Kael stood frozen in the courtyard, the relentless downpour soaking him through, his cloak hanging heavy with rain. Each breath felt jagged, like he was inhaling shards of ice. The metallic tang of blood clung to him, mixing with the earth beneath his boots, the bodies of the men he had slain lying motionless in the mud. His dagger, still clenched tightly in his hand, glistened darkly in the faint light of the flickering torches. The blade was colder now, heavy with an unseen weight, as though it had absorbed the blood it had spilled. The soft, eerie glow that had once traced its edge had vanished, but the sensation—the darkness—lingered in him, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.
He trembled. Not from the cold, but from the memory of what he had nearly done. Aric. His best friend. Kael had almost driven the dagger into his throat. The vision of Aric’s wide, startled eyes as the blade stopped mere inches from his skin haunted Kael’s every thought, filling him with a dread that wrapped itself tightly around his chest, suffocating him.
"Kael!" Lyra’s voice shattered the haze that had overtaken his mind. She knelt in front of him, her eyes wide with concern. Her rain-soaked hair clung to her face, strands of dark silk that contrasted sharply with her pale skin. "Kael, snap out of it!" Her grip on his shoulders was firm, almost too firm, as she shook him hard.
Her touch grounded him, pulling him back from the abyss that had been threatening to swallow him whole. The storm’s roar faded into the background as Kael’s world shrank to the circle of her gaze, the intensity in her eyes keeping him tethered to the here and now. He blinked, disoriented, as if waking from a nightmare. His breath came in shallow gasps, the air thick with rain and the scent of damp earth, blood, and iron.
"I… I didn’t mean..." Kael’s voice was hoarse, barely louder than a whisper. His eyes drifted down to his hands, still stained with blood. He couldn’t seem to let go of the dagger, no matter how much his fingers ached from gripping it.
"You didn’t mean to," Lyra said, her voice steady but gentle. "But you need to come back to us. Whatever that was, it wasn’t you." She squeezed his shoulder, her brow furrowing deeper with worry. "We need to figure this out before it happens again."
Kael’s gaze shifted to Aric, who stood just a few feet away. The shock of their near-deadly encounter lingered in his friend’s eyes, but Aric forced a small smile, his voice soft despite the tension. "You didn’t mean to, mate. We both know that." He wiped a hand across his face, smearing rain and mud across his cheek. "But we need to understand what’s happening to you. Before it happens again."
"I don’t know what’s happening," Kael muttered, shaking his head as if the motion could dislodge the fear clawing at his insides. "It’s like… like something else was inside me. I couldn’t control it."
Aric glanced at Lyra, his face pale under the torchlight. They exchanged a silent conversation—one that didn’t escape Kael’s notice. He could feel the questions in the air between them, the unspoken worry growing thicker by the second.
Before anyone could speak, the storm shifted.
The rain, which had been falling in a violent, unrelenting torrent, began to ease, the drops slowing to a soft, almost deliberate patter, as though the storm itself were holding its breath. The wind that had howled like a beast through the courtyard stilled to a whisper, leaving only the quiet tap of rain on stone. The night felt unnaturally still, heavy with a strange tension that made the air thick and oppressive.
Kael felt it first. A presence. Like something watching from just beyond the veil of shadows. His heart lurched in his chest, every instinct screaming at him to draw his dagger, to be ready for whatever was about to step out of the mist.
And then she appeared.
From the far corner of the courtyard, where the torchlight barely reached, a figure emerged from the swirling fog. At first, she was only a silhouette—tall, graceful, with the unmistakable poise of someone who commanded the very air around her. But as she stepped closer, into the light, Kael’s breath caught in his throat.
She was stunning. Otherworldly.
Her hair, raven-black and impossibly smooth, cascaded down her back like a waterfall of midnight, moving in gentle waves even though the air was still. It shimmered as if catching a light that no one else could see. Her eyes—green, vivid as emeralds, with flecks of lavender swirling within them—seemed to hold the very essence of the storm, like the sky after lightning strikes. There was something in those eyes that made Kael’s pulse quicken, something ancient and powerful, pulling him in.
Her skin was pale, flawless, untouched by the rain or the cold, as if she existed in a world apart from this one. She radiated beauty, but it was the kind that carried danger. Kael couldn’t tear his gaze away, and a strange, unsettling sensation stirred deep within him—a mixture of awe and dread.
"Who are you?" Lyra demanded, her voice sharp and commanding as she stepped in front of Kael, her hand flying to the hilt of her dagger. Her muscles tensed, every fiber of her being ready for a fight. "What do you want?"
The woman’s lips curled into a faint smile, a gesture as delicate as it was unsettling. She moved with an elegance that seemed almost unnatural, each step deliberate, as if the very ground bent to her will. "I have not come to take," she said, her voice soft yet rich, a sound that seemed to resonate within the deepest parts of Kael’s soul. "I have come to offer."
Her gaze settled on Kael, and the moment their eyes met, a shiver ran down his spine. There was recognition in those green and lavender eyes—recognition and something else. Something deeper, something that made Kael’s heart race in a way he couldn’t explain.
"I’ve been watching you, Kael Raventhorn," the woman said, her voice now a whisper carried on the soft breeze that had replaced the storm’s fury. "You carry the weight of an old world on your shoulders. The blood of gods runs through your veins."
Kael swallowed, his throat tight. The words rang in his ears, heavy with an ancient truth that terrified him. "Blood of gods?" he managed, his voice hoarse. "What are you talking about?"
Her smile deepened, a flicker of amusement in her ethereal eyes. "You are one of the last Godsblood Walkers, Kael. The power inside you is not of this world. It is the remnant of a time when gods walked the earth, and their blood—your blood—still holds their power."
"That’s impossible," Kael muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. His mind raced, trying to grasp the enormity of what she was saying. He had heard the legends, the tales of the Walkers who had wielded the power of gods, but they were just that—legends. "I’m just… I’m just me."
The woman’s gaze softened, a hint of sympathy in the tilt of her head. "We are never just ourselves, Kael. Not when the fates weave their threads around us. Your blood has chosen you, even if you have not yet chosen it."
Lyra’s grip on her dagger tightened, her voice a low growl. "What do you want from him?" she asked, stepping closer, her protective instincts flaring. "Why now?"
The woman’s eyes flicked to Lyra, and for a moment, she looked amused. "I want nothing from him," she said quietly, her tone calm yet edged with something unspoken. "But I have come to guide him. For the path ahead will destroy him if he walks it alone."
Kael felt his pulse quicken. He wanted to argue, to deny what she was saying, but deep down, he knew. He had felt the power inside him—the rage, the darkness. It had nearly consumed him, and if it happened again… he wasn’t sure if he would be able to pull himself back.
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"What do you mean, destroy me?" Kael asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The woman’s gaze returned to him, her eyes burning with an intensity that sent another shiver through him. "The power inside you is ancient, Kael. It was not meant for mortal hands. It will grow, and if you do not learn to control it, it will consume you. And everything you love."
A cold knot of fear twisted in Kael’s gut. He thought of his father, lying in a pool of his own blood. The message scrawled across the wall: You are next. He had thought it was meant for him, but now… what if it had been a warning? What if this power was the real threat, lurking inside him, waiting to tear everything apart?
The woman’s smile returned, but this time it was softer, almost kind. "There is a place," she said, her voice low and melodic. "A sanctuary, far from here, hidden in the heart of the Wyrdwood. It is where the gods’ blood once flowed freely, where their power still lingers. It is the only place where you can learn to control what is inside you."
Kael’s breath hitched. The Wyrdwood. He had heard of it—everyone had. The twisted, cursed forest that swallowed men whole. A place of darkness and ancient magic, where the trees themselves whispered secrets older than the world. It was a place of legend and terror, a place no one returned from.
"I’ve heard of the Wyrdwood," Kael said, his voice thick with dread. "It’s weeks—no, months away. And no one… no one survives the journey."
Kael stared at her, every muscle tense, his thoughts a chaotic swirl of doubt, anger, and grief. The smell of wet earth and blood clung to the air around him, pressing in from every side, but all he could think about were the miles—no, the months—it would take to reach the Wyrdwood. It was across the continent, beyond the familiar lands of Valewatch, far beyond anything he had ever known. The enormity of it weighed on him like a boulder.
For a moment, he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even think clearly. His father was dead, his home shattered, and now this strange, ethereal woman appeared, telling him to go on a journey that seemed impossible, a journey to the very edge of the world.
He clenched his fists, feeling the cool, slick mud between his fingers. The cold bit into his skin, but it was nothing compared to the storm raging inside him.
“I don’t—” he began, his voice faltering as his mind churned with questions. He wasn’t sure if he could trust her, if he should leave everything behind now when so much had already been torn apart. His father’s lifeless body was still burned into his mind. How could he leave? And yet... what other choice did he have? What other path was left?
The woman’s eyes never left him. There was no pity there, just a patient knowing, as though she had seen a hundred others stand in the same place, faced with the same impossible decision.
Lyra spoke up, her voice quieter now, filled with uncertainty. “Kael... how does she even know our names?” She turned to the woman, her expression a mixture of wariness and confusion. “Who are you?”
The woman smiled faintly, her lips curving in a way that suggested she knew far more than she let on. “I know much about you, Lyra of the Night Guild. I know what lies beneath the surface of your heart, the secrets you carry that even your closest companions cannot see. I know that this journey—though long—will be as much yours as it is his.”
Lyra took a step back, surprise flickering in her eyes. “How do you...?” She looked at Kael, then back at the woman, clearly shaken. The air between them felt charged, as if the woman’s knowledge had pulled at something deep inside her, something she had not yet confronted.
Kael’s thoughts returned to the woman’s command: The Wyrdwood.
It was across the continent, beyond Saltbrook, through the shifting sands of the Veil Dunes, even beyond Blackmoor.. It was a place of legend, a forest that devoured all who entered. There were stories, passed down in hushed whispers, of travelers who had wandered into the Wyrdwood and never returned. Of ancient creatures that prowled beneath its twisted branches. And worse, of old, forgotten powers that still lingered there, waiting.
His pulse quickened, the enormity of the journey settling over him like a thick, suffocating fog. This was no simple task. This was a quest that could take months—maybe years. He would be leaving everything behind. Valewatch, Aric, the Raventhorn name. He didn’t know if he was ready to do that, especially now, when his father’s murderer was still out there.
His eyes fell to the ground, where his father’s blood had been washed away by the rain. The image of his body, cold and lifeless, flashed again in his mind. The weight of grief pushed against his chest, threatening to crush him. He had failed him once... could he leave without finding justice?
And yet... the dagger in his hand still hummed with that strange, insistent energy, as if it knew something he didn’t. As if it was pulling him toward the Wyrdwood too, whispering of truths hidden far beyond the borders of his world.
But why me? he thought bitterly. Why should it be me?
The woman’s voice cut through the storm of his thoughts as a lavender pulse of light shot up her gnarled staff. “I do not ask lightly, Kael. I know what you carry, and I know the burden of the journey I place before you. But if you do not go... what you seek will remain hidden. And the darkness that took your father will spread.”
He looked up at her, his eyes hard, searching for any sign of deception. But there was none. Her beauty was undeniable, yes—her jet-black hair gleaming in the lantern light, her flawless skin radiant against the dark night—but there was an ancient power beneath that beauty, something deep and terrifying in its certainty.
Kael’s mouth felt dry. His thoughts were a tangled mess of doubt, fear, and the burning rage that had nearly consumed him earlier. He didn’t know what to believe. He didn’t know what was real anymore.
Can I even trust her?
He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. His throat tightened, and his gaze flickered between Lyra and the mysterious woman, then out to the rain-soaked courtyard where the mist still hung heavy and cold. He wanted to scream, to demand answers, to tear the world apart until he found whoever was responsible for this. But all he could do was stand there, his fists clenched, his chest heaving as the storm inside him swirled, chaotic and unresolved.
The woman seemed to sense his inner turmoil, her expression softening, though her voice remained calm. “The road ahead will be long and treacherous, Kael. There will be no easy path to follow. But if you wish to uncover the truth... if you wish to find the one responsible for your father’s death, this is where you must begin.”
Kael shook his head slowly, the enormity of it all crushing down on him. He could feel the weight of the decision pressing into his bones. He looked to Lyra, who seemed just as unsure, though her eyes held that same fiery determination he had always admired in her.
He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat refusing to ease. “And if I don’t go?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, a hollow echo in the cold night air.
The woman’s green eyes with their specks of lavender gleamed in the darkness. “Then the darkness will claim more than just your father.”
Her words cut deep, but they weren’t a threat. They were a warning—a truth he couldn’t deny.
Kael’s mind raced. He thought of the months it would take to reach the Wyrdwood, the dangers along the way, the uncertainty of it all. But more than that, he thought of his father, of the blood on the floor, the broken shell of the man who had raised him. Whoever had done this... whoever had stolen his life... would not stop at one.
A long, sharp breath escaped his lungs as the realization settled over him like a cloak. He knew what he had to do, but that didn’t make the decision any easier.
He didn’t say anything. His lips parted, but no sound came. Instead, he stood there, staring at the woman, at the broken remnants of his world, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on his shoulders. His heartbeat echoed in his ears, thudding like a war drum, his thoughts a blur of uncertainty and fear.
Lyra stepped forward, her voice soft but steady. “Kael, I don’t know if we can trust her.” She hesitated, glancing at the woman. “But it’s your choice.”
Kael nodded faintly, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. His chest felt tight, his throat raw. He wanted to scream, to curse the gods for putting him in this position. But all he could do was stand there, motionless, as the rain continued to fall around him.
The woman stepped closer, her presence overwhelming in the stillness of the night. She raised a hand, not to force him, but as though offering a silent promise. “You do not have to make this journey alone.”
And in that moment, something in Kael shifted. He wasn’t ready—not yet. But deep down, he knew the journey had already begun.
In the end, Kael didn’t say a word. His decision was made, but it was buried under layers of doubt and hesitation, waiting for the right moment to surface. The journey ahead would be long—longer than he had ever imagined. And the Wyrdwood, the place that held the answers he so desperately sought, was far beyond anything he had ever known. Across the continent, a journey of months, maybe years. But the path had been laid before him, and whether he wanted it or not, he had been chosen.
The woman’s eyes gleamed with an almost sad understanding, the lavender flecks swirling like stars in the night sky. "The choice is yours, Kael," she whispered, stepping back into the mist. "But know this: the storm is coming. And it will not wait."
Without another word, she turned and vanished into the mist, her raven-black hair blending with the shadows, her presence slipping away as quietly as it had come.
The storm had stilled, but the weight of her words hung heavy in the air. Kael stood there, soaked and trembling, staring into the darkness where she had disappeared, his mind racing. He didn’t know if he was ready. He didn’t know if he could face what was coming. And the thought of the journey ahead—the Wyrdwood—filled him with a fear unlike any he had ever known.
But as he looked down at his bloodstained hands, the weight of the dagger still hanging at his side, he knew one thing for certain: the storm inside him was far from over.