The air around the mountain grew heavy. Sam felt it before he saw them—the stillness, the wrongness.
Then, from the shadows between the trees, they came.
Three Elethels emerged, their bodies tall and twisted, skin like shifting smoke, eyes burning crimson. Their movements were silent, fluid, like nightmares given form.
Sam froze for a heartbeat. He had only heard stories—tales of the Elethels who nearly destroyed humanity decades ago. He never imagined facing one.
But they didn't hesitate.
The first lunged forward, claws slicing through the air. Sam barely rolled aside, the blow carving a deep scar into the stone where he had stood. He felt the shockwave rattle through his bones.
He tried to counter with a strike of darkness, but the creature slipped through it, its form bending unnaturally, reforming behind him. A second Elethel pounced, snarling, its arm stretching like liquid shadow. Sam twisted, blocking it with a shield of black mist, but the impact threw him back into the dirt.
"Too fast…" he muttered, panting, his heartbeat thundering in his ears.
The third creature hissed, its voice like grinding metal. "You reek… of forbidden power."
Sam gritted his teeth. "Get away from me!"
He unleashed a burst of energy, a shockwave of shadow pushing them back—but only for a moment. The Elethels recovered instantly, circling him like predators, their crimson eyes glowing brighter in the dark. Each strike grew fiercer, sharper, more desperate to end him.
Sam's arms burned, his power slipping from his control. His mind screamed at him to run, but something deeper, something darker, pushed him to stand his ground.
The black flame flickered again in his hand.
Just a spark. But it pulsed with something ancient, something deadly.
The nearest Elethel lunged one final time—its claws aimed for his throat. Sam reacted on instinct. The flame burst forth, swallowing the creature whole.
For a moment, the mountain was silent again. Then the creature… vanished. No smoke. No ashes. Nothing remained.
The other two froze, their crimson eyes wide with something close to fear. One hissed sharply and melted into the shadows, retreating into the forest. The other lingered for a moment longer, staring at Sam as if memorizing him, before following its kin.
Sam fell to his knees, his hands shaking, his breath ragged. The air smelled like rain and fear. He looked down at his hand, where the black flame still flickered faintly.
"I… killed it," he whispered. "But… what am I becoming?"
And somewhere, deep in the forest, a voice carried through the wind—a whisper among the Elethels:
"The heir of darkness has awakened."
The forest was silent, save for the whisper of dying wind. The two surviving Elethels moved like shadows between the trees, their forms flickering, dissolving, and reappearing as they fled deeper into the wastelands beyond the mountain.
They ran until the air grew thick with corruption—until even the ground beneath their feet began to rot. The trees here were no longer alive; their bark was blackened, their roots twisted into shapes that defied reason.
At the heart of this blighted land stood a colossal throne carved from bone and molten stone. And on it sat him.
The air warped around his presence, reality itself bending beneath the weight of his aura. His body was massive, easily towering over any creature. Two horns curved like blades from his skull, and from his forehead gleamed a third eye—unblinking, burning crimson. Every breath he exhaled melted the stone at his feet.
The master of the Elethels—Veyrath, the Devourer of Realms.
The two Elethels fell to their knees, their smoky forms trembling. The corrupted air crackled as Veyrath's voice rumbled through the cavern like thunder, low and sharp enough to rattle bones.
"You return without victory…" he growled, his third eye narrowing. "Explain."
One of them, shaking, managed to speak. "My lord… we found him. The one who carries the dark flame."
Veyrath's clawed hand paused midair. For a moment, the entire chamber fell silent. "Dark flame?" he repeated, his tone dark with curiosity.
"Yes, my lord," the creature hissed. "He wields power unlike anything since the Great War. One of us was… erased. Not slain—erased."
A slow, terrible smile crept across Veyrath's monstrous face. The red light in his eyes pulsed like a heartbeat.
"So… the child of shadow lives."
His aura surged, the air turning molten, dripping from the walls like wax. One of the Elethels screamed as its body began to dissolve under the heat.
"Find him," Veyrath commanded, his voice shaking the ground. "Bring me the boy… alive if you can, dead if you must. His power belongs to me."
The surviving Elethel bowed low, trembling, before vanishing into smoke.
As the echo of its departure faded, Veyrath's third eye turned upward, staring through the cavern ceiling toward the distant stars.
"The world grows soft in its peace," he murmured, his grin widening. "It is time they remember fear."
The earth trembled beneath his laughter—a deep, monstrous sound that rolled across the land like a storm.
Far away, under the pale moonlight, Sam's pendant pulsed faintly on his chest, as if answering the beast's call.
The night had grown deep by the time Sam stumbled back through the forest path. His clothes were torn, streaked with dirt and soot, and his hands still trembled faintly. Every step echoed in his mind — the sound of claws, the hiss of that dying Elethel, the nothingness that followed.
He kept replaying the moment over and over — the black flame, the silence after, and the emptiness where a monster had once stood.
When the soft glow of the village lamps came into view, Sam exhaled shakily, trying to steady his heartbeat. He couldn't let Lisa or Alfred know. Not yet Alfred hey'll see me as a monster, he thought. Just like that creature said… forbidden power.
He slipped in quietly through the back door of the forge. The scent of iron and smoke filled the air — familiar, grounding. Inside, Lisa was sitting by the fire, her hands clasped together, waiting. The moment she heard the door creak, she looked up sharply.
"Sam!" she gasped, rising to her feet. "Where have you been? It's past midnight!"
Sam froze. For a heartbeat, he considered telling her everything. The truth pressed against his chest, burning to be spoken — but fear held him silent.
"I just… went to train," he said finally, forcing a small smile. "Didn't want to wake you."
Lisa frowned. She stepped closer, her eyes scanning his bruised arms and torn sleeves. "You're hurt."
"It's nothing," he replied too quickly. "I tripped on the rocks. That's all."
She didn't look convinced, but after a long pause, she sighed and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You shouldn't push yourself so hard, Sam. Your power… it's not something to play with. Promise me you'll be careful."
"I promise," he said quietly.
As Lisa went to fetch bandages, Sam caught a glimpse of himself in the window — his reflection faint under the flicker of firelight. For a moment, his eyes glowed faintly crimson before fading back to normal.
He turned away, gripping the pendant around his neck. It pulsed once — a faint, almost sorrowful rhythm.
Outside, the wind carried a distant, guttural echo. Something ancient had stirred — and it was calling his name.
Meanwhile, from the shadows beyond the village, Alfred stood near the edge of the forest, staring at the faint scar on the mountain where clouds had been split apart days ago. He clenched his fist.
"I don't know what you're hiding, boy…" he murmured. "But the world is changing again — and when it does, no secret stays buried for long."
The next morning, sunlight spilled gently over the quiet village. After a sleepless night of worry, Lisa decided to visit the market — hoping a few fresh ingredients might clear her mind.
The cobblestone streets were alive with chatter — merchants shouting prices, children laughing, and the soft tunes of minstrels drifting through the air. Lisa smiled faintly, weaving between the stalls, choosing herbs and vegetables for supper.
Then, a sound caught her ear.
A haunting melody — slow, ancient, played on a wooden flute. It came from a corner of the market, where a small crowd had gathered around an old man in tattered robes. His hair was white as snow, his eyes hidden under the shadow of his hood.
He wasn't selling anything. He was telling a story.
Lisa paused, drawn in by the calm rhythm of his voice.
"…And so," the old man said, his tone like wind through ruins, "the world was saved not by light, but by the child of shadow. A being who bore the forbidden flame — the power to erase all things. Gods feared him, demons envied him, and mortals forgot him."
The crowd murmured in awe. Children leaned forward eagerly. But Lisa's blood ran cold. The power to erase all things…
She took a hesitant step closer.
The old man continued, "They say he disappeared after the Great Unmaking, taking his curse with him. But one day, when balance shatters again, his blood will rise once more — the Heir of Darkness shall awaken, and with him, the world's fate will be decided anew."
Lisa's heart pounded. The story sounded too familiar. Too precise.
When the crowd began to disperse, she hurried toward the old man. "Wait! That story — the child of shadow — who was he? Where did you hear of him?"
The old man turned slightly, revealing one pale, misty eye. For a brief second, Lisa thought she saw a faint mark glowing on his forehead — a symbol like a black flame.
He smiled faintly. "Legends are only forgotten truths, child. And truth… has a habit of returning."
Before she could speak again, a gust of wind swept through the street, scattering dust and petals into the air. Lisa shielded her eyes — and when she looked again, the old man was gone.
Vanished into the crowd, leaving not even footprints behind.
Lisa stood frozen, clutching her basket to her chest. "The Heir of Darkness…" she whispered. "Could Sam…?"
A chill ran down her spine.
Somewhere far above the marketplace, dark clouds began to gather again — faint at first, then slowly thickening, as if the heavens themselves had heard that ancient name spoken aloud.