A heavy stillness blanketed Rayne’s small home. Once alive with warmth and laughter, the wooden structure now stood cold and lifeless, its usual glow extinguished. The night pressed down, oppressive and silent, as if the world held its breath.

Rayne’s father approached the house, his boots crunching softly on the dirt path. A tall man, his broad shoulders carried the weight of years spent felling trees and providing for his family. Tonight, that weight felt different, heavier. His work gloves dangled from one hand, his rough fingers flexing absently as unease curled in his chest.

At the door, he stopped. This moment was usually a comfort: the door swinging open to the scent of his wife’s cooking, his daughter’s laughter ringing out, her small feet rushing to greet him.

But tonight, there was nothing.

No light spilling from the windows. No hum of life within. Only silence.

A chill ran up his spine, prickling the back of his neck. Something was wrong.

His hand hovered over the door handle. He hesitated, his breath hitching. The air felt heavy, thick with tension. Swallowing hard, he gripped the handle and pushed the door open. The hinges groaned, the sound unnaturally loud. Shadows swallowed the room beyond. The faint aroma of stew lingered, stale and robbed of its usual warmth.

“Rayne?” His voice was gruff, edged with unease.

Silence.

He stepped inside, his boots creaking against the wooden floor. His sharp eyes scanned the room. Her toys lay scattered on the rug. A storybook sat open on the table, its pages bent as if abandoned mid-sentence.

But the house felt wrong. Familiar spaces seemed distorted, stripped of the life they should hold. An oppressive void had replaced the warmth of home.

“Hart, darling?” he called again, louder this time.

Nothing.

A sharp, metallic tang tickled his nose, sickly and wrong. His stomach twisted. The unease in his chest bloomed into dread, visceral and unrelenting. He turned toward the window, his pulse pounding. Beyond the glass, the faint outlines of the town glimmered against the moonlight. The school lay close, just a short walk down the dirt path. Rayne’s excited voice echoed in his memory. She had told him about staying late for a trip at school, her bright eyes shining with anticipation. He smiled and nodded at her, never imagining it would lead to this.

Realization struck like a thunderclap. He bolted for the door.

The dirt road stretched out, bathed in cold moonlight. Tree shadows clawed at the path, warped and menacing. The wind whipped against his face, carrying an eerie stillness that amplified every snap of a branch.

He ran harder, his legs burning with exertion. Images of Rayne flooded his thoughts, her laughter, her small hand in his, the way she tilted her head when asking endless questions.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice raw.

“Let her be safe.”

But dread pressed heavier with every step, a suffocating certainty that he was already too late. The school came into view. Its silhouette stood stark against the bright pale moonlight.

And then he saw them.

Armed soldiers flanked the gates, their polished rifles gleaming under the streetlamps, the Veritas emblem marked their uniforms, a jarring presence in the small town.

Rayne’s father slowed, his chest heaving, as he approached the gate. A soldier stepped forward, raising a hand.

“Sir, the school is off-limits. Investigations are ongoing. Return to your residence.”

He stared at the soldier, his dark eyes narrowing. His voice dropped, cold and commanding.

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“Move.”

The soldier stiffened but held his ground.

“For your safety, I must insist-”

An unseen force struck him mid-sentence. He flew back, slamming into the iron gate with a resounding clang. The other soldiers froze, their rifles trembling in their hands.

Rayne’s father stepped forward, his presence towering.

“Where is my wife? And my daughter?”

The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances. One finally spoke, his voice wavering.

“We…we’re not authorized to answer that.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. He took another step, his voice a low growl.

“You have three seconds to step aside. I won’t ask again.”

They hesitated. Then, one by one, they lowered their weapons and stepped aside.

He stormed through the gates, crossing the courtyard in long, purposeful strides. Teachers bustled about, their faces pale, clutching papers and supplies. They moved with frantic urgency, but none dared approach him.

He shoved the double doors open, the sound echoing down the hall. His sharp gaze swept the room, landing on his wife.

She lay on a cot in the corner, her chest rising and falling in slow, unnatural breaths. Wires and tubes snaked around her, machines whirring softly. Relief and dread warred within him.

A teacher stepped forward, her hands trembling.

“Sir, your wife is unharmed. She and the other parents were placed in a dream state to keep them calm during these…circumstances.”

His eyes burned into hers.

“What circumstances? Where is my daughter?”

The room fell silent. Finally, the teacher lowered her gaze.

“She was on the trip to Krenkol…when it began.”

His breath hitched. His fists clenched. Without another word, he turned and strode from the room.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting its eerie light over the town. His eyes locked onto the path ahead, his steps quick and resolute. Krenkol. The name burned in his mind like a brand.

He didn’t know what awaited him there, but it didn’t matter. He would find Rayne. No matter what.

As Rayne's father steps beyond the school’s iron gates, the night air engulfs him, cold and heavy with an unnatural stillness. He pauses, his boots rooted to the cobblestones of Barnard as if the weight of the world bears down on his broad shoulders. Behind him, the faint whispers of worried teachers fade into the distance, leaving only the oppressive silence of the night.

He tilts his head back, his eyes closing as he draws a deep, deliberate breath. The air is thick, laden with dread, but he exhales slowly, steadying himself. In the stillness, his voice cuts through the night like a blade:

"I, Oathwielder, call upon the essence of the gods from beyond. Aid me once more."

The words hang in the air, resonating with an otherworldly echo.

The atmosphere shifts. A faint breeze stirs the dust at his feet, its gentle caress quickly building into a powerful current that ripples through the empty streets. Sparks, small, flickering embers of blue, begin to dance around his hands, crackling softly at first, then growing brighter and more violent.

The townsfolk, peeking timidly from behind shuttered windows and doorframes, step back in awe and fear. The ground beneath him trembles as the energy gathers, a low rumble that feels alive.

Then, like the shattering of fragile glass, the air around him explodes outward with a sharp, piercing crack. Blue chains, searing and radiant, burst forth from the void. They wrap around his arms, binding him in a blazing coil of divine energy. The chains groan and spark as they pull taut, their light casting jagged, flickering shadows across the cobblestone street.

Gripping the chains with both hands, his fingers tighten, the veins in his forearms bulging as his muscles strain. The earth beneath him splits in thin, jagged fractures, the cobblestones grinding and groaning under the force.

With a roar that reverberates through the night, he yanks the chains. They resist, crackling furiously, but he doesn’t falter. His boots dig into the fractured ground as the chains snap with an earsplitting crack, their shattered remnants dissolving into streams of glowing light.

The streams swirl chaotically around him, a cyclone of radiant energy. They seep into his body, fusing with him, the power surging through his veins like liquid fire. His chest heaves as his breathing steadies, his voice low and resolute.

image [https://i.postimg.cc/GhQKwHzq/OIG1-1.png]

"Grant me the power to reach my daughter."

For a moment, the world stands still. The wind dies, the trembling earth calms and the silence returns as if the very night holds its breath.

And then, it happens.

A blinding light erupts from his body, enveloping him in a brilliant blue aura. The glow surges outward like wildfire, illuminating the darkened streets of Barnard in an ethereal radiance. His form flickers wildly, unstable at first, and the flames around him lick at the ground and scorch the cobblestones where he stands.

Then the energy condenses, tightening into a fierce, blazing corona of blue light. The force is palpable, pressing outward with a deafening crackle as the ground beneath him chars and crumbles.

With a thunderous boom, he launches into the sky. The shockwave ripples outward, shaking the town to its core, and the brilliant azure streak he leaves behind momentarily bathes Barnard in a breathtaking glow. The townsfolk shield their eyes, peering through gaps in their fingers at the streak of light as it arcs across the heavens, unwavering in its trajectory. It races toward the town of Krenkol, waiting for him like a maw that consumes all that enters.