《Shadow of Death》


 1.

    "Kane, Kane! Wake up!" A sharp voice sliced through the haze of my exhausted mind, a rough hand shaking my shoulder, then slapping at my face.


    My eyes fluttered open, squinting against the dying light of the day. The sky stretched endlessly above, an unbroken expanse of pale blue mocking the ache in my head. I must''ve slept longer than I realized-an eternity, it felt like.


    "If I''d known you were going to nap like that, I would''ve joined you," Thaddeus muttered, his voice tinged with the exhaustion of the past hours, his lips twisting into an exaggerated pout. He tossed the empty net into the boat with a splash, its contents sparse at best. "Two hours of nothing."


    "Two hours?" I groaned, stretching my back, the satisfying crack of bones snapping into place. "Feels like I''ve been asleep for a hundred years."


    Thaddeus gave me a skeptical look before stepping over to where I lay, slumped awkwardly with my head tilted against the edge of the boat. He sat down across from me, scrutinizing my face with his usual quiet intensity. "You''re not acting right. You never nap. What''s going on with you?"


    I blinked at him, my body sluggish with the remnants of sleep. He was drenched, soaked to the bone from the salty sea, his clothes clinging to his wiry frame in that unmistakable way of every Samarian fisherman on a hot Sunday. His damp locks, streaked with salt, caught the fading light, making him look like a ghost from the ocean''s depths.


    The season of famine had stretched its cruel fingers into our lives again. The reef was a barren wasteland, offering nothing but frustration and empty nets. Soon, the villages would start sending their fishermen farther out, to islands like Lume-places still blessed with the promise of a better catch and a better future.


    "I''m fine," I muttered, the words heavy in my mouth. "It was just a nap. But you..." I narrowed my eyes at him, taking in the hollow of his cheeks and the way his collarbone jutted out with unnatural sharpness. "You suddenly look like you haven''t eaten in days. How come I never noticed that before?"


    Thaddeus let out a soft snort as he moved to untangle the net. "Pot meet kettle. You''re not exactly the picture of health yourself, Kane. We''re both malnourished. The island has a way of doing that to us."


    I snorted, but my attention drifted to the endless sea ahead, a stark contrast to the quiet longing in my chest. "So, this is how we go home empty-handed again?" I said, my voice suddenly serious. The vast ocean stretched before me, indifferent to our plight. "I don''t think I can keep living like this."Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    Thaddeus exhaled, his shoulders slumping in that way he always did when he was burdened by more than he let on. "We don''t have much of a choice. The famine''s getting worse. It used to last two months a century ago, but now it''s dragging on for seven. And still, the fish are scarce." His voice dropped to a softer note. "Maybe... maybe we should join the men this year, make the journey to Lume. We''re old enough now to cross the reef. Perhaps we could find better prospects there. If it works out, we could even leave this island behind-together."


    I frowned, my mind racing. "What about your father?" I asked, the thought of his unyielding attachment to this island heavy in the air between us. "Would he approve of you leaving?"


    Thaddeus met my gaze, his expression calm but tinged with sadness. "I''ve already spoken to him. He doesn''t mind, but he refuses to leave. He says he wants to die here, surrounded by the land that''s been his home. He says he wants to be buried alongside my mother, here in Samaria, where his roots run deep."


    I let out a long sigh, the weight of his words sinking deeper than I anticipated. "My mother would probably feel the same way. She wouldn''t want to leave either. Samarians... we''re attached to this place like it''s the very air we breathe. It''s hard to imagine anyone willing to leave unless they''re gone for a short time."


    "So... would you leave your mother behind and go to Lume?" Thaddeus''s question was quiet, probing, but I could hear the weight of it.


    The truth was heavy on my tongue, and I hesitated, the words coming slower than I expected. "There''s something I need to tell you, Thaddeus," I began, my voice low but unwavering. "I don''t want to go to Lume."


    "Wait, what?" Thaddeus blinked, confusion etching his features as he leaned forward. "You don''t want to stay here, but you don''t want to go to Lume either? What are you saying?"


    I hesitated, gathering my thoughts as a sudden fire sparked in me. "Lume... Lume is just another island. It''s more modern than Samaria, sure, but that''s not enough. It''s just another small speck in the ocean. The world is so much bigger than that. I''ve spent my entire life here, and I''ve seen everything there is to see... But there''s more out there, Thaddeus. There''s a whole world beyond these shores. I want to go farther. I want to see Historia."


    Thaddeus blinked, his brow furrowed in disbelief. "Historia? You''re talking about Historia? Do you know how far that is? How dangerous it is to even think about crossing that distance?"


    "I know," I said excitedly, "But that''s the point, isn''t it? To see what''s beyond this island. To live somewhere new, somewhere bigger. We''ve been stuck here, in these same waters, our entire lives. Don''t you wonder what else is out there? What we''re missing?"


    Thaddeus sat back, his eyes wide, his mouth agape. He seemed as if he might speak but couldn''t find the words. "You''re crazy. Historia is so far, and you''re asking me to go with you? What if we never make it back?"


    "I don''t care," I replied firmly, my gaze unwavering. "I don''t want to grow old here, Thaddeus, wondering what could have been. If I die out there, at least I''ll know I tried."


    He let out a low breath, his face softening with a mix of concern and admiration. "You really think you can make it to Historia? You''re willing to risk everything for a dream?"


    I glanced at the vast horizon, where the sun dipped low, casting a golden glow over the endless expanse of water. "Sometimes, you have to take risks. Otherwise, we''ll grow old one day, only to realize how small and insignificant our world really is. How much we''ve missed by staying in the safety of what we know."


    He met my gaze, his brows furrowed. "I just hope this risk doesn''t end up killing you."


    I smiled faintly, the sound of my laughter dry and distant. "If it does, at least I''ll know I tried."


    ---


    Did You Know?


    Samaria is the poorest region on the map, despite Lume being the smallest island in existence. The other continents-Historia, Oakwyn, and Gladeshaven-surpass them significantly in modernization, civilization, and industrialization.


    Samaria''s only notable asset is its exotic seafood, but even that dwindles during the dreaded fish famine season.


    ---

 2.

    "Thrahk zoo-ohr drah-zahk vehl-zar keht," I murmured, struggling to mimic the strange words from my dream. "Or at least, that''s what it sounded like."


    My mum''s expression shifted. She didn''t even glance up from her work as she softly muttered, "Thrak ven zuor vel''drazak zuor vel''zar drazak qeth." Her words were eerily identical to the ones I''d heard, a perfect echo of the sounds that had been haunting my nights.


    "Mum, is that... some kind of language?" I asked, my voice trembling with curiosity. "What does it mean? Lately, I''ve been having these dreams, and each one feels worse than the last. I can''t seem to get a full night''s sleep anymore... And it''s starting to scare me."


    Without a word, my mum dropped the pot she''d been holding. It clattered to the ground with a jarring thud. She grabbed me by the shoulders, her grip tighter than usual, and her eyes bore into mine with an intensity I had never seen before.


    "Kane," she said, her voice low and urgent. "Have you told anyone about these dreams? Have you said a word to anyone at all?"


    "No," I replied, panic rising in my chest. "I haven''t told anyone. You said not to. But... what''s happening, Mum? Why am I dreaming like this? And what is that language? Is it a warning? Are we... Are we going to die?"


    A cold silence settled between us. I''d never seen her like this before. She was always calm, collected, the steady rock in my life. But now, something was different. She looked terrified, almost as if my dreams were tied to something far bigger and darker than I could imagine.


    As a child, I barely remembered my dreams. When I did dream, the memories faded with the sunrise, like smoke lost in the air. I never gave them much thought, never put weight on their meaning. Dreams, I thought, were just the mind''s way of distorting fragments of the day, blending reality with memory in strange ways. Like that one time I dreamt of buying a mountain of chickens from the market. Some would say it was a good omen, a sign of coming fortune, or a promise of something significant on the horizon. A good dream, they''d say. But if that was true, why was my mum and I still scraping by, stuck in our tiny hut on the outskirts of Samaria, living a life of quiet poverty, while the village by the sea continued to thrive?If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Mum''s hands fell limply to her sides, and she staggered backward, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths as she let out a quiet sigh of relief.


    "Mum, what''s going on? Why are you acting like this?" I demanded, nearly losing my voice.


    She looked at me, her expression grim, before shaking her head slowly, as if to clear her thoughts. "I should be the one asking the questions, Kane. Why are you having these kinds of dreams? What''s causing them? Have you ever seen a monster or a beast in reality?"


    Her question sent a chill down my spine. The reason she asked was clear-dreams were often a reflection of what the mind had encountered, consciously or unconsciously. But when someone dreams of things they''ve never seen, things beyond their reality, it could mean something much darker, creating a new fear of the unknown. Dreams weren''t just a product of the mind''s wandering; they could be warnings, premonitions.


    Dreams were supposed to be meaningless. Why can''t I just dream of chicken again, and stop causing my poor mother to panic.


    "Monsters?" I repeated, "I''ve never seen one, if there were."


    Mum was kneading the dough as we spoke, her hands moving rhythmically, pressing and folding the mixture of flour, water, and a pinch of salt. Our small kitchen smelled of warm flour and yeast, the steady rhythm of her movements filling the silence between us. She had always made bread by hand, a practice passed down through generations in Samaria.


    The villagers believed that the best bread came from hands that had worked the land, and Mum''s bread was renowned for its softness, its perfect golden crust.


    She paused, wiping her hands on her apron, then returned to kneading. "I think your mind is just playing tricks on you, Kane. But if it keeps getting worse, I''ll have to send you to the native doctor. He might be able to clear your mind and check your thoughts."


    I swallowed, anxiety gnawing at me. "Do you think I''m crazy?"


    She stopped kneading for a moment, her gaze softening. "I think... you''re sick. And you need help, Kane. I don''t want you seeing evil spirits in your dreams. I''ve never had those kinds of dreams, nor did your father. Dreams like that aren''t normal."


    My heart sank.


    "If anything happens to you-if you keep losing yourself in these dreams-I won''t just be a widow. I''ll be childless too. And I couldn''t live with myself if that happened."


    "But tomorrow is a workday," I whispered, hoping to ease her frustration, but the words only seemed to fuel her.


    With a sharp snap, she slammed the spoon against the kitchen countertop, the loud clang echoing through the small room.


    "You''re going to the native doctor tomorrow, and that''s final." she said firmly. "It''s not like you''ve been catching anything at sea anyway. We''re in the middle of the famine season-fish are scarce, and you''re wasting your time out there. The village chief can handle that nonsense. What matters now is your mental health. You need to be checked before you do anything else."


    She paused, taking a steadying breath before her eyes narrowed. "And don''t even think about telling Thaddeus, or worse-taking him with you. You''re going alone. Understand?"


    ___


    Did you know?


    Lume Island and Samaria Island share similar traditions, as both trace their roots back to a common ancestry-the Sables.


    However, their ancient language was banned thousands of years ago after it was uncovered to be the so-called "Devil''s Tongue," a forbidden dialect believed to be spoken by demons.


    ___

 3.

    "Get the hell off my property!" a scrawny, old voice bellowed from the rickety, wooden building nestled deep within the forest, far beyond the outskirts of the village and even farther than my own home.


    Whoever this native doctor was, he clearly despised visitors. His disdain was made abundantly clear by a weathered wooden sign nailed to the porch, which read:


    "NO VISITORS. NO TRADERS. NO EXCEPTIONS. TURN BACK."


    "Good morning, sir. I''m here to see Maham Ranu, the native doctor," I called out, my voice trembling slightly. "I...I was told you could help me."


    From inside the shadowy depths of the wooden building, the raspy voice growled, "There''s no doctor here, kid. Turn around and get lost."


    I hesitated, glancing back at the path I''d come from. Had I really trekked miles through the woods for nothing? My mother''s insistence on this particular native doctor-one who lived so far away from the village-suddenly felt like a cruel joke.


    "Please, sir," I tried again. "I''ve brought rubies for your service. I''m not here to waste your time. I-"


    "Rubies, eh?" His tone shifted slightly, but only for a moment. Then, just as quickly, it turned sharp again. "Didn''t I already tell you to scram?"


    I stepped closer to the porch, desperate. "I wouldn''t be here if it wasn''t important. I-"


    Suddenly, the upstairs window creaked open, and a wiry old man with wild, unkempt hair appeared. He squinted at me, his gaze piercing and suspicious.


    "You kids never learn, do you?" he muttered, waving a gnarled hand dismissively. "Coming here, bothering me with your nonsense. What makes you think I''d help you, huh? Go home!"The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    "But-" I started to protest.


    Before I could finish, he jabbed a bony finger at me. "Listen here, boy. If you don''t turn around and leave this instant, you''ll regret ever stepping foot on my land. You hear me?"


    His outburst sent a chill down my spine, but I planted my feet, unwilling to back down. Whatever this Maham Ranu''s reputation was, I wasn''t leaving without answers.


    "Sir, my mother insisted I see you," I called out, taking another cautious step closer to the porch. "I''m Rumi''s son...from Seafallow Village. If you know her..."


    There was a pause. Then his voice, sharp but laced with curiosity, replied, "Rumi? Seth''s wife?"


    "Yes! Yes, that''s her. My father''s Seth. Well, he...he''s passed now," I added awkwardly, unsure if this would make a difference.


    "I know that," he snapped, his voice suddenly sharper. "I was at his funeral."


    "You were?" I blinked, genuinely surprised.


    "Yes, yes. So you must be Kane. Seth''s boy."


    "Yes, sir, that''s right." Relief started to creep in. "That means we''re...family friends then. Wouldn''t you-wouldn''t you welcome me in?"


    He leaned out the window just slightly, squinting at me with a scowl. "No. Get lost."


    I froze. "What? But-but you knew my father. My mother sent me-"


    "And now I''m sending you back!" he barked, slamming the door shut with a resounding thud that rattled the porch.


    For a moment, I just stood there, staring at the closed door, utterly dumbfounded. Family friends, huh? What kind of family friend slams the door in your face?


    "You''re helping that old coot clean his house?" Finwing asked, tossing a stone into the waves with a flick of his wrist. His dark skin glistened under the afternoon sun, and his long, plaited hair swayed gently in the sea breeze as he turned to me with a crooked grin. The three of us stood at the shore, watching the other fishermen venture beyond the reef in a desperate attempt to catch something.


    "You know him?" Thaddeus laughed, leaning casually on his fishing spear, his eyebrows raised in amusement.


    "Why wouldn''t I?" Finwing smirked, throwing another stone with practiced ease. "He used to be the village''s resident lunatic doctor before he packed up and moved to the forest. Honestly, I''m surprised the old geezer''s still alive."


    "Mum''s got me doing odd jobs since fishing''s been... less than fruitful," I lied, trying to sound casual as I watched the waves lap at my feet.


    "But are you coming with us to Lume this weekend?" Thaddeus asked, his voice tinged with excitement as he nudged me lightly.


    "I don''t think so," I sighed, kicking a shell into the sand. "Still trying to convince her. I''d rather be out exploring than stuck with some grumpy old man."


    "Forget Lume," Thaddeus said, smirking as he clapped me on the shoulder. "At this rate, I don''t think traveling to Historia someday is in the cards for you, friend."


    ___


    Did you know?


    From Seafallow Village on the outskirts of Samaria to the farthest corners of the world, ruby coins are the universal currency. Each shimmering gold coin is a symbol of unity, a rare thread connecting nations otherwise divided by war, culture, and ambition. In a world of strife, this shared treasure serves as proof that even the most fractured lands can find a silver lining in their common need.


    ___

 4.

    "How long are you going to make me shout? Don''t you ever get tired of coming here?" Maham bellowed. It was the same routine, two weeks in, while most of the youths, including Thaddeus and Finwing, had already set off for Lume.


    "No one asked you to cut my lawn!" he added, glaring at the freshly trimmed grass.


    "I was just wondering why your compound looked so abandoned," I shot back, wiping sweat off my brow. "If I¡¯m going to be coming here every day because of you, I might as well keep myself busy."


    "You¡¯re doing this just to get under my skin, aren¡¯t you?"


    "Maybe. But if you¡¯d just let me in and help me, I¡¯d promise never to bother you again. Please, just this once," I said, clasping my hands dramatically.


    Maham squinted at me, clearly unconvinced. "You¡¯re persistent. I''ll give you that. But don¡¯t think for a second I¡¯m impressed."


    "So, are we really going to keep doing this back-and-forth, or are you finally going to open the door for me?" I asked, crossing my arms impatiently.


    Maham let out an exaggerated sigh, muttering under his breath before finally relenting. "Fine, you win. But listen here¡ªif you so much as irritate me, it¡¯s goodbye, and you¡¯re never coming back."


    "Noted," I said with a grin, stepping forward as he unlocked the creaky old door.


    ***


    ¡°Come in, kid. I¡¯m only letting you in because if I don¡¯t, I might die from the insanity of you yelling on my lawn every day,¡± Maham grumbled, his voice carrying the weight of defeat as he stepped aside to let me enter.


    He looked like the oldest man in existence with his dwarf stature and walking stick. His hair, now entirely silver, cascaded down in wild, unkempt waves, merging seamlessly with a long, wiry beard that wrapped around his neck like a scraggly scarf. He hadn¡¯t bothered to trim either in what seemed like decades, giving him the appearance of someone who belonged more to the forest than to civilization.


    As I stepped into his home, the air shifted. It felt thicker, charged with something unexplainable, almost sacred. The room was dimly lit, with sunlight filtering weakly through the warped wooden shutters.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Shelves lined the walls, crammed with an assortment of strange objects: jars filled with roots, powders, and preserved animal parts; bundles of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling like a canopy of ancient secrets; and stones etched with symbols I didn¡¯t recognize, glowing faintly under the flickering light of oil lamps.


    The centerpiece of the room was a massive wooden table, scarred from years of use, covered in what looked like an alchemist¡¯s toolkit¡ªmortar and pestle, vials of colored liquids, and strange-looking plants I¡¯d never seen before. Animal skulls and talismans dangled from ropes strung across the room, casting eerie shadows on the walls.


    The place smelled of earth, smoke, and something bitter¡ªlike the essence of a forest distilled into a single overwhelming aroma. It wasn¡¯t just a house; it was a shrine to an ancient art, a realm where science and superstition blurred into one.


    ¡°You can sit there,¡± Maham said, pointing to a rickety stool near the corner, ¡°Don¡¯t touch anything unless you want to lose a hand. Now, what exactly do you want from me?¡±


    I leaned forward, picking at the edge of the table as Maham stared at me, waiting for me to speak. The words felt heavy in my mouth, but I forced them out anyway.


    ¡°So, uh¡­ the first dream¡ªit was weird. I was falling. Like, from really high up. But it wasn¡¯t a mountain; it was higher, like¡­ I don¡¯t know, it didn¡¯t even seem real. The air felt so thin, I could barely breathe. My chest hurt, my lungs felt like they were about to explode, and the fall just kept going.¡± I shook my head, letting out a nervous laugh. ¡°I woke up before I hit the ground, but it felt like I was still falling, even after I opened my eyes.¡±


    Maham didn¡¯t say a word, just kept staring at me like he was trying to read my soul or something. I scratched the back of my neck and went on.


    ¡°The second one was worse.¡± I shifted uncomfortably. ¡°I dreamed I had these¡­ boils all over me. Big, disgusting ones. They burnd, and they itched, and I could feel them, like really feel them. There was this woman with me. I didn¡¯t know her name, but she was helping me, rubbing this herbal lotion on me. She kept talking to me like I was a little kid. It was¡­ creepy.¡± I paused, frowning. ¡°Her face was blurry, like, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn¡¯t make it out.¡±


    I took a shaky breath, my hands curling into fists. ¡°And then it changed. I was in this village¡ªnot Seafallow, some other place. The people there were¡­ they were angry, yelling and waving torches and pitchforks. They dragged the lady out first, screaming that she was a witch. I tried to stop them, but they didn¡¯t listen. They¡­ they threw her into this giant furnace and burned her alive.¡± My voice cracked, and I looked away. ¡°Then they came for me. They called me the devil and¡­ and threw me in after her. I woke up right when I hit the fire.¡±


    Maham finally blinked, but he still didn¡¯t say anything. His silence made it worse somehow, but I kept going.


    ¡°The last one¡­¡± My voice wavered, and I clenched my jaw to steady it. ¡°I was in this dungeon, chained up. It was so dark I could barely see anything, but I could feel it, you know? It was freezing, and it smelled awful, like¡­ like something had died in there. My body was messed up¡ªcuts, bruises, I could feel every single one. And then I¡­ I said something.¡±


    I looked up at Maham, his eyes locked onto mine. ¡°I don¡¯t know what it was, but it wasn¡¯t in English. It was something like, Thrak ven zuor vel¡¯drazak¡­ zuor vel¡¯zar drazak qeth. I didn¡¯t even know what I was saying, but it came out like¡­ like it wasn¡¯t even me talking. There were more words, but I can¡¯t remember them. I felt like I was dead.¡±


    I exhaled, slumping back in my chair. ¡°When I woke up, it felt like those words were still in my head, like they didn¡¯t leave when the dream ended.¡±


    The room was dead silent, the shadows from the lantern flickering on Maham¡¯s face. He leaned back slowly, his expression unreadable, and I couldn¡¯t tell if he was going to laugh at me or tell me I was cursed.


    ___


    Did you know?


    Thousands of years ago, the first recorded public execution was carried out on a woman from Lume and her young son. The villagers branded her a witch and labeled the boy a devil possessed by a cursed spirit. It was only after their brutal deaths that a few dared to confess the truth: the boy had been adopted, and there was no evidence she was a witch. But by then, the damage had been done, and their story became a haunting reminder of fear and ignorance¡¯s devastating power.


    ___

 5.

    "I don''t know why, but I feel like something bad is going to happen soon," I murmured, watching Maham flip through the brittle, yellowed pages of a book after much search.


    Maham paused, his finger hovering over a line of strange symbols. "It''s unlikely the dream is about you," he toned, "Someone-or something-might be trying to communicate through you."


    "You think an evil spirit is trying to talk to me?" I asked, frowning.


    He glanced at me, his expression thoughtful. "You said the woman in your dream wasn''t your mother, and the villagers weren''t anyone you recognized. That''s a significant detail. It was like you were living a life of someone else. That can only explain it," He turned another page, stopping at an illustration that sent a chill crawling up my spine.


    It was a mess of cryptic symbols, eerie diagrams, and shadowy figures. It looked less like a language and more like the scribblings of someone unraveling. "The words you spoke," Maham said quietly, "were in Sables. It''s an ancient tongue, older than most of the stories we tell today. It was banned long ago making it a taboo to learn or speak."


    "Sables?" I repeated, incredulous. "Why would a language be banned?"


    He raised his gaze to mine, "Because it was said to carry power. It was dangerous. Speaking it was seen as opening doors that should remain shut. Anyone caught using it risked their life. That''s why our ancestors erased it-why you''ve never heard of it until now. But," he added, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, "a native doctor like me isn''t much of a doctor if he doesn''t meddle in what''s been forgotten."


    "So you learned to speak it?"


    "I''ve studied it enough to understand its danger." He leaned closer to the book, his fingers tracing the ancient script. "And if you''ve been speaking Sables in your dreams, then it means someone was trying to show you something. Whomever they are, they lived at least a thousand years ago."


    A shiver ran down my spine. "What do they want?"


    "That," Maham said, his voice low and grave, "is what you must figure out."


    Maham returned from inside, a chewing stick balanced in his mouth and a small bottle in his hand.


    "This is an herbal mix," he said, holding up the bottle. "Add it to the water you drink before bed, and you''ll sleep like a baby. But don''t get clever and pour the whole thing into one meal unless you''re keen on ruining your liver. Just use a fingertip''s worth each time. Understood?"


    I nodded as he handed me the bottle. The contents inside looked like a thick yellow paste with earthy scent.


    "What do I tell my mother?" I asked.


    "Tell her about the herbs if you must," he said with a dismissive wave. "Say you''ve been having those kind of dreams because of stress, and I gave you something to help. No need to overcomplicate things."


    I nodded slowly. "And the dreams themselves? What am I supposed to do if they keep coming?"


    "When next the dream pulls you into its grasp, seek out a reflection. A mirror. A pool of water. Anything that will reveal your face to you. Stand before it, and say these words: Nakali'' zour? It is the tongue of the Sables, the question that means, ''What is your name?''"


    "And then?" I asked, my throat dry with anticipation.


    "Then you wait," he said, his gaze locking with mine, unblinking. "The reflection will answer-mark my words, it will speak. Do not flinch, do not look away. Remember all that it tells you. Etch the words into your mind as if they were carved in stone. When the exchange is done, dip your head into water. That act will sever the tether and bring you back to this realm."


    "Do not come back here unless you''ve done what I asked because I won''t be able to help you," he added before dismissing me.


    ***


    After supper, I sat cross-legged on the mat with my mother. The meal had been simple but satisfying, and she smiled at me as I explained the herbs Maham had given me. She accepted my explanation easily, her worry softening at the thought of me finding some relief.


    "Stress," I had told her, feeling the weight of my lies. "Maham said it will help me sleep better."


    "Good," she replied, her voice gentle. "You''ve been restless too many nights. That''s not good for you."


    We said our goodnights shortly after, her body sinking into the mat in exhaustion. I lay beside her, but sleep eluded me. My mind swirled with anxiety, the dreams and Maham''s words echoing in my thoughts. The hut was dark and still, except for the steady rhythm of her breathing.


    Unable to bear it any longer, I slipped off the mat and padded to the kitchen. I moved carefully, my steps soft against the floor to avoid waking her. The small bottle of paste was where I had left it, its dull yellow hue barely visible in the dim light.


    I uncorked it, the faint scent of earth wafting up to meet me. Scooping a tiny amount with my fingertip, I stirred it into my cup of water and watched the liquid swirl. When it settled, I lifted it to my lips and drank it in one gulp.


    The taste struck me immediately-thick, earthy, like clay smeared across my tongue. I grimaced but finished it, the bitterness lingering even after I set the cup down.


    Returning to the mat, I lay down and stared at the ceiling, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves. I shut my eyes and willed myself to sleep.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    The next thing I knew, I was in the middle of an arena. My clothes were little more than rags, worn and stained, clinging to me like the weight of my fear. Around me, the crowd roared, their voices a deafening sea of noise.


    Before me stood a beast-a three-headed monstrosity with a massive body and dripping saliva, its growls reverberating through the air. The other gladiators in the ring were scattered, their weapons trembling in their hands.


    The beast didn''t hesitate. It lunged forward with terrifying speed, its massive claws tearing through three men in an instant. Their screams were drowned out by the crowd''s cheers.


    And then it turned its attention to my side.


    I felt my heart pounding, my grip tightening on the blade in my hand. The beast crouched, preparing to charge. I took a deep breath and knelt, driving my blade into the soil. My hand scooped up a handful of sand, rough and cool against my palm.


    I felt my mouth whisper "Obba, you saved me from the jaws of death once. Do not forsake me now."


    The beast roared and charged, its massive form shaking the ground. The crowd''s excitement reached a fevered pitch.


    I stood, flinging the sand into the air. It scattered, blinding the beast''s eyes, disorienting it. As it staggered, I tightened my grip on the blade, dragging it behind me as I ran. I leaped, my body surging upward as I aimed for its head...


    I woke with a gasp, my chest heaving, my body drenched in sweat. The mat beneath me was soaked, my hands trembling as I tried to calm my breathing.


    "No," I muttered, my voice trembling. "No, no, no."


    My thoughts raced. I hadn''t asked its name.


    I wiped my face with trembling hands and forced myself to lie back down. My heart was still racing, but I had to try again. I shut my eyes tightly, willing myself to sleep once more.


    This time, I found myself at the center of the arena, utterly alone-no other gladiators, no beasts. I was clad in gleaming armor, including a headpiece that concealed my face. The crowd roared and cheered, their applause echoing like thunder.


    The gates to the arena creaked open, and the atmosphere shifted. The crowd fell silent as soldiers began to march out from both sides, their ranks fanning out to encircle me. Unease prickled my skin as I tightened my grip on my weapon, unsure of what would happen next.


    From behind the soldiers emerged a man dressed in fine robes. His ginger hair was speckled with gray, his face dotted with freckles, and his frame was plump. By his side stood a tall young man-his son, by the resemblance-towering over him. Guards flanked them, their presence commanding.


    "In all my years," the man began, his voice resonant and authoritative, "never have I seen a warrior as brave and skilled as you. Remove your helmet, gladiator, so I may look upon the face that has captured the hearts of the crowd."


    Slowly, I lifted my hands to my helmet, removing it with measured movements. I had never seen my face in these dreams before, yet I knew instinctively that I looked different. My black hair tumbled over my shoulders as the helmet came away. The king and his son stared at me, their expressions filled with awe.


    "What is your name?" the king asked, his voice laced with curiosity.


    "My name is Gladiator," I replied, the words leaving my mouth with a calm finality. Without waiting for permission, I turned my back to him.


    "How dare you turn your back on us! We haven''t dismissed you," the prince''s voice rang out, sharp and affronted. His tone carried the arrogance of entitlement. "Who do you think you are, Gladiator?"


    "It was you, wasn''t it? The one who sold my people into slavery. I remember your face," I snarled, rage building inside me, "I swore to the heavens I''d have your head." I drew my sword and slashed at the prince.


    "Don''t, don''t, don''t-" my thought screamed at my body. The world seemed to slow as I felt my soul tear free, slipping from his body like a thread unravelling.


    Everything blurred, my vision darkening as my body fell backward, striking the ground with a heavy thud.


    When I opened my eyes, I was no longer in the arena. My breaths came in sharp gasps as I realized I was lying at the feet of a woman. She was familiar-the same woman I''d seen before-but her form was nothing more than ashes now, her body completely burned.


    I pushed myself upright, my hands trembling as I took in my surroundings. The village was empty. The people who had killed her and tried to kill me had vanished, leaving only desolation.


    Her ashes clung to my hands, and I looked up, feeling the weight of something unseen pressing down on me. This was no ordinary vision-this was a reckoning.


    Tears flowed freely down my face as I sobbed, and he, too, let out a heart-wrenching cry.


    After what felt like an eternity at her feet, I rose slowly and began to wander around the desolate place. The village, once bustling with life, was now reduced to nothing but ashes. Everyone had truly vanished, and I couldn''t shake the feeling that something had happened that night-something I couldn''t quite grasp.


    As I walked, I noticed a lake in the distance, and suddenly, a memory stirred, one I had almost forgotten.


    With urgency, I sprinted toward it, my legs carrying me as fast as they could. When I reached the water''s edge, I bent down, peering into the reflective surface.


    But the face staring back at me was unfamiliar. His eyes were the deepest shade of blue, his dark hair cascading down my shoulders, his face oval, with a jawline so sharp it seemed carved by the gods. There was something about his features that mirrored mine, though, an eerie resemblance that unsettled me.


    "Nakali zour?" I uttered shakily, the words slipping from my mouth in a language I didn''t recognize.


    Then, my reflection moved. Not me, but the figure before me. I froze in shock.


    He chuckled softly, a sound that sent chills down my spine. "Who taught you to speak in sables?" he asked in a deep, almost haunting voice.


    "Ha..how is this possible? Who the hell are you?!" I demanded, my voice shaking as my heart hammered in my chest.


    The reflection didn''t flinch. A cruel, knowing smirk curled at the edges of his lips, and his voice, low and ruthless, slithered through the air like poison.


    "Mir Nakali," he said, each word dropping like a death sentence. "Lucien Valerius Morningstar. Chief commander of the Phoenix Legions of the North. Loyal servant to the one true emperor of Oakwyn, Malak Severus-the third son of God, cursed to walk among mortals until the day I return to dust. I am the devil. I am the Prince of Darkness."


    His eyes locked onto mine, cold and predatory, as if he could feel my soul trembling.


    "And I am your father."


    ___


    Did you know?


    The story of the fallen angels isn''t just a myth. It''s the tale of Lucien Valerius Morningstar, the son of God, cast down to Earth to live among mortals as punishment for defying his father. A punishment that would teach him the harshest lessons in humility.


    Lucien lived as a commoner, raised by an adoptive mother, until the day the villagers discovered his powers. In their fear, they accused his mother of being a witch, blaming her for giving birth to an evil spirit, and burnt them alive.


    God didn''t keep his son alive to save him. No, He kept him alive to make him endure even more suffering, forcing him to live through the consequences of his defiance. Lucien found himself thrust into the brutal life of a gladiator once again after being captured and sold into slavery by Oakwyn.


    It was there, in the blood-soaked sands of the arena, that the King took notice of him, offering him a high rank in the military. But with power came envy, and soon, Lucien''s rise in the ranks would ignite fierce jealousy in the royal court-an enmity that would follow him wherever he went.


    ___

 6.

    I sat at Maham''s right hand, the flickering torchlight casting shadows across the room. It was late, and my mind was heavy after the conversation I''d had with Lucien Valerius. A conversation that made me question everything about my existence.


    Lucien Valerius had claimed me as his son. Stranger still, he also claimed to be the devil himself. The devil. The very being I prayed against, the one I begged God to keep far from my path and my destiny. How could I be his son? It made no sense.


    From Maham''s dusty old books, I learned that Lucien Valerius was a man without origins. There were no birth records to his name in Samaria, the land where he was raised. But he had an adoptive mother-a widow who took him in as a child.


    Lucien had always known who he truly was. He didn''t need anyone to tell him. And it wasn''t long before his adoptive mother discovered the truth as well. Yet, she raised him with kindness, teaching him compassion, love, and humanity. She showed him what it meant to care for others, and her influence shaped him.


    When she died, Lucien was shattered. Her death left a void he couldn''t fill, but he had always known it was coming. God, as Lucien often said, had promised not to make his life easier than any human''s. He would endure loss and heartbreak just as deeply as anyone else.


    Lucien learned this the hard way. He watched as Samarian men were slaughtered as gladiators, their blood spilling for the amusement of others. He saw Samarian women sold like cattle to the elite families of Oakwyn. It hardened him, even as it broke him.


    Lucien became a commander after saving King Malak Severus from a coup orchestrated by the king''s ambitious eldest son. In a dramatic twist, Lucien not only thwarted the rebellion but also killed the prince who sought his father''s early dethronement. Grateful beyond measure, King Malak Severus appointed Lucien as chief commander of the largest legion in Oakwyn and crowned his younger son the next king.


    Over the next thousand years, Lucien served under 49 monarchs in Oakwyn, each reigning until they grew old and passed on. While Lucien''s appearance aged only marginally over centuries, the people whispered of his otherworldly longevity.


    Many believed he was the devil himself, the son of God sent to cause mayhem on Earth but chose to do good. The people revered him; some even built temples in his name, worshipping him as either a god or a divine figure with unmatched strength. This adoration created tensions within the royal courts.


    As the centuries passed, kings grew increasingly wary of Lucien''s influence and popularity. They saw him as both an asset and a threat. To undermine him, they assigned him and his armies the most perilous missions during Oakwyn''s endless wars with Historia and Gladeshaven. Yet, despite Oakwyn''s limited resources and small territory compared to its rivals, the kingdom emerged victorious time and again-thanks to Lucien''s unparalleled leadership and strategy.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Eventually, his loyalty came into question. Sixteen years ago, a few months before I was born, Lucien was executed for treason.


    "What kind of treason?" I interrupted, breaking Maham''s reading.


    "How should I know? We live on a tiny island far removed from Oakwyn''s affairs. Those matters are none of my concern," Maham said, removing his reading glasses. "But I do know this-there are two kings ruling Oakwyn today."


    "Two?" I asked, my brow furrowing.


    "A few centuries ago, a Duke''s family in Oakwyn waged war against the royal family. With Lucien''s help, they emerged victorious. Apparently, the royal family was attempting to form an alliance with Historia, and Lucien wasn''t having it."


    "Is that why they killed him?"


    "No, that happened much later," Maham clarified. "The Duke''s family established themselves as rulers of the northern region, now called North Oak, while the southern region remained under the royal family''s control. That war divided the kingdom and likely sowed the seeds for Lucien''s eventual demise. The royal court probably waited for the perfect moment to get rid of him."


    "And they did," I whispered, feeling a pang of pity for the man I didn''t even know.


    "Yes, they did," Maham replied solemnly.


    "At least he can rest now. A thousand years is no small feat," he added,"Funny how he never aged. If only I were a god, how much simpler my life would be."


    "Even gods don''t escape the burden of their stories," I muttered, "But i just can''t believe he is my father. That''s a lot to process I mean how did I end up in Samaria then? And my parents how did they find me. They never spoke to me about being adopted."


    ___


    Did you know?


    The duke, whom Lucien aided in securing the northern half of Oakwyn, was Malak Severus (Named after King Malak Severus I), the second grandson of the last emperor, Sihe Severus. Unlike much of the royal court, Malak stood firmly against his older cousin, Emperor Taka Severus, and the corrupt path he was carving.


    Taka sought an alliance with Historia-a morally bankrupt nation-to dominate the world by force, subjugating other tribes to establish a new era of civilization.


    Taka ruled with an iron fist, his inner circle just as power-hungry and ruthless as their emperor. His hatred for Lucien was no secret. While many praised Lucien for his unparalleled strength and wisdom, Taka saw him as a threat to his authority. The emperor''s envy deepened when Lucien openly defied him, demanding an end to the alliance with Historia. When his demands were ignored, Lucien turned his back on the royal family, vowing to wield his blade against them should they proceed.


    This defiance led to a decade-long war-a brutal conflict that fractured Oakwyn and tested the resilience of its people. With Lucien''s support, Malak Draven emerged victorious, claiming the northern territories as his own and establishing himself as king of the North. The war left families divided, tribes dissolved, and the political landscape irrevocably changed. Yet under Malak''s rule, the North thrived.


    Policies were reformed, communities rebuilt, and prosperity seemed to favor the North-a testament, many believed, to Lucien''s divine favor. For where the gaze of God falls, there too shall fortune follow.


    ___

 7.

    "If I am the devil''s son, doesn''t that make me a monster?" I asked, frowning deeply.


    I stood once again in this surreal dreamscape¡ªa realm beyond space and time, far removed from reality. With me stood Lucien Valerius, the man who claimed to be my father.


    "You are not a monster, Kane," he replied.


    "Then what am I?" I snapped, the frustration boiling over. "You''ve made it clear that I''m your son, and you keep showing me your memories in my dreams. But what does it even matter anymore? You''re dead. I''m here, living a completely different life. We aren''t alike!"


    Lucien tilted his head, a flicker of sadness in his eyes. "Oh, is that what you believe?" he said softly. "You think I was born into greatness, that I was always the man you see now?"


    I said nothing, crossing my arms and looking away.


    "I was raised on an island  too," he continued, his tone gentle, almost nostalgic. "By a mother who loved me fiercely, even as the world scorned us. She made oils from crops and sold them at the market, while I worked under fishermen, hauling nets and learning the tides. My life was as simple as yours, Kane¡ªuntil, in the blink of an eye, everything changed."


    I turned back to him, my brow furrowed. "But why are you telling me this? You''re gone. What difference does it make now?"


    Lucien stepped closer, his presence towering yet oddly comforting. "Because I am not here to demand anything of you, Kane. I am here to prepare you. You are my son, and the road ahead of you will not be easy."


    A chill ran down my spine. "What does that mean? Will something happen to me?"


    Lucien''s gaze softened, and for the first time, he looked almost human. "No... and yes," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Kane, out lives are not like others. The world will challenge you, reject you, even hate you for what you are. You will face trials that will make you question your very existence. And yes, you will lose people along the way, but I want you to always keep fighting and pressing on. Do"


    I swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on me. "Why?" I muttered. "Why was I even born if the world doesn''t want me in it?"


    "Because against all odds, you were born," Lucien said, "Even your late mother didn''t believe you''d make it, yet here you are. Alive. Breathing. A miracle in a world that fears miracles."


    I met his gaze, searching for answers, for solace.


    "You are not just human, Kane," he said, his voice resolute. "And you are not just a god. You are both. And that duality will feel like a push and pull, tearing at you from both realms. You will feel the weight of humanity''s struggles and the burden of divine purpose. But that is also your strength."


    My throat tightened, and I whispered, "I''m not as strong as you. Sorry to disappoint you if I fail."


    Lucien placed a hand on my shoulder, "You won''t fail, Kane. You carry my blood, yes, but your destiny is yours to shape. You will falter, you will doubt, but you will rise. Because that is what we are. And when the time comes, you will understand your purpose of existence and set the balance I failed to provide during my time."


    I felt a lump in my throat, the overwhelming mix of fear and hope threatening to drown me.


    Lucien stepped back, his form beginning to waver like smoke in the wind. "You are more than you believe, Kane," he said, his voice echoing as the dream began to fade. "But only you can discover what that means."


    And just like that, he was gone. I woke with a start, the weight of his words pressing heavily on my chest, the faint scent of saltwater lingering in the air.


    ***


    Time passed like the wind; before I knew it, a whole year had slipped by, and I found myself celebrating my seventeenth birthday. The famine era had ended, and life in the village gradually returned to normal. The fields were green again, the markets bustling, and the laughter of children echoed through the streets.


    But ever since that encounter with my father, I hadn''t seen or heard from him. His cryptic warnings still lingered in my mind, like a shadow that refused to fade. How could he abandon me like that after scaring the life out of me?


    Despite the quiet, I couldn''t shake the feeling that something was wrong. It wasn''t a dream this time, but an unsettling tension that gnawed at my gut. Something was coming, I could feel it¡ªa force that would rise from the waters and reduce everything I knew to ash.


    "Kane! Get over here and lend us a hand!" Thaddeus'' voice snapped me out of my thoughts. He and his father were standing by the shore, waving me over.


    The sun glinted off the waves, and the air smelled of salt and fresh fish. The fishermen were busy with their daily work, hauling in nets brimming with silver-scaled catches.


    I jogged over, trying to shake the unease from my mind. "So many fish!" I said, grinning as I reached them. "How did you manage this haul?"


    "Good weather, good tides," Thaddeus'' father replied with a satisfied chuckle, wiping the sweat from his brow. "And maybe a little luck from God."


    "Luck?" I laughed, grabbing one side of the heavy net to help them. "More like hard work. Don''t give God all the credit."


    Thaddeus snorted. "Says the guy who spends his time staring at the horizon like it''s going to swallow him whole. You''ve been acting really strange lately."


    "Me, weird. I''m not acting weird," I shot back.


    "You were acting strange but now you are acting weird," Thaddeus laughed.


    Thaddeus''s father clapped a firm hand on both our shoulders as we stood by the shore. "You boys take this catch to the market and sell it," he said, wiping his hands on a rag. "I''ll tend to the boat and clean up here. Make sure you get a good price for it, alright?"This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    "Yes, sir," Thaddeus replied, adjusting the sack of fish on his shoulder. I hoisted a smaller basket, following him up the path toward the village market.


    The market was lively, buzzing with the sounds of bargaining, laughter, and the occasional clatter of wares. The air was thick with the scents of fresh produce, spices, and, of course, fish. We found a spot near the center and started arranging the fish for display, calling out to attract buyers.


    But then, over the din of the marketplace, we heard a commotion. A group of men stood near a vegetable stall, loud and unsteady, clearly drunk even though it was barely midday. People gave them a wide berth, casting wary glances in their direction.


    "Lyon and his crew again," Thaddeus muttered, lowering his voice as he nudged me. "Because he''s the chief''s son doesn''t give him the right to do whatever he pleases whenever. This is a market for God''s sake."


    Lyon Martell, the chief''s son, was tall and broad-shouldered, with a sneer permanently etched onto his face. His companions¡ªOrrick and Halden¡ªwere just as rough-looking, though clearly they followed Lyon''s lead.


    They had cornered a smaller boy, no older than us, by the fruit stall. The boy clutched a small pouch, his knuckles white as he refused to let go.


    "Come on, Alric," Lyon drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. "You''ve been holding out on us. Hand it over, and maybe we won''t rearrange that pretty face of yours."


    "I told you, I don''t have anything!" the boy, Alric, protested, his voice trembling.


    Orrick snatched at the pouch, but Alric twisted away. "You''re lying!" Orrick snarled. "We saw you with it earlier. What''s in the pouch, huh? Rubies? Food? Give it here!"


    Halden stepped closer, cracking his knuckles. "Maybe we should beat the truth out of him."


    "Kane," Thaddeus whispered urgently, grabbing my arm. "Don''t get involved. Just leave it. They''ll turn on you if you try anything."


    I looked at the terrified boy, his back pressed against the stall as Lyon and his friends loomed over him. Something inside me churned, a mixture of anger and resolve.


    "They can try," I said, shaking off Thaddeus''s hand.


    Before he could stop me, I stepped forward, raising my voice. "Hey, Lyon! Don''t you get tired terrorizing people. Are you that jobless."


    The marketplace fell silent as all eyes turned to us. Lyon slowly turned, his sneer deepening. "Kane? Did you say something?"


    I crossed my arms, planting my feet firmly. "Get lost from here."


    ***


    The marketplace was alive with chaos and energy¡ªa cacophony of merchants barking prices, the metallic jingle of coins exchanging hands, and the unrestrained laughter of children weaving through the throng. But all of it dimmed, as if muffles by an invisible force, the moment Lyon''s fist clenched at his side. He took a deliberate step toward me, his sneer dripping with menace.


    "So, you''ve got guts," he said, voice low and cutting. "Let''s see if they spill just as easily."


    Before I could respond, Thaddeus seized my arm, his fingers digging in. "Kane, don''t!" he hissed, his breath shallow with fear.


    I didn''t move. I couldn''t. Lyon''s cronies circled like wolves, eyes gleaming with anticipation, ready to pounce.


    And then... the world shifted.


    A rumble, distant at first, rose above the marketplace din, growing with relentless intensity. It wasn''t thunder¡ªit was the pounding of feet. The ground seemed to tremble beneath us as the noise grew deafening. Screams followed, raw and panicked, cutting through the air like a blade.


    "Run!" a man bellowed, his voice cracking. "They''re coming!"


    For a moment, the market froze. The stillness was more terrifying than the noise. Then pandemonium erupted. Merchants abandoned their stalls, goods scattered as they fled. Parents yanked children by their hands, shouting in terror. The once-lively square was now a maelstrom of shoving, tripping, screaming bodies, each one scrambling to escape.


    "What''s happening?" someone cried.


    "A big boat!" another voice shrieked, barely audible over the chaos. "A whole army of soldiers¡ªthey''re killing everyone!"


    The stampede reached us like a tidal wave. Stalls crashed to the ground, baskets of goods spilling underfoot as people surged forward. Even Lyon and his gang, all bravado moments earlier, paled with terror. They shoved their way through the crowd, fleeing without so much as a backward glance.


    The basket of fish got tumbled over by the stampede, its contents scattering across the dirt. My legs felt anchored to the ground, unwilling to move, even as my mind screamed at me to run. The madness of the moment blurred into a whirl of sound and motion, too overwhelming to process.


    "Kane!" Thaddeus''s voice cut through the haze. His grip on my sleeve tightened, his face pale with desperation. "We have to go!"


    But then his expression shifted, his eyes darting toward the shore. A new kind of fear filled his voice, sharp and anguished. "My father," he whispered. "He''s still at shore!"


    Before I could react, he let go and bolted, shoving through the panicked crowd, shouting for his father. His voice grew fainter with every step.


    I tried to follow, but something stopped me¡ªa sensation, an oppressive weight that settled in my chest. It wasn''t fear or confusion, but something colder, more alien.


    The noise around me seemed to dull, the chaos of the crowd fading into a strange, suffocating silence.


    A figure of someone stepped out of the chaos, his movements unnaturally calm amidst the frenzy. He was clad in a foreign attire with little armor, polished to an obsidian sheen, etched with intricate patterns that shimmered like black flames.


    His presence was wrong¡ªan unnatural void that seemed to draw the light, the sound, the air itself toward him.


    In his hand, he carried a bow, sleek and cruel in design.


    He didn''t move. Every fiber of my being screamed to run, but my body betrayed me, rooted to the ground as though bound by invisible chains.


    With a deliberate grace, the figure raised the bow. His hands moved fluidly, nocking an arrow with the precision of a predator toying with its prey. He drew the string back, the weapon groaning with lethal tension.


    "Kane!" I heard Thaddeus''s voice again, distant now, calling out to me from the direction of the shore. I turned just in time to see him shoving through the crowd, his face a mask of desperation as he fought against the tide of fleeing villagers.


    But the figure had seen him, too.


    "No¡ªThaddeus!" I screamed, but my voice was swallowed by the chaos.


    Thaddeus didn''t see it coming. The figure loosed the arrow in a single, fluid motion, the shaft gleaming in the dim sunlight as it streaked toward him. It struck with a sickening finality, burying itself deep into his skull.


    Thaddeus''s legs crumpled beneath him, and he collapsed to his knees before falling face-first onto the dirt.


    He didn''t move again.


    ___


    Additional note.


    The attack on the Samarians was as brutal as it was unexpected, a tragedy carved into the annals of their history.


    In the early days of humanity¡¯s march toward civilization, when the people of Lume Island were only beginning to emerge from their primal existence, they faced a calamity that would alter their future forever. Lume was invaded by outsiders wielding weapons of unimaginable power and riding strange, swift beasts that devoured the ground beneath them.


    The attackers came clad in garments unlike anything the islanders had ever seen¡ªarmor that gleamed like the sun and cloth dyed in colors no Lum could name. With fire and chains, they swept across the land, taking not only lives but the freedom of countless souls. Many of Lume''s inhabitants were forcibly taken, shipped across vast, unknowable waters to Oakwyn, where they were reduced to slaves, their humanity erased beneath the lash of cruel masters.


    For those left behind on Lume, survival became an uphill battle. Entire families were ripped apart, and the island¡¯s flourishing communities were left gutted, struggling to sustain what little remained. Generations passed, and though the remaining lums rebuilt what they could, the pain lingered like an unhealed wound. They never heard from their stolen kin again¡ªlost to the far-off land of Oakwyn, where their fates were sealed.


    It was a stark reminder of how unprepared they were to face an enemy so advanced¡ªarmed with lethal weapons and mounted on those terrifying creatures that were nothing like the gentle beasts the islanders knew. The memory of that dark chapter haunted their culture secretly for centuries, a shadow that reminded them how fragile peace could be in the face of the unknown.


    Today, this day, the Islanders on Samaria have faced the same fate.


    ___

 8.

    Thaddeus and I were just boys when our fathers took us to the beach for the first time. I remember the day vividly¡ªnot because of the waves or the salty breeze, but because of Thaddeus''s crying.


    He was terrified of the ocean, clinging to his father like a lifeline and sobbing to go back home. I watched him from where I stood, my small hand tightly clasped in my father''s, wondering why the ocean scared him so much. To me, it wasn''t frightening at all. The rhythmic rise and fall of the tides seemed almost magical, the way Seafallow''s ocean shimmered under the sun, mesmerizing in its vastness.


    My father, ever patient, urged me to go and play with him. "He''s just lonely," he said. Hesitant but determined, I walked over and stretched out my hand. "Do you want to build a sandcastle?" I asked nervously, unsure if he''d even look at me through his tears.


    Thaddeus sniffled, wiped his nose on his sleeve, and nodded.


    That was the beginning. From that moment, Thaddeus and I were inseparable. We weren''t just friends¡ªwe were brothers in everything but blood. Together with Finwing, we shared adventures, secrets, and dreams. Our fathers, all fishermen by trade, made sure our families grew close. Over the years, we became more than neighbors; we became an extension of one another''s lives.


    When my father died a year later, leaving me fatherless at just six years old, Thaddeus''s family stepped in. They didn''t treat us like a charity case, nor did they pity us. They treated us like family¡ªlike nothing had changed, even though everything had.


    But no amount of love or kindness could prepare me for what was to come.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    Never in my life had I imagined losing even more of the people I loved, let alone all at once, in the blink of an eye.


    My best friend laid a few feet away from me, lifeless, surrounded by a pool of blood. Everything around me felt like a blur. Pain, confusion, and panic were crashing into me all at once, leaving me frozen and lost in my own head.


    The piercing screams of people snapped me back to reality. My heart dropped as I saw the archer again, releasing another flurry of arrows into the crowd. More bodies hit the ground¡ªtoo many to count.


    Then came the riders. Men on horseback stormed through the village, laughing like this was some kind of game. They lashed out with whips and chains, dragging people from their homes. Those who fought back were cut down on the spot.


    I ran. My legs moved on instinct, dodging and weaving as I made for the forest. I didn''t know where I was going, only that I had to get away.


    Who were these people? Why were they doing this? None of it made sense.


    That''s when it hit me¡ªthat nagging feeling I''d had all week. Something wasn''t right. I didn''t know what it was back then, but now I did.


    "Mum."


    The thought of her made my chest tighten. I had to get to her. I had to protect her.


    I ran faster, my breath coming in gasps. My house wasn''t far, and I prayed I wasn''t already too late. But even in the forest, I could still hear the screams and the sound of chains dragging across the dirt. The village was being torn apart, and I could only hope I''d make it in time.


    ___


    Did you know?


    The people of Samaria are known as Samarians, carrying the legacy of their homeland in their very name.


    The inhabitants of Lume Island are called Lums.


    The citizens of Oakwyn are referred to as Oaks (Southern and Northern Oaks), a name that mirrors their nation¡¯s reputation for strength and enduring ambition.


    The people of Historia bear the title of Historians, fitting for a land steeped in lore and the preservation of knowledge.


    Lastly, the citizens of Gladeshaven are known as Everglades, a name as poetic and ethereal as the lush beauty of their homeland.


    ___