Later that evening, the village was quiet. Lanterns flickered in the windows, and the smell of warm bread drifted through the air. Inside Alfred's home, Lisa prepared dinner, unaware that Sam's mind was miles away.
He sat by the window, staring out at the dark horizon. His fingers kept brushing the pendant around his neck — the only link to his mother, and now, maybe to the voice.
That whisper from the mountains wouldn't leave him. It echoed in his mind, smooth and cold:
| "You cannot hide forever…"
Sam clenched his fists. Why only me? he thought. Why can I hear it? What is it?
The pendant pulsed faintly under his touch, almost like a heartbeat. Sam's brows furrowed. It felt… alive.
"Is it you?" he whispered to the stone. "Are you the one talking to me?"
No answer — just silence. But deep inside, he felt something shift, like the faint stirring of an unseen presence.
He stood and slipped quietly out of the house, careful not to wake Lisa or Alfred. The night air was cool and heavy. He made his way back to the training ground at the mountain's edge, his determination hardening with each step.
"I'll figure this out," he murmured under his breath. "No more guessing. I need to know who — or what — is calling me."
When he reached the clearing, he knelt in the center, placing his hands on the cold earth. Closing his eyes, he focused — just as Lisa had taught him — slowing his breathing, reaching for the core of his power.
The darkness stirred, coiling around him like smoke, wrapping his arms and shoulders. He didn't fight it this time; he let it rise.
"Who are you?" he whispered. "Show yourself."
The world fell silent. Even the wind stopped. For a moment, there was nothing — then a low, rumbling voice filled his head, closer than before:
"Seek the place where shadow and light meet… and you will find me."
Sam's eyes shot open, heart hammering. He whipped his head around, scanning the empty clearing. Nothing. Only the echo of that impossible voice in his mind.
"Where shadow and light meet…?" he muttered. "What does that even mean?"
But even as confusion swirled inside him, a fierce resolve burned brighter. This wasn't just a curse. This was a path.
For the first time, Sam wasn't afraid of the voice. He wanted answers — and he was ready to chase them.
Days passed in restless silence. The whispers of the mysterious voice haunted Sam's thoughts, echoing every time he closed his eyes. "Seek the place where shadow and light meet…"
He needed to understand what it meant.
So, after his daily chores with Alfred and the usual lessons with Lisa, Sam began sneaking away to the old village church — a grand, timeworn structure that stood at the edge of the settlement. Its bell tower was cracked, and ivy had swallowed most of its walls, but beneath it lay the village library, one of the oldest buildings still standing since the Great War.
Inside, rows of dusty tomes lined the shelves. Candles flickered faintly, casting shadows that danced like spirits across the walls.
Sam spent hours — then days — pouring over every book he could find. Stories of gods and demons, myths about forbidden lands, scriptures about divine relics and lost temples. But no matter how deep he searched, he found nothing that matched the words of the voice.
"Where shadow and light meet…" he muttered, flipping another page. "There has to be something…"
His hands were smudged with ink, his eyes heavy from sleepless nights. Even the priest who tended the library started watching him curiously, whispering that the boy was possessed by curiosity — or perhaps by something darker.
But Sam didn't care. Every night he left the church empty-handed, and every morning he returned stronger, more focused.
He refused to let frustration consume him. Between his hours of research, he trained — refining his control, honing his senses, mastering the dark aura that once raged out of control.
He practiced blending light and shadow together — focusing until the darkness grew calm and cold, no longer wild. Sometimes he even tried to recreate the mysterious black flame, but now it flickered steady, obedient to his will.
Still, no matter how much he improved, the voice never spoke again. It was as if it was watching, waiting for him to find the next piece of the puzzle.
One evening, as the sun dipped behind the mountains, Sam sat alone in the church pew, exhausted. The fading light streamed through the stained glass, scattering colors across the floor — a dance of light and shadow that caught his attention.
He stared at it, his heartbeat quickening.
"Light and shadow…" he whispered.
It was right there — the moment when both touched but neither consumed the other. Could that be what the voice meant?
His hand instinctively brushed the pendant around his neck — and for a brief second, it glowed faintly, reacting to the colored light.
Sam stood abruptly. "So it reacts to balance… not darkness alone."
For the first time in days, a faint smile crossed his face. He was getting closer. The answers existed — and he would find them, no matter what.
Late that night, the church was silent. The candles had burned down to stubs, and the wind outside whispered through broken windows. Sam sat in the pew, the moonlight shining faintly through the stained glass — scattering colors across the floor once more.
His eyes followed the beams of light, watching how they merged with the shadows at a certain angle, forming strange shapes on the stone tiles. Then, something caught his attention.
Beneath the altar, where light and darkness touched, the shadow formed a perfect circle.
Sam frowned. "That wasn't there before…"
He stood and stepped closer, brushing away the dust. As he did, he felt a faint vibration through the floor — almost like a heartbeat. The pendant around his neck pulsed softly in response.
Following instinct, Sam pressed his hand against the circular mark. For a moment, nothing happened — then the stone beneath his palm shifted with a grinding sound.
"Whoa—" he stumbled back as the altar slid aside, revealing a spiral staircase leading deep underground. A cold draft of air rose from below — ancient, stale, and heavy with forgotten power.
Sam's eyes widened. "A passage… hidden all this time?"
Without hesitation, he grabbed a candle and began his descent. Each step creaked under his weight, echoing into the darkness below. The air grew colder, thicker, and he could feel the faint hum of energy surrounding him — the same energy that lived in his veins.
After what felt like forever, he reached the bottom. The passage opened into a massive stone chamber. Pillars rose from the floor to a ceiling lost in shadows, and ancient murals lined the walls — scenes of battles between radiant beings and creatures of darkness.
Sam walked closer, running his fingers across the carvings. One mural stopped him cold — it showed a figure wreathed in black fire, standing between gods and demons, alone.
His breath hitched. The figure's silhouette was eerily familiar — a boy with a pendant just like his.
He whispered, "That's… me?"
Before he could think further, the pendant around his neck began to glow — brighter than ever. The floor beneath him trembled, and faint whispers filled the chamber, echoing from every direction.
| "You have come… child of dusk."
Sam froze. The same voice. The same cold tone from before — but now, stronger, clearer.
He looked around, trying to find its source. "Who are you!? Why do you keep calling me that?"
The air shimmered. At the far end of the chamber, a massive stone gate slowly opened, releasing a wave of black mist. Within it, faint eyes gleamed — watching him.
| "You carry the mark of the first shadow," the voice said. "And the world will soon remember what it tried to forget."
The mist began to swirl, forming shapes — ghostly figures of warriors, chained by light. The murals seemed to come alive, replaying ancient battles in silence.
Sam stumbled back, overwhelmed by the vision, the whispers, the weight of it all.
| "Find me, where the veil of worlds grows thin," the voice whispered again. "Before they find you."
Then — silence. The glow faded. The mist retreated, leaving only Sam standing in the ruins, trembling.
He looked at the mural one last time, at the shadowed figure standing alone between gods and demons, and whispered to himself,
"…What am I?"
The chamber was silent once more, the echoes of the voice fading into the cold air. Sam's heart pounded as he stared at the mural — the carved figure of the shadowed man still faintly glowing.
Then, a low rumble shook the ground.
The stone figure's hand — the same one holding a faintly carved object — began to move. Cracks of black light spread across its surface, and a faint object slipped free, tumbling to the floor with a dull thud.
A scroll.
Ancient, sealed with a strange dark symbol that pulsed in rhythm with Sam's own heartbeat.
Sam hesitated. Every instinct screamed don't touch it — yet something deep within him pulled him forward, as if the scroll itself was calling his name.
He crouched slowly, extending his hand. The moment his fingers brushed its surface—
Agony.
A searing pain exploded in his chest, forcing him to his knees. It felt as though his very soul was being torn apart. His vision blurred, the world spinning as black lightning arced across his skin.
"Ah—!" Sam gasped, clutching his chest. The pendant around his neck flared violently, trying to shield him, but the scroll's power pushed back — raw, ancient, relentless.
The pain grew sharper, deeper, like something clawing into his heart. His blood felt like it was boiling. But even through the agony, one thought anchored him — I can't give up. Not now.
Gritting his teeth, Sam forced himself to reach again. "You won't… stop me," he growled.
He closed his eyes and reached inward — into the darkness he had learned to control. The air around him thickened, shadows swirling like a storm. He let the darkness rise, not in rage, but in focus.
Black tendrils erupted from his arm, wrapping around the scroll to shield his hand. The energy from both collided — light and shadow clashing violently, sending shockwaves through the chamber.
The ground cracked. The torches lining the walls flickered out.
Then — silence.
Sam opened his eyes, gasping for air. The pain was gone, replaced by a cold numbness spreading through his veins. The scroll now rested in his palm, faintly glowing with a dark red symbol — one that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat.
He stared at it, trembling. "I… I did it."
The moment he spoke, faint whispers leaked from the scroll — countless voices speaking in an ancient tongue. They weren't hostile… but they weren't kind either.
Sam swallowed hard, clutching it tighter. "What are you hiding?"
Suddenly, symbols began to burn across the scroll's seal — not letters, but a mark. One Sam had seen before — in his mother's pendant.
His eyes widened. "Mother…?"
Before he could open it, the chamber shook again, this time violently. Dust and stone rained from above. Somewhere in the shadows, the ancient door began to close, grinding loudly as if sealing itself.
Sam looked at the exit — then at the scroll. He didn't have time to think. He tucked it under his cloak and sprinted up the staircase, just as the floor behind him began to collapse.
By the time he emerged into the church, gasping for breath, dawn was breaking. The first rays of sunlight hit the stained glass once more — reflecting off the scroll's seal.
The two energies — light and shadow — shimmered together for a brief moment before fading.
Sam looked down at the scroll in his hands. Whatever it was, it held the truth he had been chasing. But as his heart still throbbed faintly in pain, one thing became clear. That truth would come at a price.