough. The boy's power was no longer a secret to the night.
The Elethels had found him.