Chapter One – The Weakest Among Men
Kael Veyran staggered under the weight of his training sword, sweat streaming down his temples and soaking the cheap cloth of his tunic. Around him, the Ashen Guard recruits moved with effortless grace, blades singing through the air as they executed precise strikes. Kael's swings were clumsy, heavy, and painfully slow. Each misstep drew a snicker, a pointed comment, or a deliberate shove from someone stronger.
"Careful, Kael," one of the bigger boys sneered, spinning his sword in a flourish before planting it at Kael's chest. "Wouldn't want to drop your pride along with your sword."
Kael's face flushed scarlet. He wanted to shout back, to fight back, to prove them wrong—but the words lodged in his throat. His arms shook, the wooden sword nearly slipping from his grip. One misjudged step and he tumbled onto the dirt floor, the sound of his fall echoing across the courtyard like a punchline.
The laughter stung, and yet Kael refused to leave. Not today. He rose slowly, knees scraping against the rough ground, and planted his sword firmly.
"I… I'll get stronger," he muttered, voice low, almost to himself.
He had said it so many times, but never meant it with the fire that burned faintly now in his chest. Kael was weak. Everyone knew it. Even the commander, a grizzled man with more scars than teeth, had muttered once, "Veyran… some men are born to lead, some to follow, and some… to falter."
Kael had faltered all his life. Born sickly, small for his age, and clumsy, he had been a disappointment to his family and a joke to his peers. Magic, the lifeblood of Valdorian warriors, refused to flow through him. He had tried every known ritual, every exercise, every enchantment, and yet his blade remained dull, his body frail, and his spirit battered.
But something inside him refused to break.
The sun sank behind the jagged peaks surrounding the city of Valdoria, casting long shadows across the courtyard. Kael trudged home, exhausted, bruised, and humiliated. The streets were quiet, the hum of evening activity subdued. Families returned to warm hearths, merchants shuttered their stalls, and guardsmen patrolled with steady, practiced steps. Kael, by contrast, felt like he carried the weight of failure on his back.
He passed the old city gates, long abandoned after a plague had forced the northern quarter into ruin. The gates were overgrown, rusted hinges barely hanging on. Something about them always drew him in—the whispers of forgotten stories, the tales of power buried beneath the stones, the promise of something greater than this life of mediocrity.
Tonight, Kael's curiosity outweighed his fear. He slipped through the rusted gates, brushing past ivy that clawed at his sleeves. The air grew colder with each step, and a faint, golden light pulsed from beneath the cracks in the old stone floor.
He descended a narrow staircase into the ruins below, the sound of his own breathing the only thing breaking the silence. At the heart of the ruins lay a chamber, its walls etched with glowing runes that hummed softly. In the center floated a small, orb-like crystal, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Kael approached cautiously, heart hammering. "What… is this?" he whispered.
Before he could touch it, a voice echoed in his mind—not loud, not harsh, but commanding.
"Forsaken… chosen… awaken."
The crystal flared, and a surge of energy coursed through Kael like fire running through water. Pain tore through him, sharp and sudden, and then warmth—a strange, intoxicating warmth—spread from his chest to his limbs. His weak body trembled violently, muscles straining, bones aching, but he did not fall.
For the first time in his life, Kael felt… power.
It wasn't strength as he had known it, not the simple lifting of a sword or sparking of a spell. It was deeper. Older. Raw. Alive.
Images flooded his mind: mountains crumbling, storms raging, warriors with blades forged from starlight, dragons tearing across skies painted with fire. And at the center, a figure coiled in golden light, infinitely vast, waiting.
Kael collapsed to his knees, gasping. When he lifted his hands, a faint glow lingered, trailing like liquid fire along his palms. His sword, left forgotten on the stone floor, quivered and then floated into his grasp as if acknowledging him.
He staggered back, chest heaving. "I… I can feel it. Power…" he whispered, barely able to comprehend what had happened.
"Not yet mastered," the voice in his mind warned. "Grow… endure… or be consumed."
Kael's stomach churned. What did it mean? Could he control this? Could he even survive it?
The first test came before he could answer. A low rumble shook the chamber. Shadows pooled in the corners, forming jagged shapes that writhed like living smoke. Eyes of molten red appeared within the darkness, fixating on him. Creatures, born from some ancient curse, lunged with teeth and claws that glinted with malevolence.
Kael staggered back, heart pounding, muscles screaming. He had no training for this. He had never fought a real enemy in his life. He was weak. And yet… something deep inside told him he could not fall here.
Instinct—not knowledge—took over. He raised his trembling hands, palms glowing with the light that now coursed through him. A pulse of energy shot outward, blasting the creatures back. Smoke and shadow hissed and writhed, recoiling from the radiant force.
Kael gasped, feeling the raw power crackle in his veins. "I… I did it," he breathed, voice shaky, almost disbelieving.
The creatures recoiled, regrouping for another attack, but Kael felt something shift inside him. Where fear had ruled before, determination now burned. He could grow stronger. He had to.
For hours—or perhaps minutes, time had no meaning in that chamber—Kael fought. Each strike of light, each surge of power, drained him and yet made him stronger, teaching him in ways books and masters never could. By the time he collapsed on the cold stone floor, dawn's first light pierced the ruins, and he knew, with certainty, that he was no longer the boy who trembled at a wooden sword.
He was changed. He was no longer weak.
Walking home, battered and trembling but alive, Kael felt a spark of hope he had never known. Every bruise, every failure, every sneer he had endured now seemed like fuel, igniting a fire that would not be quenched. He had tasted power—and he would not let it slip away.
He glanced at the city skyline, smoke rising from the chimneys, banners waving from the castle walls. The world outside was the same as always, yet he was no longer the same. Kael clenched his fists, determination blazing in his eyes.
"I will rise," he whispered to himself, voice steady, firm. "I will not be the weakest. I will become… stronger than anyone can imagine."
And with that promise, the journey from frailty to true strength began.
END OF CHAPTER 1
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