Cursed Within
Volume 1 — Human Realm Arc
Chapter 4: Ashes of the Familiar
Winter had arrived in Ardevon with a cruel precision. The air was sharp, carrying the scent of smoke,
frost, and despair. Villagers wrapped themselves in ragged cloaks, huddled near dim fires, whispering
prayers to gods that had long forgotten them. Kiel Varren moved among them silently, observing,
calculating, storing. Each face, each gesture, each sign of fear or greed was data — and every lesson
would be carried into the next breath.
He returned to the small cabin that had been his refuge for nearly two years, only to find it empty.
The faint scent of soot and decay clung to the air. His mother's chestnut hair no longer brushed the
floorboards, her voice no longer whispered reprimands or distant warnings. His father's absence,
always present, was now complete.
A note, scrawled in hurried, jagged handwriting, lay on the floor.
"We tried. We failed. Forgive us."
Kiel read the words in silence, feeling nothing — and yet feeling everything. The bitter taste of
betrayal and abandonment cut deeper than hunger ever had. His family, the people he had clung to,
had tried and failed, leaving him alone once more in a world that had never promised safety.
The village was no longer merely cruel. It was a predator that had cornered him, stripped him of
attachments, and left him to endure. Every instinct in him screamed to flee, to vanish, to survive. And
so he did.
Snow covered the paths, and each step was a risk. Hunger gnawed at him like a living thing. Yet Kiel
moved carefully, silently, noting the patterns of movement among the villagers, the patrols of the
local enforcers, the way the frost cracked underfoot. Observation, he reminded himself. Survival
required patience. Pain required endurance.
Days passed. He scavenged food where he could, sometimes stealing scraps from the wealthiest
homes, sometimes risking frostbite for a handful of berries beneath the snow. Every choice carried
risk. Every risk carried knowledge. And every lesson etched itself into his mind.
It was in this crucible of cold and hunger that betrayal visited again.
A friend, or what Kiel had hoped was a friend, approached him in the woods. Lyren, a boy slightly
older than Kiel, had shared warmth, whispered secrets, and taught him the rare moments of trust.
Together, they had endured the cold, scavenged food, and shared fleeting moments of laughter — a
dangerous, fragile light.
"You shouldn't go out today," Lyren whispered, eyes wide. "The enforcers are looking for someone
who stole from the market. They'll punish anyone nearby."
Kiel's eyes narrowed. Patterns. Risk. Timing. Survival. He did not speak, only nodded slightly,
calculating the odds.
But Lyren's warning was a trap.
The enforcers were already waiting, hiding behind trees and ruined walls. The moment Kiel and Lyren
stepped into the clearing, they were surrounded. The boy's wide eyes met Kiel's. Panic. Fear. And the
painful realization of betrayal. Lyren had led them here, hoping for mercy that would never come.
Kiel moved instantly. His hands struck, not with hope, but with precision. He disarmed two of the
enforcers, twisted a wrist, and rolled into the shadows. The snow absorbed the faint sounds of
struggle. But he could not save Lyren. He tried. He reached out, but the boy was struck down, his life
extinguished by circumstances Kiel could not control.
Silence fell. The forest, once a sanctuary, became a graveyard of lessons. Kiel knelt in the snow,
pressed his hands to the frozen ground, feeling the cold seep into his bones. Pain. Loss. Betrayal.
Survival. He cataloged every sensation, every reaction, every failure.
That night, curled beneath the skeletal remains of an abandoned barn, Kiel allowed a flicker of
thought that he had denied for years: Why am I alive to witness this? Why must I endure when the
world offers only suffering?
A faint pulse stirred in his mind — the same presence he had felt since childhood. Not guiding, not
judging, simply observing. It pulsed in time with his questions, resonating faintly with a rhythm he
could not name.
Kiel closed his eyes, imagining the faces of those he had tried to save: the girl in the alley, Merek,
Lyren, even the small kitten he had once cared for. Each life ended, each bond broken, each attempt
at hope failing. He could feel the weight of all these endings pressing against his chest, and for the
first time, he allowed himself to wonder: Is there a way to end it?
No answer came. Only snow, only wind, only suffering.
But somewhere beneath it all, an ember glimmered — faint, fragile, yet undeniable. A thought that
would grow in every life he endured: the idea that perhaps, if he survived, if he endured, if he
observed and learned, he could understand suffering itself. Not merely survive it. Not merely bear it.
But see it, know it, and, one day, confront it.
And that ember would not die.
Kiel Varren, battered by betrayal, loneliness, and loss, pressed forward. Every step forward was a
rebellion against inevitability. Every breath was a defiance of the cruelty that surrounded him.
The world would continue to break others.
But he would endure.
And when he did, he would remember.
Because survival was not enough. Understanding, endurance, and observation these would be his
weapons.
And somewhere, in the quiet recesses of his mind, the first shadow of the promise stirred, unformed,
waiting for the day it would shape the fate of everything he had yet to endure.