《Eclipsed Soul: The Forbidden Rebirth》 Prolouge: The Execution The air was suffocating. A thick mist of hatred and fear hung over the town square as the crowd gathered, faces twisted in a grotesque union of sorrow and fury. The accused stood on the wooden platform, wrists bound with rough, fraying rope, neck encircled by the noose that promised to end everything. His body ached from days of beatings, but nothing compared to the gaping hollowness in his chest¡ªthe betrayal that stabbed deeper than any blade. Above him loomed the royal family, draped in resplendent silks that glimmered under the pale light of a sun reluctant to shine. The king, his features carved in stone, stepped forward. His voice rang out, cold and unyielding. ¡°Here stands the deceiver,¡± the king proclaimed, his tone devoid of hesitation. ¡°A false savior who brought ruin upon our lands. A traitor who dared to consort with the darkness, poisoning the very people he claimed to protect.¡± The crowd roared in agreement, a wave of sound that crushed the accused. He clenched his fists against the tremors in his limbs. Not fear¡ªnot of death. It was the despair, the crushing weight of knowing that those he had bled for, fought for, now clamored for his demise. Among the faces in the crowd were villagers he once called friends, those he had saved from the jaws of feral beasts born of the Dark Mana. Mothers clutching their children, children he had shielded from unspeakable horrors. Yet now, they screamed for his death with the same voices that had once whispered gratitude. ¡°I only ever wanted to protect you,¡± he murmured, the words escaping as a fragile whisper. No one heard them. No one cared. The queen stood beside the king, her gaze icy and detached, as though she observed not a man but a pest to be eradicated. The prince and princess, cloaked in feigned righteousness, cast disdainful looks down at him. It was all politics, of course. Blame had to be placed. And what better scapegoat than the one who had wielded forbidden power, the one who had dared to challenge the unrelenting decay of their kingdom? The executioner approached, a hooded figure carrying the weight of death on his shoulders. He tightened the noose, the coarse fibers biting into the skin of the accused¡¯s neck. The accused did not flinch. He stared ahead, into the eyes of the crowd, seeking a flicker of understanding. A spark of doubt. There was none. The king raised his hand, signaling for silence, his lips curling into a sneer as he leaned forward. "Still clinging to hope, are you?" he asked, his tone dripping with mockery. "Do you have any final words, traitor? Any last plea to save your wretched soul?"This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. ¡°May the gods forgive you,¡± the executioner muttered, too low for anyone but the accused to hear. It was neither consolation nor apology. Just a statement of fact, as mechanical as the tightening of the rope. The accused lifted his gaze, his voice cutting through the suffocating silence like a blade. "Gods? I see no god. None of you are worthy of salvation." His heart pounded in his chest, not from terror but from the unbearable weight of loneliness. The weight of knowing that his life, his sacrifices, had been reduced to this. The king¡¯s hand fell. The executioner pulled the lever. The trapdoor beneath the accused¡¯s feet opened, and the world fell away. Pain erupted, sharp and blinding, as the noose snapped tight around his neck. His body convulsed, struggling instinctively against the inevitability of death. Spots danced in his vision, and the world dimmed, the jeering faces of the crowd blurring into nothingness. His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the faces of those he had lost. The laughter that once echoed in his memories now tainted by screams. As his vision faded, a final, agonizing thought clawed its way to the surface: If I had another chance... would I still save you? The crowd cheered as his body stilled. "Burn the dark mage!" a voice cried out, and soon the chant spread like wildfire. "Burn him! Burn the dark mage!" The villagers surged forward, their faces contorted with a feral hunger for vengeance. Torches were raised high, casting flickering shadows across the square as they hurled accusations into the fading twilight. "This is for my son, taken by the beasts you brought here!" one woman screamed, her torch flaring like her fury. "The gods cursed you, and now we''ll cleanse you in fire!" bellowed another. The executioner hesitated as the mob swarmed the platform, pulling the lifeless body from the noose with a mix of trembling fear and blind hatred. They dragged him like a discarded carcass, placing his broken form atop a hastily built pyre of splintered wood and dried straw. The flames licked hungrily at the base, growing stronger as villagers fed the fire with anything they could find. Smoke rose into the darkening sky, carrying with it the acrid stench of burning flesh. The mob¡¯s cries became a cacophony of triumph and wrath, drowning out even the roar of the fire. Their faces twisted with the grotesque satisfaction of watching what they believed to be the destruction of a great evil. Above it all, the royal family watched in silence, their expressions unreadable as the flames consumed the scapegoat they had condemned. To them, the act was not justice but necessity¡ªa calculated end to silence dissent and redirect the people''s rage. The king stood motionless for a moment, then leaned forward slightly, his voice low and dripping with venom. "Sorry, brother. Why didn¡¯t you just die back then? Why did you live? This is all your fault. Don¡¯t blame me." The sun vanished completely, leaving only the glow of the fire and the lingering echoes of hatred to mark the end of the accused. Above, the royal family turned and departed, their duty fulfilled, their scapegoat sacrificed. The sun dipped below the horizon, leaving the world cloaked in a darkness that felt eternal. But in the abyss where his soul lingered, something stirred. A faint flicker of defiance. A whisper of forbidden knowledge, ancient and unyielding. This was not the end. This was not the end. This was not the end. Darkness had arrived. Chapter 1: The Astral Gate Chapter 1: The Astral Gate Well, I¡¯ve found it. An "Astral Gate"¡ªa spatial portal. Never could expected its location to be revealed so blatantly, right here, at a famous tourist spot in southern England. This place is surrounded by massive stone walls, arranged in a circular formation like a sequence of dominos. The stones forming the outer circle are perfectly proportioned, with precise spacing between each one. Inside, smaller circles of similar stones create layers within layers. The outermost ring is made of smaller stones, not quite as large as those at the center but crafted with equal precision. At the core of this structure stand five monumental gateways constructed from massive megaliths. Each gateway comprises three distinct monoliths, their immense size a testament to the ancient effort and knowledge required to move and position them. The four surrounding gates align toward the energy gate at the southern end of this architectural marvel. The energy gate absorbs light from the sun or moon, channeling its power to the surrounding portals. Called the "Astral Gate," this construction is said to connect to other worlds. For thousands of years, "Astral Travelers" have used these gateways, guided and sustained by the life force of these ancient stones. However, to the locals, this place is simply known as "Stonehenge"¡ªa mysterious monument and a symbol of English heritage. Astral Travelers pass through these gates in their astral form, where their spirit separates from their physical body, freely traversing the realms of the spirit world. In this state, they can enter random worlds and live there as if they were born into them. They can return to their original world at will, bringing back knowledge and experiences from their astral journeys. This might explain why one day, a colleague or classmate suddenly seems to have gained strange, innovative skills or ideas. They learned it in another world. Then there are instances of d¨¦j¨¤ vu: when you feel like you''ve already experienced a certain moment. It¡¯s not necessarily a glimpse of the future. Instead, you might have unknowingly visited a parallel world in your astral form and encountered the event there. And yes, travelers from other worlds also visit ours. They come and go. They might speak our language, mingle among us, then suddenly vanish without a trace. After some time, they might reappear, sometimes only hours later, sometimes after years. This depends on their original world''s timeline. For example, an hour on Earth might equate to years in a parallel universe. A traveler who spends an hour "away" could return to find their parallel family has aged generations. But a physical body, theoretically, isn¡¯t meant to pass through these gates. Theoretically. Now, let¡¯s put theory to the test. Rules are made to be broken anyway I¡¯m an eccentric. A loner. No friends, and my family lives far away, so my days are mostly spent immersed in manga, video games, and occult studies. Yes, you could call me a shut-in. I prefer darkness and feel disenchanted with the outside world. Well, not with nature¡ªI adore trees, plants, and the serenity of untouched landscapes. My disenchantment lies with the "supreme species"¡ªhumankind. How ironic and laughable, since I¡¯m human myself. A human who detests humanity. The only thing I care about outside my room is the flow of energy. Energy is everywhere and comes with countless interpretations and definitions. Vibrations, frequencies, or whatever those spiritual gurus on Jotub ramble about. To simplify: sensing energy allows you to read minds, predict outcomes, glimpse the future, or channel that energy for your purposes, such as casting spells or curses. It¡¯s a vast field: feng shui, numerology, astrology, tarot - all based on controlling one¡¯s energy and influencing the energy of others. But I¡¯m no spiritualist or mystic. Just a curious individual who delves into plants and energy studies for the sheer thrill of it. I am Jul - a botany student, a herbalist, and a witch. To be honest, I¡¯m bored with this world. Finding a way to another realm seems like a fine idea. Or at least, testing the possibility of passing through an Astral Gate in physical form. If you drive from London to Stonehenge, it takes less than two hours. The surrounding scenery is breathtaking, with the colossal stone architecture standing in the middle of an expansive field. Built atop an artificial hill by ancient hands over 3,000 years ago, Stonehenge exudes an aura of timelessness. Verdant grass stretches endlessly in all directions, painting the landscape in vibrant green. Despite the summer¡¯s dry heat, cool winds sweep through the area, adding a sense of vitality. Tourists flock here to marvel at this ancient wonder. They fall silent, overwhelmed by the grandeur and awe that radiates from these stones. And here I stand, equally awestruck by the magnificence of the Astral Gate laid bare before me. To activate the gate, certain conditions must be met: an immense energy source and restoration of the ancient magic circle, damaged by time and conflict. The imperfect state of the ritual site makes opening the gate a daunting task. Waiting for the area to clear of tourists adds another layer of difficulty. But no matter. Tonight¡ªduring the simultaneous lunar eclipse and blood moon¡ªI will succeed. By then, this place will be deserted. The larger challenge lies with the displaced, broken, or missing stones. Moving and repairing these megaliths is no easy feat. Instead, I¡¯ve drawn a new circle using crushed stone and mercury. Of the three central gates, two have collapsed. I¡¯ll work with the remaining one. Following a formula I copied from a 13th-century German mage¡¯s Book of Shadows (which I "borrowed" by photographing its pages during a visit to Deutsches Museum last summer), I¡¯ve prepared the minimum requirements for activating the portal: the magic circle is drawn, and the ritual patterns are set. As the lunar eclipse draws near, I wander around the site, inspecting my preparations. ¡°Perfect,¡± I murmur, admiring the intricate array of crushed stone and mercury. Two small metallic kites, tethered to the central gate with silver wires, stand ready to channel energy. Silver, after all, is the best conductor of electricity at ambient temperatures. The weather here is peculiar. One side of the site is bathed in rain, while the other remains dry. It¡¯s as if the two elements refuse to belong together. This means that no matter how many clouds gather, the moonlight will still pierce through to the energy gate. The charged clouds gather above, signaling that the moment has come. Flashes of light streak across the horizon like the strobe of a camera, illuminating the night sky. Behind me, the heavens remain clear, with the full moon and stars shining bright.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. It begins. A bolt of lightning strikes one of the fragile metallic kites. The kite disintegrates instantly, but its sacrifice is not in vain. The immense energy from the sky surges through the silver wire, igniting the magic circle below. Ancient glyphs carved into the megaliths glow with a brilliant light. The energy gate absorbs the light of the blood moon, and from it pours a crimson liquid. Constrained by the ritual circle, this blood-like substance flows steadily toward the central gate, forming a Blood Path. The lunar eclipse begins. The Earth¡¯s shadow gradually envelops the moon. The central gate starts to reveal itself, though it remains incomplete until the total eclipse. A translucent red gelatin forms within the space between the two towering megaliths. Almost there... Suddenly, a cold wind sweeps through, heavy with an oppressive weight. The air feels thick with tension. Faint whispers echo from the energy gate, as if someone on the other side is trying to communicate. The moon is nearly covered, leaving only a faint sliver of light. The crimson blood like liquid now fully become a thoroughly soaked Blood Path, and the translucent red light emerge between the megaliths solidifies. I take a deep breath, feeling the energy flow in the air. This is the moment I¡¯ve been waiting for. This has to be the moment. All of my research. All of the time I spend on experimenting. This is it. With a decisive step, I approach the central gate. The sky gradually darkened, as if the world was sinking into a deeper abyss than usual. The moon, always a symbol of gentleness and light, was now completely veiled by Earth¡¯s shadow. The total lunar eclipse began, and the silver light vanished, leaving only shades of blood and darkness. The ground around me, where the ancient gate stood tall, began to transform rapidly. Streams of bright red liquid, like molten blood, poured forth from nowhere, bubbling and radiating a strange heat that made me instinctively step back. The grass around the area withered the moment it touched the crimson liquid. Lush green leaves fell, curled up, and turned to dust in an instant. Life was drained the second it made contact. Only the mound I stood on remained untouched, like a tiny island in a red ocean. I stared at the magical liquid swirling and churning, a mix of fear and curiosity rising within me. Kneeling down, I tied a pebble and a piece of white quartz to a silver wire, then slowly dipped them into the crimson pool. When I pulled them out, I was astonished to find the pebble completely dissolved, while the quartz had turned transparent, glowing bright red with vein-like patterns crisscrossing its surface. The silver wire remained unaffected, still gleaming with its pristine luster. ¡°No poison,¡± I murmured, ¡°but definitely not something to touch bare-handed.¡± I crouched, observing the liquid closely. Magical materials like silver and gemstones seemed to react violently with it, a clear indication of the immense magical energy within. That energy was unmistakable¡ªthis was the power of the Astral Sea. An idea sparked in my mind. If this liquid truly carried energy from the Astral Sea, this was a rare opportunity to enhance magical items. I took out a small silver cauldron, filled it with the magical liquid, and began placing my tools inside: an old tarot deck, a tarnished ceremonial dagger, and a pouch of mixed gemstones. Ruby, topaz, amethyst, emerald, sapphire, and tiger¡¯s eye went in one by one. When I pulled them out, each stone shone brilliantly with its characteristic color, as if awakened from a deep slumber. A satisfied smile spread across my face. Success. I carefully filled a flask with the magical liquid for future use, then packed everything back into my bag. ¡°Now, I¡¯m ready,¡± I said to myself, eyes fixed on the stone gate. But things didn¡¯t go as smoothly as I¡¯d hoped. As I approached the gate, the ground suddenly began to quake violently. An unexpected tremor threw me off balance. I stumbled to the right, and my bag slipped off my shoulder. In my desperate attempt to grab it, both the bag and my right arm plunged into the bubbling crimson liquid. The magical liquid splashed onto my face. In that moment, a cold, cutting sensation coursed through my body like a blade. I shot upright, trying to pull my arm free, but when I looked down, I froze in horror. My right arm¡ªit was gone. No pain, no blood, just emptiness where it had once been. Stunned, I barely registered the gate shaking more violently. Cracks ran across its stone surface, and massive pieces began to crumble. ¡°The eclipse is ending already?¡± I muttered, confusion lacing my voice. "Lunar eclipses usually last for hours... why did this one end in mere minutes?" Panic surged through me as I added, "Oh shoot! This gate is collapsing!" I sprinted toward the gate, my mind blank except for the singular thought of escaping through it before it was too late. With every ounce of strength left in my body, I leaped forward just as the stone gate completely shattered behind me. As the moonlight returned to bathe the land of Stonehenge, everything fell back into eerie stillness. But I was no longer the same. My right arm was lost, and within me churned a mix of fear and curiosity. I found myself falling into a white void. Nothing surrounded me but a hollow emptiness. I floated aimlessly, accompanied only by the weight of my consciousness. Astral World, I thought. There were no sounds, no warmth, only my awareness drifting in an endless expanse. ¡°Visualize: create a door,¡± I whispered. A warm energy surged from within me, like soaking in a hot spring. The energy condensed, forming a door in the infinite space. When the door was complete, I pushed it open and stepped through. Visualization is like elementary school-level witchcraft¡ªbasic stuff. Everyone knows it. If you don¡¯t, well, maybe it¡¯s time to pick up a beginner¡¯s guide to Mysticism 101. The Astral World unfolded before me, shimmering like a celestial painting. The infinite space was dotted with countless stars, each representing a unique world. I floated among the galaxies, feeling as weightless as if I were on a raft drifting down a gentle stream. Beneath me was a strange, water-like surface, its translucent ripples separating the Astral World from the physical realm below. This boundary, often referred to as the Astral Surface, mirrored the world above, creating a shimmering reflection of stars and galaxies. The Astral Surface is said to be a veil of pure energy, thin yet impenetrable to physical forms. Standing on it feels both grounding and surreal, as if gravity exists but barely holds you. It¡¯s a threshold¡ªa meeting point of the tangible and intangible. As I stood there, marveling at the interconnected vastness, I spun around, a small but exhilarated speck in the grandeur. Suddenly, two stars collided right before my eyes. A powerful surge of energy erupted from the impact, creating brilliant trails of light. From what I¡¯d read in the Book of Shadows, this was a rare phenomenon. If the frequencies of two worlds aligned, such events could result in time travel, doppelg?ngers, or exchanges between realities. Otherwise, the worlds could merge, forming a new one. I was entranced by the sight, but quickly refocused. Another thought entered my mind: ¡°Visualize: restore the body.¡± With the concentrated magic in this realm, materialization was far easier. I directed the energy to my right elbow, feeling it gather into a sparkling liquid form. The liquid stretched, solidified, and finally shaped itself into a fully functional arm. I clenched my newly-formed hand, laughing aloud in the silent void. But before I could relish the moment, my body was suddenly pulled toward another star. The space around me grew brighter and brighter until everything became blindingly white. I struggled against the force, but my body began to dissolve into tiny particles of light. All I could think was: What awaits me in the next place? Or maybe I¡¯ll get there and find another freakishly short lunar eclipse waiting for me. What¡¯s next? A world where gravity goes on holiday every Tuesday? Whatever it is, bring it on. I¡¯m ready¡ªor at least, I think I am. Chapter 2: Hero seed Chapter 2: Hero seed I woke up in a familiar white void, but this time, I wasn¡¯t alone. In front of me was a newborn baby, lying still. I tried to shout to it, but no sound came out. "Huh? Why can¡¯t I move?" I wondered, confused. Then it hit me¡ªof course I couldn¡¯t move. In this state, I had no "body". I''m currently in Astral form, also known as Spirit form. This is a state where my consciousness exists separate from my physical body. In this form, I have no tangible body, no weight, and no ability to physically interact with the world around me. It''s like being a thought given shape, a presence that can observe but not touch. Without a body, I couldn¡¯t move. As I struggled with my helplessness, a shadow appeared above the baby. ¡°Drita hath bound me in torment for uncounted ages. The hour hath come for mine return, to reclaim that which was stolen from mine grasp,¡± said a deep, angry voice. The shadowy figure loomed over the baby, its presence heavy and menacing, as if it could pierce through every thought in my mind. Then, it shifted its gaze toward me. A sudden chill ran through me, sharp and icy, as if the void itself was collapsing around my existence. The weight of its attention was unbearable, pressing down like an invisible hand crushing my very essence. I wanted to recoil, to escape, but without a body, I was utterly defenseless against the suffocating cold. ¡°Thou art not of this realm; how hath thee found thy way into mine domain?¡± he asked. I didn¡¯t answer, pretending not to hear, see, or know anything at all. But it seemed he didn¡¯t need me to. He continued, ¡°Didst thou truly believe I wouldst not discern thy presence? I shall reclaim the realm that Drita hath usurped from mine dominion.¡± Before I could react, the shadow enveloped the baby. But from the tiny body, a brilliant light erupted, forcing him back. A serene voice rang out: ¡°Irett, thou shalt not return to this realm.¡± The light faded, revealing a woman with long, platinum hair. She turned to me and said, ¡°I do entrust unto thee the seed of a hero.¡± As she dissolved into shimmering particles, leaving behind a teardrop-shaped crystal, Drita turned back toward me one last time. With a swift motion, she pulled my formless presence closer to her and, with surprising strength, cast me into the newborn child below. Irett staggered backward, his shadow contorted in fury, and a growl escaped from the void. ¡°Drita, thou hast meddled in matters beyond thy right for far too long! Thy light shall not forever prevail, and thy chosen ones shalt crumble before me!¡± His words dripped with venom as the dark tendrils writhed around him, consuming everything in their reach. The white void began to change, its shapeless vastness trembling as if it was quished by an invisible hand. The darkness pulled inward, twisting upon itself, while faint, cold flashes of pale light flickered erratically. The air thickened with a crushing energy that bore down on me, as if the surrounding space was bending and breaking apart under Irett¡¯s wrath. All of sudden, his gaze turned once more toward me. A cold dread surged through my very essence, my vision blurring as though the void itself had tightened its grip. The world around me seemed to dissolve, colors and shapes fading into formless shadows. Faint echoes of Irett¡¯s enraged screams echoed through the void, growing softer and more distant, yet still carrying the weight of his anger, as though his fury refused to fade even as his shadow disappeared into the abyss. Slowly, everything faded to darkness, and my sight was swallowed entirely by the void.
¡°Gwahaha! Good morning, kids!¡± An old man greeted the children with his booming voice. "Ah! Old Grewe is here! Old Grewe is here!" The children shouted excitedly, running to greet him. Old Grewe, a seasoned herbalist of the Ruin Archipelago, spent his mornings in the village square selling herbs. His cart was always brimming with fragrant bundles of rare plants he carefully gathered from the wild forests surrounding the island. Despite his many years, his energy seemed endless, his booming laughter often echoing through the streets. Beloved by the villagers, Old Grewe had a gift for weaving stories. Every day, after he finished his work, he would gather the children to share enchanting tales of gods, legendary heroes, and the dark forces lurking in the shadows of their world.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. Old Grewe leaned back in his wooden chair, the firelight flickering across his weathered face. Around him, children sat cross-legged on the floor, their eyes wide with wonder as they clutched wooden swords and toy shields. The elder¡¯s voice, deep and warm, filled the small village hall. ¡°Long ago,¡± he began, ¡°before even time itself existed, there was only endless darkness. But then, Yosua, the Supreme Being, decided to divide His body to create the gods who would govern our universe.¡± The children leaned forward as Old Grewe continued, his voice weaving the tale like a tapestry. ¡°He split Himself into three parts, giving life to three great beings: Zeit, the god of Time and Space; Drita, the goddess of Light and Life; and Irett, the lord of Darkness and Chaos. Each one carried a piece of His power to shape the world.¡± He wave his hands in the air, as if he was crafting the story right before their eyes. ¡°Zeit spun the threads of time and space, creating the fabric of the universe. Drita, glowing with golden light, brought forth the sun and breathed life into the land. And Irett, filled with the spirit of chaos, sought to unmake it all.¡± ¡°What....what happened then, old Grewe?¡± a boy whispered, his voice shaky as he clutched his wooden sword tightly, the tip trembling slightly as if even the thought of Irett¡¯s chaos was too much to bear. Grewe¡¯s expression darkened, he gently rested his hand on the boy''s head, offering a moment of comfort amidst the growing tension, his tone somber. ¡°Together, the three gods crafted the first world¡ªland, sea, sky, and all living creatures. Yet, while Drita cherished humanity and blessed it with her gifts, Irett viewed the perfection of this world as a grave imbalance. To restore what he deemed fairness, Irett conjured his seven sinister servants, manifestations of the primal sins, to sow chaos and darkness upon the land.¡± The children gasped, their toy swords clattering to the floor as they instinctively huddled closer together. Their wide eyes darted between each other, fear etched into their young faces, as Old Grewe described Irett¡¯s creation of dark creatures and his seven sinister servants. The flickering firelight seemed to stretch their shadows unnaturally across the walls, making the story feel uncomfortably real. ¡°Luxa, the manifestation of Lust, took the form of a mesmerizing specter with eyes that drew mortals into an endless trance, leading them to ruin. Gula, Gluttony personified, was a monstrous entity with an insatiable maw, devouring everything in its path, leaving only desolation. Geiz, embodying Greed, was a shimmering serpent that hoarded treasures of the earth, poisoning minds and hearts with its allure. Acedia, the essence of Sloth, appeared as a shadowy figure that clung to its victims, draining their will to act or dream. Ira, Wrath incarnate, was a fiery beast whose roar shook the heavens, destroying everything in its blind rage. Neid, the avatar of Envy, slithered like a venomous mist, turning friends into foes and spreading discord and mistrust. Finally, Stolz, Pride embodied, was a towering knight in gleaming armor, whose arrogance blinded even the wisest to reason. These seven servants unleashed chaos upon the world in the name of the lord of Darkness and Chaos,¡± Grewe said, his voice heavy with foreboding. ¡°Their presence corrupted humanity, spreading despair, hatred, and greed, dragging mortals into endless suffering and chaos.¡± ¡°The shadows spread,¡± Grewe said, his voice low and dramatic. ¡°Chaos overtook the land. Humanity was plunged into despair.¡± ¡°Did Drita stop him?¡± a short-haired girl asked, her voice trembling. Old Grewe nodded gravely. ¡°Drita fought Irett with all her might. She sealed him and banish him into the void, but it cost her dearly. Her light began to fade. To protect the future, she used her body to create four legendary treasures: the Sword, the Bow, the Spear, and the Shield. Only those worthy of her blessing, the heroes, can wield them.¡± The children¡¯s eyes gleamed with awe. ¡°And these heroes,¡± Grewe added, ¡°will one day rise to save the world from the darkness.¡± He paused, letting the story sink in. Then, with a mischievous grin, he pointed to one of the boys. ¡°Maybe it¡¯ll be you, young one. Will you wield the Sword of Justice?¡± The boy leapt up, brandishing his toy sword. ¡°I¡¯ll defeat all the monsters!¡± he declared. ¡°No way! Spears are better! I¡¯ll protect the village!¡± Another child waved her wooden spear. Grewe laughed heartily, but his laughter faded as he glanced out the window. The sky, painted with streaks of red clouds, seemed unsettling. The elder¡¯s expression turned serious. ¡°But remember, children,¡± he said quietly, leaning forward and lowering his voice to a grave whisper. ¡°You must always behave and listen. Playing tricks might seem fun, but if you go too far, the dark lord¡¯s servants might come to take you away.¡± The children nodded quickly, their faces pale with fear. Even the boldest among them dared not argue with Old Grewe¡¯s warning. Satisfied, Grewe straightened up and told children to return to their homes. As the children left, Old Grewe turned to the window, his eyes narrowing at the strange red streaks in the sky. His face tightened with worry, the lines on his weathered features deepening as though he carried a heavy, silent burden. He thought about the tales he had just told, wondering if they were mere stories or an omen of what was to come. The strange colors in the sky unsettled him deeply, and he whispered to himself, ¡°Now this is unsual?¡± His heart suddenly weighed heavy with confusion. As if on cue, a sudden light split the sky, followed by a thunderous roar. The ground trembled, and a strange silence fell over the room. The children huddled close to Grewe as the village outside erupted into chaos. Tonight, the old story felt less like a tale and more like a warning. Chapter 3: The Omen Chapter 3: The Omen A flash of light tore across the midnight sky, forming a massive column of radiance that connected the heavens and the earth. The beam shimmered with swirling hues of gold and silver, pulsating as though alive. Its brilliance was so intense that the villagers instinctively shielded their eyes. Beneath their feet, the ground trembled violently, and a deafening hum filled the air, as though the world itself were straining under an immense weight. Dust erupted into the atmosphere, cloaking the small village of Cheldea in a thick, choking veil. When the energy subsided, a massive explosion followed, leaving behind a charred, smoking crater that radiated heat and raw power. "A teleportation? Here?" Old man Grewe muttered, his voice barely audible over the crackling remnants of energy. "What would come to such a place?" The villagers froze in shock, their hearts pounding. The oppressive quiet that followed the blast was even more unnerving than the explosion itself. Whispers rippled through the crowd, hushed and fearful: ¡°Did you see that light? What could it mean?¡± ¡°No one human could survive that blast¡­ could they?¡± ¡°Is this a warning from the gods?¡± ¡°Or something far worse?¡± As the dust began to settle, a faint silhouette emerged from the glow. The figure stumbled forward, unsteady, cloaked in tattered, blood-stained fabric. It wasn¡¯t something¡ªit was someone. A man, weary and broken, cradled a child in his arms. The child clutched a small cradle, its frail arms trembling as it held on tightly. The cradle, though simple and delicate, seemed imbued with an inexplicable importance. The man, though covered in wounds and barely standing, moved with a fierce determination, his eyes glinting with a defiance that refused to yield to his battered state. The villagers edged closer, keeping a wary distance. No one dared to speak. The man¡¯s legs finally gave way, and he collapsed to his knees. His body trembled as he shielded the child with his arms, as though protecting it from unseen dangers. Blood seeped from the edges of his torn cloak, pooling beneath him. He raised his head weakly, lips cracked and dry, and whispered hoarsely: "He''s back..." Before anyone could react, the man collapsed fully to the ground, still clutching the child. His words lingered in the air, sending chills down the spines of everyone who heard them. For a moment, no one moved, fear rooting them in place. The child, no older than five, knelt beside the fallen man, their wide, vacant eyes staring at the cradle in their trembling hands. A faint, ethereal glow emanated from it, casting eerie shadows on the faces of the gathered villagers. Grewe, the village elder, was the first to step forward. His lined face betrayed both caution and concern. ¡°Stay back,¡± he ordered softly, though his own hands trembled. He crouched beside the man, pressing two fingers to his neck. ¡°He¡¯s alive,¡± Grewe announced, though his tone carried little reassurance. He turned to his wife, a skilled healer who had already begun preparing a salve. ¡°We¡¯ll need every bit of your skill. Quickly.¡± The villagers remained silent, their unease palpable. Some whispered among themselves: ¡°Who is he?¡± ¡°What did he mean by ¡®he¡¯s back¡¯?¡±Stolen novel; please report. ¡°Is this an omen?¡± The child didn¡¯t react to the voices around them, sat motionless, cradling the newborn wrapped in the tattered cloak, its pale face emotionless. Grewe¡¯s wife approached cautiously, her healer¡¯s instincts taking over. She knelt beside the child, reaching out to touch the newborn within the cradle. Her fingers brushed against its cold skin, and she gasped. ¡°Grewe,¡± she whispered, her voice trembling. ¡°This baby¡­ it¡¯s alive, but barely. Its skin is ice cold.¡± Grewe¡¯s brow furrowed. He reached for the cradle, his hands steady despite the unease gripping him. When he peered inside, he froze. The newborn lay completely still, its tiny body pale and fragile. Its skin had an almost translucent quality, as if it were carved from fragile glass. A faint glow radiated from its chest, like the flicker of a dying ember. ¡°What kind of child is this?¡± Grewe muttered to himself. He glanced at the older child, whose wide, unblinking eyes stared at him. ¡°And why bring it here, to our village?¡± The stranger stirred faintly, drawing Grewe¡¯s attention. His breaths were shallow and labored, each one a struggle. Summoning the last of his strength, the man grasped Grewe¡¯s arm. His grip was weak but insistent. With ragged breaths, he rasped: ¡°Protect¡­ the child. The seal¡­ is weakening. They¡­ are coming¡­¡± His hand fell limp, and his eyes closed for the last time. Grewe sat back, his mind racing with questions he couldn¡¯t voice. The gathered villagers exchanged uneasy glances, the tension in the air growing thicker. Grewe¡¯s wife broke the silence. ¡°We must take the children inside. They won¡¯t survive the night in this cold.¡± Grewe hesitated. He looked at the lifeless stranger, then at the trembling older child. Something in their hollow gaze struck him deeply. Finally, he nodded. ¡°We can¡¯t leave them out here,¡± he said firmly. ¡°Whatever burden they carry, they¡¯re here now. We must care for them.¡± The villagers murmured in agreement, their fear tempered by compassion. The child lay silently, unable to express any feeling, yet there was a strange sense of safety emanating from the room. These people¡ªstrangers who didn¡¯t know who or what the child was or where it had come from¡ªhad still opened their arms to protect it during this most vulnerable moment. The flickering light of the hearth cast shadows across their faces, shadows that seemed to carry the weight of unspoken questions and fears. Even in their uncertainty, they chose kindness over fear, their actions driven by an instinct to preserve life, no matter how strange or mysterious. In that small room, amidst the storm of doubt, a fragile yet powerful bond began to form¡ªa promise of guardianship that none dared to voice aloud but all silently understood. Grewe¡¯s wife gently lifted the newborn from the cradle, cradling it against her chest. ¡°It¡¯s alive,¡± she said softly, as though convincing herself. ¡°As long as it breathes, we have a chance to help it.¡± Grewe approached the older child, kneeling to meet their gaze. His voice was gentle but steady. ¡°Come with us,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯ll take care for both of you.¡± The child hesitated, clutching the empty cradle tightly. Its small hands trembled, but after a moment, it nodded faintly. Grewe reached out his hand, rough from years of work but steady. The child¡¯s small hand shook as it hovered uncertainly before finally taking his. Their grip was weak and unsure, barely holding onto his fingers. Grewe held on gently but firmly, offering silent reassurance that they were safe and would not be left alone. The three of them made their way to Grewe¡¯s small cottage. The villagers watched in silence, their whispers fading as the group disappeared into the warm glow of the hearth light. Inside, Grewe¡¯s wife busied herself tending to the children. The older child sat quietly by the fire, its thin frame hunched forward as though the weight of the world rested on its small shoulders. The eyes, shadowed with exhaustion, were fixed on the newborn, unblinking and intense, as though nothing else in the world mattered. Every so often, its hands would twitch, clutching their knees, a subtle sign of nerves or fear that it could not put into words. Its breathing was shallow, uneven, as if they were holding in some invisible storm threatening to break free. Yet, in that moment, it remained still, bound by an unspoken responsibility that seemed far too heavy for someone so young. Grewe and his wife exchanged a glance. Unspoken understanding passed between them¡ªan acknowledgment that their lives had just changed irrevocably. ¡°We will protect them,¡± Grewe said quietly. ¡°Whatever comes, we¡¯ll face it together.¡± Outside, the wind howled through the night, carrying with it the faint cry of a distant animal. The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light casting long shadows over the village. Though the warmth of the hearth filled the cottage, an unshakable sense of foreboding lingered in the air¡ªa silent promise of the trials to come.