The road lay before Kiaran, curved like a serpent slinking away from the rumps of his childhood. Behind him, the village trailed behind as a vague outline against the sky, lost in the darkening horizon. Every step took Kiaran further from the only home he'd ever really known, pressing heavy against his chest with determination and a cocktail of whispering fear that left him taking one step forward into the unknown.
Outside the village, a hugely wide landscape lay in wait, promising so much and holding even greater danger. The deeper he penetrated into that expanse, the pine fragrance filled his nostrils, like a shroud. Before him stood the forest, its mighty trees reaching for the sky in keeping a guard over secrets long since forgotten. Their gnarled branches swayed fitfully in the breeze, casting distorted shadows on the forest floor where sunlight flickered through the canopy above: light and darkness moving into an entrancing dance. And yet even among these peaceful silences, there lingered shadows - remnants of despair clung to the edges of his mind, haunting him with memories he could not escape.
But then Kiaran went further into the woods and the villager's scornful gaze stayed with him, a bad taste in his mouth. The words the man had hurled at him stank in his ears, kept there by cold drafts of the cost of weakness: "Cursed boy, you'll never amount to anything." Could he rise above this curse? This thought slashes at him, blending with images of his parents—her laughter now a cacophonous silence; his father's embracing hold now a mere whisper. He still felt their teachings in his heart compelling him to remember the value balance between strength and morality even as he pursued power for himself.
Hours crept by as Kiaran pushed through the rough landscape, shrubbery snagging at his clothes. The forest was denser; perhaps he figured he was being enveloped in a cocoon of green and brown, swallowed whole. The air became heavier with noises from the wildlife within it changing to creepy silence. Just when despair had clawed out over to claim him, he stumbled out of that claustrophobic undergrowth into bright lights of an apparently bustling town.
The market was a cacophony of sounds-vendors and porters hawking their wares, children laughing and playing, buzzing hum like a swarm of bees as life and death vibrated and pulsed, a crisscross of life heightened around him in direct contradiction to the emptiness he had left behind. It was here Kiaran hoped to forge his own destiny but aware in a sharply defined moment that the weight of his past still lingered.
As he strolled about town, drinking in the sights and sounds, Kiaran experienced a heady conflation of wonder and fear. Passing by colorful stalls offering exotic wares—silks from distant lands, glimmering trinkets, and fruits that shimmered like gems—he couldn't help but be captivated by this place. But it was diverted by warriors who were gathered around a half-made arena, their bodies shining with sweat as they clashed with each other. The heartbeats of Kiaran sounded like every clash of the sword, a war call, a rhythm. This was where strength stayed and weakness is cast off. Here, power will reign, and strength will rule.
Kiaran drew closer and saw, among the warriors, a tall figure standing Alaric Thorn-a seasoned fighter known by his frightening power and reputation preceding his name. Alaric was a living legend; the tales of victory fought on battlefields were in every tavern in the realm, and Kiaran barely believed he was standing before such greatness. Alaric finished off his opponent in one flow of action; it was a dance of strength and prowess which left the crowds dumbfounded as the roar of approval rose like thunder all around them.
As he walked out from the field after the match, Kiaran was already coming forward, beating hard with excitement and uncertainty. "Excuse me," he whispered, his voice hardly audible. Steadying himself with a deep breath, he continued, "I need some guidance. I want to join the guild."
Alaric's piercing stare snagged on him, examining him warily with a tinge of curiosity. "The guild?" he mused aloud; his deep, resonant voice laced with an unspoken weight. "Many seek its power, but few truly understand the price they pay for it. Why do you want to join?
Kiaran hesitated, the weight of his purpose resting heavily on his shoulders. "I have lost everything. I want to reclaim my life and be strong enough to never feel powerless again." The admission hung there, raw and vulnerable.
A flicker of understanding crossed Alaric's face. "Strength comes with sacrifice, young one. But first, you must prove your worth. Are you ready to face the trials ahead?"
Just as Kiaran was about to respond, a voice interrupted them. "Power isn't the only thing that awaits you in the guild," a woman interjected, stepping out of the shadows like a specter from a dream. Her presence was captivating: but there was an air of mystery surrounding her that garnered mystery. She was Selene Faraine, renowned for her cunning intellect and enigmatic nature. "It's also a web of deceit and ambition. Choose wisely, Kiaran Voss."
The weight of her words hung in the air like a thick fog, and Kiaran felt his spine prickling with a chill. He glanced at Alaric, then at Selene, sensing the crackle of tension in the air between them. "What are you saying?" he asked for clarity, his pulse pounding.
Selene sneered, her gaze glinting with a combination of amusement and caution, a predator sizing up its prey. "The guild has its own agenda," she said. "They'll offer you power, but what's it worth? Those who climb too quickly find themselves tumbling just as fast." Her voice dripped with foreboding; a warning etched into every syllable.
Kiaran felt a surge of resolve welling within him, as though a spent flame had been newly ignited. "I want that risk," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I cannot remain impotent for another moment longer." The words were strange and yet freedom-giving, as if they would become the pronouncement of his future.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
He studied her for so long that she's surprised when he nodded, the flash of approval that flared in her eyes. Then prove yourself, Kiaran. There are people in this town who will try your mettle before you ever get to the guild. Show them what you can do-and maybe you'll earn the right to approach them.
And then, in the twinkling of an eye, Kiaran caught his breath, and the spark inside him went up into a raging flame of purpose. "What is it that I need to do?
She nodded in the direction of a small group of villagers gathered at a nearby stall, whose faces were etched with lines from struggles and hardships. "They need relief. A horrible creature has been terrorizing their livestock. If you are able to scare that beast away, they will think they owe you one, but more importantly, you will prove yourself worthy of this guild.".
Without a moment's hesitation, Kiaran nodded, determination coursing through him like a storm. He was not going to let this chance pass him by. He turned to Alaric. "Will you help me prepare?"
Alaric grinned, his eyes flashing with pride. "You've got balls, kid. Let's get you ready." And in these words, was threaded a weird mix of admiration and challenge, a promise that Kiaran wouldn't go in alone.
And when Kiaran and the strangers approached the villagers, he felt the weight of their gazes upon him. This was judgment and hope and despair all mixed in an overpowering wave. This could be his chance to prove himself—to show that he was more than a cursed boy wandering in darkness. He had a future to lay claim to.
The villagers had worried faces, etched with lines and sleepless nights, flickers of hope shining in their eyes as they turned towards the stranger. An old man, stooped with age and burden, stepped forward, his voice trembling but firm. "The beast comes at dusk, born from nightmares. He has taken our sheep, bringing blood and terror behind him. If you can save our livestock, you have our thanks.".
Kiaran felt the weight of their expectations settle upon him, and still, he couldn't yield. He swallowed hard; his stomach knotted. "I'll face the beast," he promised them, though doubt clawed at the edges of his mind. This was a task that seemed almost impossible, yet failure was not an option.
Alaric placed a reassuring hand on Kiaran's shoulder. "Remember, strength does not just come from skill, but from your will to persevere. Trust in your instincts, and you'll find a way around.".
As the sun put on its final show in the horizon, painting it orange then crimson, Kiaran steeled himself for this encounter. He walked across the fields where the last sighting of the beast by the villagers had been reported-thick tension hung in the damp earthy scents. The sun gave way to night, which deepened the shadows.
The silence of the landscape was oppressive-an eerie calm that caused him to shiver in his skin. Even the crickets fell quiet, and even the wind held its breath, as if waiting. Then he heard it. A low growl rumbled through the air like thunder and sent shivers down his spine. It echoed in the stillness, growing louder, closer.
There, shape loomed out of darkness; vast as water balloon bursting in midair, eyes glinting like a beast with a hunger that was feral. Kiaran had never seen such a beast: grotesque enough to be a fusion of fur and scales, horns twisted from its skull. Sharp teeth glistened in the fading light, gleaming cruelly, a pose of a killing thing.
Kiaran's heart basted
as he tightened his grip on the crude sword Alaric had given him. The thing felt unnatural in his hands, a mere piece of metal against the monster before him. This was it—the moment that would define him.
The beast lunged, a blur of motion and rage. Kiaran barely had time to react, instinctively sidestepping as it careened past him, the bulk of it so massive that it nearly knocked him off his feet. He felt the heat of its breath as it turned, eyes fixed on him with primal fury.
Focus!" Alaric's voice resonated within his mind. Kiaran took a deep breath and steeled himself for the next attack, not wanting to let fear overtake him. With war cry, he launched himself forward and charged in a slice of his raised sword.
They clashed in claws and steel, a tornado of lashing fur and striking arms. Kiaran struck with all his might, aiming for vulnerable spots, but the beast's hide seemed to absorb the force of his blows like water off a duck's back. The beast hit back with a swipe of its paw, sending Kiaran tumbling to the earth. Pain shafted through his side, but he gritted his teeth, forcing himself back to his feet.
There would be nothing but dead. He thought of the faces of the villagers he could see in his vision: hopeful, desperate. He could not and would not let them down. Not now when he had the chance not to screw it up like he himself had screwed up.
Summoning all the energy he was capable of, Kiaran continued on, adrenaline shooting through his veins. He dodged the creature's next blow, rolling out of its trajectory and up behind it. With swift motion, he plunged the sword into the creature's flank, the blade crunching into flesh and sinew.
The beast howled; a raw sound filled with pain. Raw, the howl echoed through the night. Kiaran felt a rush of triumph but short-lived as the creature whirled around, its eyes afire with fury. This time, he attacked it more animalistic and desperate.
In a flash of instinct, Kiaran dodged and swung again this time targeting the throat. The blade sliced into him cutting through the muscles and tendons. The beast stumbled back, letting out a growling bellow before falling in a heap to thrash for a few moments before going still.
Kiaran, breathless, gazed at the creature before him as he lay there at his feet. Elation and horror swirled within him, threatening to overwhelm. He had faced death and emerged triumphant, but at what cost? This was the price of power, he reminded himself of the darkness invariably found within, even within the greatest of beings.
As the villagers cautiously began to move towards him, their faces shining in a mix of awe and incredulity, Kiaran felt his gratitude overflow upon himself. They had witnessed the fight, struggled within, and at that moment, he had a glimpse of what it was to be strong. That once brutish boy who walked in darkness was no longer cursed but forged his path through blood and courage.
Alaric stepped forward out of the darkness, a triumphant smile on his face as he gazed out upon the landscape. "Well done, Kiaran. The guild will take heed."
Kiaran's hopes swelled within his chest, but he was aware in the back of his mind of Selene's warning. There was a price to be paid for power, and he had only yet begun to learn.
As he stood among the villagers, celebrating with them their safety finally found, Kiaran felt that familiar gaze upon him once again-the fleeting figure cloaked in darkness, watching from the edges of the forest. It was a constant reminder that danger lurked around every corner and that this path was fraught with uncertainty.
However, Kiaran stepped aside as he brushed off the feel. Only just the beginning. He emerged from the ashes of his past, cutting through the mist that covered him. He wanted to become a power to be feared, and nothing would be his obstacle.
With renewed determination, Kiaran Voss steeled himself to face all that the future might bring. The guild and the power he sought lay right before him; he would not rest until he took his place.