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🌒 ITS ME ARKIN PRESENTS
ARKIN: PATH OF DESPAIR
Genre: Dark Fantasy
> In a world painted with joy and light, despair always lurks in the shadows.
From that despair, kings of evil are born.
Arkin walks a tragic road where no hand reaches for him—only darkness accepts him.
As he surrenders to rage and grief, will he rise as a lord of evil, or be consumed by the abyss within?
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Chapter 1: Arkin's Path
The sun rose over the majestic city of Elandor, painting golden light across its marble walls and glittering spires. The streets pulsed with life—merchants shouting their offers, children laughing as they chased each other between the stalls, and the sweet aroma of freshly baked bread drifting from nearby taverns.
The nobles of Elandor lounged on balconies, sipping wine and toasting to their peace. Laughter, music, and joy filled the air, for this was a city blessed by the goddess Syrial, the Goddess of Blessings.
Yet even the brightest light casts shadows.
Beyond Elandor's shimmering walls stretched lands where no divine blessing reached—where hunger, monsters, and misery thrived.
To protect the realm, Syrial's chosen heroes trained in the Grand Academy, a towering fortress of magic and steel where the gifted were shaped into warriors. Within those walls, hopeful youths dreamed of glory, of wielding holy light to drive back the dark.
But far to the north, beyond the reach of that shining city, there lay a forgotten village—Nopheria.
It was a place where joy had long withered. Houses crumbled under broken roofs. Children wept from hunger. The air smelled of damp earth and hopelessness.
And there, in a small hut at the edge of the woods, lived a boy named Arkin.
He was no hero. No chosen one. Just a tired son trying to keep his mother and little sister alive after his father's death. His mother's cough echoed through the nights, his sister's tiny hands clutched at his sleeve, and his heart carried the weight of a family barely clinging to survival.
Each morning, Arkin ventured into the woods with a dull, chipped blade—his only weapon. He hunted rabbits, gathered herbs, and sold scraps in nearby villages, earning just enough to buy bread that never filled their stomachs.
Still, he refused to give up. If no hero comes to save us, he thought, then I'll become one myself.
But the world cared little for his resolve.
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One night, thunder cracked the sky open. Rain fell for three days straight, flooding the dirt paths and soaking the fields. Their food ran out, and his sister's fever rose. Arkin could no longer wait.
Clutching his dull blade, he stepped into the storm. His clothes clung to his skin as he waded through the muddy forest. Then, through the sound of rain, came a deep growl.
Two red eyes glowed in the darkness.
A beast—massive, snarling, its fangs gleaming in the stormlight. Arkin froze. His hands trembled. His legs refused to move.
No… not here, not now.
The creature lunged. Arkin screamed and swung wildly. By luck or desperation, his blade struck true. The beast howled and collapsed.
Rain mixed with blood, splattering across Arkin's face. He dropped the blade and fell to his knees, gasping, numb.
When the villagers found him, he was covered in crimson and barely breathing. They carried him home, praising him as a hero. That night, they roasted the beast's meat and feasted under the leaking roofs. Laughter filled the air for the first time in months.
His mother hugged him, crying tears of relief. "You did well, my son…"
Arkin smiled faintly. Maybe, he thought, maybe this was the beginning of change.
But fate is cruel.
When joy blooms, despair is never far behind.
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That night, as the villagers slept, shadows crept through the rain. The crackle of fire erupted. Screams followed.
Bandits.
They came without mercy—burning, looting, killing. Arkin woke to the sound of his sister's scream. He ran outside, only to see his village engulfed in flame.
A sword flashed. Pain exploded in his chest. He fell to the ground, choking on blood as the bandits laughed.
High above the hills, nobles feasted in their shining towers, sipping wine while another nameless village turned to ash.
Hours later, Arkin awoke among the ruins. Smoke filled the air, bodies lay strewn in the mud. His legs shook as he stumbled through the wreckage.
Then he saw them—his mother and sister, lifeless, their small home reduced to cinders.
The world shattered.
A scream tore through his throat, raw and endless. He clung to their bodies, sobbing until his voice broke.
By dawn, he buried them himself with trembling hands, whispering apologies into the dirt.
For days he wandered the ruins, empty-eyed, surviving on rainwater and scraps. Hunger gnawed at him. His tears dried, replaced by a silent, hollow stare.
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Meanwhile, within Elandor's radiant walls, another life thrived.
Erin, a young man blessed by Syrial, trained in the Academy. His swordsmanship was sharp, his magic strong, and his heart pure. "One day, I'll defeat the Demon Lord," he promised, his parents' proud smiles lighting his path.
His future was bright, his faith unshaken.
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One week later, Erin and his fellow students were sent north for their first monster hunt. Laughter filled the carriages as they traveled, unaware of what awaited them.
But when they reached the remains of Nopheria, all laughter died.
Ashes. Charred wood. Bones.
"What… what happened here?" one of the students whispered.
A teacher knelt, touching the blood-stained soil. "A raid," he murmured. "Bandits, maybe. Or worse."
They buried what was left of the villagers. Erin stood silently, guilt heavy in his chest. How can a world so blessed allow this to happen?
As they rested near the forest, he felt a strange pull—like someone calling from far below. But his teacher's voice broke the thought. "Come on, Erin. We're leaving."
He obeyed, though unease lingered in his heart.
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Deep beneath their feet, in the pit where no light reached, Arkin stirred. His lips cracked, his body weak, but his heart still beat.
Days had passed. Hunger had become pain, pain had become silence. Yet even as despair devoured him, something inside refused to die.
He whispered into the dark, "Someone… please…"
No one answered.
The last flicker of hope burned within his chest. Whether it would become his salvation—or the birth of something far darker—remained to be seen.
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Author: "ITS ME ARKIN"
💀 Creation is hard, motivate me with your votes!
Your boy Arkin signing out — let's see who's worthy of the next chapter 🔥
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