Morning mist clung to the narrow streets of the village, its stillness broken only by murmured voices. Fear had taken root in the hearts of the townsfolk after the previous night’s attack, and now all eyes turned toward Caelan.

As he walked through the village, he could feel the weight of their stares. Mothers pulled their children indoors as he passed, and men whispered in hushed tones, their gazes filled with unease and suspicion.

“They blame me…” Caelan thought, his fists clenching.

The attack had been swift and brutal. When the first screams pierced the quiet, Caelan had grabbed his twin blades and rushed toward the chaos. The monsters were unlike any he had seen before—larger, faster, their bodies glowing faintly with a crimson aura that seemed unnatural.

The villagers panicked, fleeing for their lives, but Caelan stood his ground. He knew he had no choice. When his strength alone proved insufficient, he reluctantly called upon the curse.

Dark markings crawled up his arm, spreading like wildfire. A surge of unnatural power coursed through him, sharpening his senses and enhancing his speed. With every swing of his blades, the monsters fell, but the darkness enveloping him grew heavier, more visible.

By the time the battle ended, the village was safe—but not unscathed. As the surviving townsfolk emerged from their hiding places, they didn’t just see the slain beasts. They saw the black tendrils of mana fading from Caelan’s arm and the feral gleam in his eyes.

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Now, as he walked the same streets he had protected, their whispers followed him like shadows.

“He’s cursed,” someone muttered.

“We can’t trust him,” said another.

“He’ll bring more monsters upon us.”

Caelan’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He had lived with this suspicion his whole life. He didn’t need their gratitude, but the hatred stung all the same.

His path led him to the edge of the village, where the elder and a small group of townsfolk waited. The elder’s expression was grim, his weathered face lined with concern.

“You saved us, Caelan,” the elder began, his voice steady but lacking warmth. “But the power you used… It’s unnatural. Dangerous.”

“I did what I had to do,” Caelan replied, his voice low. “Would you rather I let them die?”

The elder hesitated, but one of the villagers stepped forward, pointing an accusatory finger. “Those beasts came because of him! That power of his—it’s a curse! He’s the reason they attacked in the first place!”

The crowd murmured in agreement, and Caelan’s patience began to fray.

“That’s enough,” the elder said, raising a hand to silence them. He turned back to Caelan, his expression softening. “You’ve lived here your whole life, and for that, we owe you. But you must understand the fear you bring with you. For the safety of the village, I’m asking you to leave.”

Caelan’s heart sank, but he knew this day would come. He had always been an outsider, even among his own people.

“I see,” he said quietly, his voice void of emotion. “I’ll leave at first light.”

The elder nodded, relief flickering across his face. “It’s for the best. Take the provisions you need. And… may you find peace, wherever you go.”

As dawn broke over the horizon, Caelan stood at the village gate with nothing but a worn pack and his twin blades. He turned to take one last look at the place he had called home.

The streets were empty, save for a few faces peering from behind curtains. No farewells, no good wishes—only silence.

With a final glance, he adjusted the pack on his shoulders and stepped onto the dirt path leading away from the village.

“This isn’t the end,” he told himself. “If they don’t want me here, I’ll find my own path. And I’ll find out who did this to me.”