Cillian stepped through the door, Flynn at his side, as the light behind them dimmed and faded into a somber forest. The air was dense, pressing against him like a vice, filled with a damp chill that made his skin prickle. The trees around them were unfamiliar—dark, gnarled, their branches intertwined like the web of an ancient spider. Each step on the uneven ground echoed in the unnatural silence.
Flynn’s ears perked, a low growl rumbling in his throat. Cillian’s enhanced vision picked out every jagged branch and shifting shadow. The forest watched them, as if aware of their presence. He adjusted the cestus on his hands, fingers flexing as he felt the latent power thrumming beneath his skin.
A sudden breeze carried a rustle that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. The forest stilled. Then, a voice drifted out, smooth as silk and cold as stone.
“So, the second son ventures where he shouldn’t.”
Cillian spun, searching for the source. From the edge of the dark trees, a figure emerged, his robes deep black, absorbing the dim light. He was tall and lean, with eyes that gleamed gold, and a cruel smile that seemed to know every secret Cillian ever kept.
“Who are you?” Cillian demanded, his voice steady despite the electric pulse of anxiety in his veins.
The figure inclined his head, an amused glint in his gaze. “Names are powerful, but you may call me the Shadow Man. I’ve been watching, as I always do. You and your brother are quite the spectacle.”
At the mention of Cormac, a sharp pang shot through Cillian’s chest. “Where is he? What have you done to him?”
The Shadow Man’s eyes flickered, and the forest seemed to darken around them. “Done? No, little warrior. I’ve merely observed. Your bond, forged by blood, carries the weight of an ancient power.” He stepped closer, his voice dipping to a conspiratorial whisper. “A power that acts as a beacon.”
“A beacon?” Cillian echoed, the word thick with foreboding. He thought of the strange energy he’d felt coursing through his veins, the way his body seemed to react to the system’s trials as if it knew something he didn’t.
The Shadow Man’s smile deepened. “Yes. A lure for others who seek dominion and strength.” He spread his hands, and the forest around them shifted, the ground itself trembling as if to illustrate his point. “You are not the only ones bound by this system, nor are you the strongest.”
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Flynn barked sharply, his eyes never leaving the stranger. The tension crackled between them, electric and raw.
“What do you want from me?” Cillian asked, muscles coiling as he prepared for any sudden movement.
The Shadow Man tilted his head. “Want? I am but a contributor to this tale, a voice in the dark where the system demands order. Your question should not be what I want, but what you are willing to become.” His golden eyes blazed as he leaned in. “Will you play the hero, or will you embrace what lies beneath the power you’ve inherited?”
The air thickened, and Cillian struggled to breathe. The world shifted again, and he found himself standing at the edge of a dark pool. The surface was mirror-like, reflecting the sky above where no sun shone, only a swirling gray mass.
The Shadow Man’s voice was now inside his head, clawing at his thoughts. “Your brother’s path will soon cross yours, but not before you make a choice. Will you be the hunter or the hunted?”
The pool shimmered, and in its depths, Cillian saw flashes of Cormac—eyes fierce, hands crackling with power as he fought against faceless enemies. The vision blurred, replaced by a grotesque figure, larger and more monstrous, with eyes that mirrored the Shadow Man’s gold. The image made Cillian’s pulse race.
“Enough!” he shouted, the roar tearing from his chest as the vision shattered and reality snapped back into place. The pool was gone, and Flynn’s concerned bark brought him back fully to the present. Cillian blinked, finding himself once more at the Singing Stones, their soft hum a familiar anchor.
Flynn nudged his leg, and Cillian knelt beside him, running a trembling hand over the dog’s fur. “It’s okay, boy. I’m here.” But even as he said it, doubt coiled in his gut. He glanced back at the stones, their runes now darkened, as if spent. The words of the Shadow Man gnawed at him: “Will you play the hero, or become something else?”
Cillian’s jaw tightened. The vision had left him more questions than answers, but he knew one thing with certainty: Cormac was alive, and he was in danger. Whatever trials awaited, they would face them together.
“Come on, Flynn,” he said, straightening with renewed resolve. The forest around them was still, but the silence no longer felt suffocating. It felt like a prelude to something larger, something that awaited just out of sight. “We have to find him.”
Flynn barked in agreement, his tail wagging as he fell into step beside Cillian. The journey was far from over, and the forest’s whispers hinted at trials yet unseen. But Cillian’s eyes gleamed with a mix of determination and defiance. He would not just survive this world; he would unravel its secrets, and he would bring Cormac back.
They moved deeper into the forest, the hum of the stones fading behind them as shadows danced along their path, echoing the promise of conflict and the whispers of an uncertain fate.