For the first few days after he escaped, Aric wandered through the dense, shadowed forest outside the cultists’ cave. Each step felt heavier than the last, but he welcomed the distraction of movement, anything to keep his mind occupied. The forest was unnaturally quiet, broken only by his own footsteps and the occasional whisper of wind threading through the canopy.
The voice was a constant companion, an unwelcome presence threading through his thoughts.
"What were you hoping to achieve in there?" it asked, cold and probing.
“I needed to understand what they’re doing—how they’re drawing on the Wyrd like that,” Aric replied, his voice hoarse from lack of rest. He hadn't stopped moving since he’d left the cave, using the journey to distract himself from the festering energy within.
The voice scoffed, an almost sardonic edge to it. "Understanding is earned, not stolen. You forced yourself into the current without any foundation. Now you’re paying the price.”
Aric bit back a retort, his frustration mounting. Every mile he traveled was a battle to keep the Wyrd energy from overtaking him. It wasn’t an issue of his mind giving way; his body itself felt wrong. The power he’d absorbed was corrosive, eating away at his vitality with every heartbeat, but his mind remained disturbingly clear.
Days passed in this way, each night heavier than the last. He’d sit by his campfire, staring into the flames as the weight in his chest grew and pulsed like a living thing. Shadows danced around him, and even in their movements, he saw traces of the dark energy coiling within him. The sensation of the Wyrd’s presence was unyielding, like tendrils wrapping around his heart.
“Do you regret it yet?” the voice asked one evening, breaking a silence that had stretched for hours.
“Regret?” Aric murmured, his eyes fixed on the flames. “I knew there’d be a cost, but I thought I’d have time to learn to control it.”
The voice softened, almost pitying. "Control? You wield a power that cares nothing for control, nothing for restraint. It devours, it consumes. You’re merely the latest fool to believe he could tame it."
“Then why give me guidance at all?” Aric’s voice was edged with bitterness. “Why not just let me die here, swallowed by the very thing I sought to understand?”
The voice paused before answering, its tone cryptic. "Because fate is woven from many threads, Aric. The Wyrd may want to consume you, but there are others who have plans for you… and there is yet time to choose.”
The following morning, he woke feeling a familiar pressure behind his eyes.
Drip
He wiped his nose, he found blood smeared on his fingers. The realization sent a chill through him—this was more than just fatigue. His body was beginning to break under the strain of the energy he had taken in, the corruption worming deeper into his veins.
Aric tried everything he could think of to rid himself of the Wyrd energy clinging to him like a parasite. First, he’d tried pulling it out by force, but the dark energy clung to him with an unyielding grip. Next, he attempted to flood his body with pure mana, hoping to overwhelm the corruption, yet the effort backfired. The flood of mana drained him even further, and he could no longer afford to circulate energy to stave off his exhaustion.
...
The next day, Aric’s steps dragged as he struggled through the forest, his vision swimming and muscles aching from exhaustion. Still, he refused to turn back—not when it would only draw unwanted attention after the cave’s discovery. Lyra had likely sensed him back there, and leaving the forest too soon would risk exposing himself further.
He stumbled, gripping onto a tree to steady himself as the Wyrd surged like wildfire through his veins, burning him from within. Frustrated, he asked the voice, “How did they find the cave when you swore no one would?”
The voice’s response was unsettlingly calm. “The gods are tense after the fall of one of their own. They’re interfering, subtly influencing events to guard their own interests.”
Aric wiped blood from his nose. “You don’t seem too worried that I’m dying,” he muttered, glancing up with narrowed eyes. “After everything you’ve said about me being the chosen one—the one who fulfills this prophecy. Does that mean… this is all according to your plan? I’m probably not going to die here, am I?”
A pause, then a low, dark chuckle. "How smart. Yes, maybe,” the voice replied.
Aric gritted his teeth, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the voice was waiting, its plan unfolding precisely as intended.
“You're fading,” the voice remarked one afternoon, almost casually.
“I’m… fine,” Aric muttered, though he knew it was a lie. He’d felt the crackling sensation of his mana fracturing, his body struggling to contain the volatile force swirling within him. “I just need more time.”
“Time is a luxury the Wyrd does not afford." The voice was colder now, more insistent. "You took in what you cannot handle. There are consequences to every choice you make, especially in this world."
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The taunting tone only fueled his frustration. “And what about my family’s relic? Isn’t it supposed to carry some of the Founder’s strength?” Aric's voice was a near whisper, a faint hope that its power might sustain him just a little longer. Yet the relic had been quiet.
“The relic holds a reflection of the past. Strength? Perhaps. But it doesn’t carry the power you seek.”
Aric clenched his jaw, his knuckles white as he gripped the relic hanging down his neck. The days had drawn longer, and his condition worsened with each passing hour. Another nosebleed followed the next morning, accompanied by a wave of nausea so intense he nearly collapsed. He knew he was nearing the edge of what his body could withstand.
But as his desperation grew, so did his curiosity.
Znnnn
All of a sudden the relic pulsed faintly against his skin, as if alive, as though it sensed his suffering and wanted to respond.
"Fucking finally."
Driven by a need for answers, he focused on it, letting his thoughts drift deeper, seeking something beyond his physical pain.
And then, his vision clouded, pulling him inward. The forest and his own trembling form dissolved as he was plunged into a scene so visceral it forced a gasp from his throat.
...
He stood on a battlefield drenched in blood, the air thick with the stench of death. Crimson soaked the earth, and broken bodies lay everywhere he looked—friends, allies, even strangers he’d met only in passing. He saw Lyra lying on the ground, her body marred by wounds, her eyes lifeless. Aela lay crumpled nearby, her once-vibrant gaze hollow and empty. Kael, Sylvan, all of them, cut down and left for dead, mere shadows of the powerful figures he’d known.
"Huh?"
Aric’s own blood poured from unseen wounds, soaking his clothes as he fell to his knees. His skin cracked and deteriorated, peeling away like charred parchment under the heat of some unseen flame. Every heartbeat sent another wave of pain through his body, an agony that was both visceral and raw, yet it felt disturbingly familiar.
Crackle
Then, as if in answer to his despair, the sky above split apart, a dark tear forming in the heavens. Through it, a single, enormous eye loomed overhead, its unblinking gaze fixed upon him. Its sclera was an unsettling shade of yellow, veined with dark cracks that radiated outward, like fractures in ancient glass. The eye’s iris shimmered, an unnatural shade that defied description—a color that seemed to exist only in nightmares, in the deepest recesses of human fear. As it locked onto him, he felt an overwhelming wave of dread, as though the eye were stripping him bare, reaching into his soul and finding every weakness, every doubt he had ever harbored.
He wanted to scream, to look away, but he couldn’t. The eye’s gaze held him, bound him, forcing him to confront the horror before him. And then, in the depths of that monstrous gaze, he saw a twisted reflection of himself—degraded, consumed by the Wyrd’s corruption, his face void of all humanity. He was becoming that which he despised.
Just as the eye’s grip began to close around him, yanking him deeper into despair, he snapped back to reality.
Gasp
He awoke, gasping for air, his heart pounding as though he had just surfaced from drowning. The relic’s faint pulse faded against his skin, leaving him with the lingering image of that monstrous eye, its gaze still burned into his mind.
The voice echoed in his thoughts, softer now, almost pained. “This is the fate of the curse bearer.”
He didn’t answer immediately, his hands shaking as he wiped the blood from his nose. The image of his friends lying dead haunted him, a warning he could neither ignore nor erase.
“Prophecy. Is what you meant?” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper.
The voice was silent, a rare pause that carried an unusual weight.
“It is one possibility,” it finally replied, its tone almost regretful. “But know this—prophecy is not fixed, not entirely. Choices still matter.”
“If this is the cost of my choices, then why did you stop me from intervening? Those elves… they didn’t have to die.”
The voice responded with a calm, unyielding tone. “Not every battle can be fought on your terms. There is a cost to interfering before you’re ready, Aric. The prophecy you seek to defy requires understanding, not blind valor.”
Aric’s mind simmered with frustration, but he knew that, on some level, the voice was right. He was straddling a line between power and self-destruction, and every reckless choice brought him closer to a path he couldn’t turn back from. Taking in a shaky breath, he glanced down at his hands, which were still trembling from the vision. Even with his steely will, he could feel the corruption eating at him, sapping his strength, testing the limits of his resolve.
....
Aric’s mind simmered with frustration, but he knew, on some level, that the voice was right. He was straddling a line between power and self-destruction, and each reckless step brought him closer to a path he couldn't turn back from. Taking in a shaky breath, he glanced down at his hands, his fingers still trembling from the vision. He could feel the corruption gnawing at him, sapping his strength, challenging the limits of his resolve.
Just then, a sharp prickling sensation stirred along the back of his neck. A new presence had entered the forest—a raw, unbridled power. He lifted his head, scanning the treetops and sky. He was familiar with the search routes of the Verdantis knights and Sylvan’s patterns, carefully avoiding those areas all week. But this—whatever it was—felt like nothing he'd encountered before. It was a presence as wild and consuming as flame itself.
As he strained to locate the source, he spotted something descending from above with blinding speed—a fiery shape, tearing through the clouds with a burning trail behind it. Aric’s eyes widened, and his instincts kicked in. “Not good,” he muttered, his voice edged with unease as he darted back, bracing himself.
ROAR! BOOM!
A moment later, with a deafening roar, the red dragon crashed into the forest floor like a meteor. A shockwave rippled out from the impact, sending rocks and debris scattering as the earth trembled beneath his feet.
“Ugh!” Aric grunted, shielding his eyes with his elbow as dust and splinters whipped around him. Trees shattered on impact, and a thick cloud of dust choked the air, obscuring everything around the crash site.
He lowered his arm slowly, peering into the swirling dust, which clung to the air like a thick veil. For a few tense moments, silence held—then, suddenly, searing flames erupted within the cloud, lighting it up like a smoldering inferno. The flames twisted and spread, surging outward in a blazing shockwave that scattered the dust in an instant, leaving only the silhouette of a figure standing in the center of the devastation.
Fiery red eyes burned through the haze, cutting through the smoke with an intensity that matched the inferno. The figure’s stance was powerful, grounded, and unmistakable. Aric’s jaw tightened as he saw a man, clad in his heritage attire—a black and gold martial arts uniform embroidered with ancient designs, accented with threads of deep red that seemed to catch and reflect the fire around him.
“Kael…” Aric muttered, the name escaping him before he even realized. Kael’s gaze was unwavering, piercing as if searching for something beneath Aric’s cold exterior.
...