《Heir of the Lost Souls》 Chapter 1 – The Breath Beyond Death Heir of the Lost Souls Chapter 1 ¨C The Breath Beyond Death The cold, damp soil clung to Velmorian¡¯s skin like a shroud. His chest tightened; breath came only in shallow bursts. From within the darkness, distant murmurs began to stir¡ªunearthly and discordant.
"He¡¯s awakened..." "Don¡¯t touch him!" "Let him be! He must face his fate!" "Fate? He¡¯s already dead!"
When Velmorian opened his eyes, he saw only rotting wood and wet earth above him. He tried to move, but his arms were numb under an unseen weight. The voices grew louder¡ªclashing, arguing, demanding.
"Send him back!" "No! He must know the truth!"
Suddenly, the earth trembled. The weight above him collapsed into itself¡ªand then there was no ground, no grave. He was outside. But not alive. Floating above his own lifeless body. He dropped to his knees and raised his hands¡ªyet he no longer had hands. Only a faint shimmer of form, a reflection of what once was. And before him stood a figure cloaked in white. Faceless. Hollow. Silent.
"Those who so easily offer their lives must first be shown what death truly is," the figure spoke. The voice was neither deep nor high, but echoed from many mouths at once.
Velmorian¡¯s thoughts fractured. ¡°Am I... dead?¡± he asked, his voice ragged and fragile. The figure knelt and touched the soil where Velmorian¡¯s grave once was. The earth shifted. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. Rotting hands, shattered bones, ancient stones¡ªall rose like ghosts surfacing from water.
"Death is not merely an end," the figure said. "But you¡­ you do not yet understand what an end truly means."
Then the whispers returned. No longer distant. No longer calm. They clawed at his mind¡ªhungry, angry, urgent.
"Velmorian¡­ don''t go..." "You belong here." "The dead... were once like you." "Don''t follow him... what will he show you?"
Velmorian stepped back. The white-robed figure reached toward him. And when his hand touched Velmorian¡¯s chest¡ª Everything went black. There was no ground beneath him. No sky above. He was suspended in nothing, unsure if he had a body, yet aware he still felt.
¡°What... is this?¡± His voice disappeared without echo.
A mirror appeared. Smooth. Cold. It reflected no light¡ªonly depthless shadow. He stared into it¡­ but saw no reflection. Then the voice returned:
"You wished to see beyond death. So look."
The mirror rippled. A man knelt, blood pouring from his chest. He clutched at the wound, trying in vain to stop the flow. His face¡ªfamiliar. Velmorian knew him, but not his name. Behind the man, a cloaked figure leaned in and whispered into his ear. The dying man¡¯s eyes widened¡ªthen dimmed forever. The mirror clouded, then cleared again. Now a woman held a child''s hand, walking through a shadowed corridor. Whispers followed behind them. The woman turned and looked straight at Velmorian. He stepped back. But there was no floor to retreat to. Then the final image came. Himself. But not himself. The white-robed figure appeared behind the mirror. His voice was neither cruel nor kind.
"Those who long most for death are often the ones who¡¯ve never truly lived." "And you, Velmorian... even in death, found no peace."
The mirror cracked. Then shattered. Velmorian opened his eyes again. He lay trembling on the cold earth of the Forgotten Graves. The sky above was devoured by shadow. The headstones stood like crooked silhouettes in the mist. And in front of him¡­ stood his own body, lifeless and still. He had returned. But not as before. Chapter 2 - Reflection Of The Past As Velmorian walked the streets with heavy steps, every corner whispered a new story. While the city continued its life in the usual flow, time moved differently for him. The memories of his former days seemed to crawl out from beneath every stone. But he was no longer part of the past. In Aldenora, news always spread fastest through the taverns. Rumors traveled quicker than ale, and the city¡¯s greatest secrets spilled from the mouths of the drunk. Velmorian stepped through the door of a run-down yet lively tavern. The inside was thick with tobacco smoke and the sour scent of old beer. In one corner, dice clattered across a backgammon board; in another, the dull clinking of mugs met the deep laughter of men. He wondered if anyone in this place still spoke of his death. In the far corner of the bar, two men spoke in hushed tones.
¡°If he can¡¯t pay his debts, Garran Holt won¡¯t be seeing the next moon,¡± one of them muttered.
¡°Garran? He always finds a way. Probably stolen someone¡¯s coin again,¡± the other chuckled.
Something stirred in Velmorian¡¯s chest. The first name on the parchment had finally surfaced. Garran Holt¡­
¡°This time might be different,¡± the first man said. ¡°Word is, he swindled a merchant. Picked the wrong people to cross.¡±
¡°Who?¡±
¡°I think... one of Hogen¡¯s men.¡±
Velmorian frowned slightly at the name Hogen. In the city, that man was known for laundering dirty money, collecting debts, and running half of Aldenora¡¯s underground. If Garran had truly made an enemy of him, his days were already numbered. That could either make Velmorian¡¯s task easier... Or much more complicated. As Velmorian sipped his drink and continued to listen, the conversation suddenly shifted.
¡°By the way, did you hear about Velmorian¡¯s death?¡± one of them asked quietly.
The other slammed his cup down.
¡°Of course. Threw his life away over a woman. Fool.¡±
Velmorian¡¯s heart gave a small jolt. To hear strangers dissect his past, unaware of his presence, stirred a strange unease within him. But then, one of them said something else.
¡°Don¡¯t speak ill of him,¡± said the first. ¡°He was a good man. Not like the rest of us. At least he had honor. He even forged a sword for me once.¡±
Velmorian sat still, a tight knot forming in his throat. To hear how others remembered him ¡ª some with disdain, others with respect ¡ª brought a wave of tangled emotions. As Velmorian was still processing the words spoken about him, the tavern door suddenly burst open. A gust of cold wind swept in as two large men entered. They didn¡¯t look like the usual drunks or weary travelers. There was a weight in their gaze ¡ª sharp, searching. One of them stepped forward, making his way to the bar with heavy, deliberate steps. The chatter in the tavern quickly dulled. A few men lowered their heads, focusing intently on their drinks. Then, in a deep and commanding voice, the man asked:
¡°Is Garran Holt here?¡±
A short silence fell over the room like a heavy curtain. Most people stared into their mugs or picked at the food before them. Velmorian, however, took another calm sip of his drink ¡ª watching. So Garran Holt had more enemies than just him. He continued to observe in silence, curious who these men were, who they served, and why they were after Garran. The barkeep cleared his throat nervously before replying:
¡°Don¡¯t know anyone by that name.¡±
The man¡¯s eyes narrowed. The one behind him spat on the floor and scanned the room with suspicion.
¡°Don¡¯t lie to us. We know he¡¯s been around here.¡±
Velmorian leaned back slightly, weighing the scene. Clearly, he wasn¡¯t the only one looking for Garran. But the real question was... Were these men enemies ¡ª or tools yet to be used? The tension in the tavern thickened like smoke. Velmorian, ever composed, kept watching. When the men eventually exited, Velmorian followed ¡ª quietly, like a shadow slipping through the cracks of the night. As they disappeared into the alleyways, Velmorian moved after them, careful not to draw attention. He trailed them with practiced ease ¡ª but then, a sensation crept down his spine. He was being watched. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a woman passing by. She slowed, turned slightly, and looked directly at him.
¡°You¡¯re not from around here, are you? I don¡¯t recall seeing you before.¡±
Velmorian didn¡¯t answer. He glanced at her briefly, assessing. She smiled softly, as if trying to lure him in.
¡°Not many walk these streets alone. Are you searching for something? Or just wandering?¡±
Velmorian¡¯s gaze locked with hers for a moment. She stepped closer, her interest obvious.
¡°Perhaps you''d like a drink? I could show you around... help a lost soul find his way.¡±
Though Velmorian knew he couldn¡¯t afford to lose time, this unexpected encounter gave him a moment to think. Whether she realized it or not, she had sensed something in him ¡ª something unnatural. Still, Velmorian gave a small, polite nod. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
¡°Perhaps another time,¡± he said.
And moved on. But that brief distraction cost him. The men were gone. Velmorian clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. He wouldn¡¯t give up that easily. He headed swiftly toward the last alley where he¡¯d seen them disappear. That¡¯s when he heard it ¡ª voices from inside a nearby house. A heavy, threatening voice echoed through a cracked door:
¡°When were you planning to pay, Garran? You think Hogen is just some street gambler?¡±
Another voice, frail and trembling:
¡°I swear, just one more week¡­ please, just one week!¡±
Velmorian quickened his pace and peeked through the opening. The large men had Garran pressed against a wall. One of them had already drawn a knife from his belt. No gold was coming. Garran was broke ¡ª and about to be silenced permanently. Velmorian didn¡¯t hesitate. In a single motion, he kicked the door open and stepped inside. The room froze as Velmorian entered. All eyes turned toward him. Hogen¡¯s men instinctively reached for their weapons. But Velmorian didn¡¯t flinch. He spoke in a calm, commanding voice:
¡°Hogen thinks this has gone on long enough. I¡¯m taking over now.¡±
The thugs glanced at each other, confused. The larger one narrowed his eyes.
¡°Hogen sent you?¡± His voice was a blend of doubt and authority.
Velmorian stared coldly.
¡°Do I look familiar to you?¡±
The man hesitated, scanning Velmorian¡¯s posture, clothing, expression. New face. Confident voice. The other one grumbled:
¡°Hogen didn¡¯t tell us anything about this¡­¡±
Velmorian tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk on his lips.
¡°Does he tell you everything? If I¡¯m here now, either you¡¯ve been lied to... Or he doesn¡¯t trust you. Which is it?¡±
The thug stood speechless for a moment. Even the larger man stepped back slightly, reassessing the stranger before him. Meanwhile, Garran stared wide-eyed, caught between confusion and relief. He didn¡¯t know what game this was ¡ª but he liked it. Finally, the bigger man gave a slight shrug.
¡°Fine. If Hogen sent you, then it¡¯s your mess now. We¡¯ll be waiting outside.¡±
His partner nodded, and both headed for the door. Velmorian offered a slight nod in return ¡ª just enough to seem in control. They didn¡¯t question further; they just wanted the job done. As the door closed behind them, only Velmorian and Garran remained. Garran whispered, disbelief thick in his voice:
¡°Did Hogen really send you?¡±
Velmorian gave him a mocking smile.
¡°I didn¡¯t realize gamblers were this gullible.¡± Velmorian scanned the room quickly. In the back, he spotted a small window. Lifting the curtain slightly, he saw a narrow alley behind the house ¡ª quiet and empty.
¡°Move,¡± he whispered.
Garran hesitated, but when he saw the look in Velmorian¡¯s eyes, he simply nodded. They slipped out one after the other. Outside, one of the thugs perked up, hearing a faint noise from inside.
¡°What the hell was that?¡±
He reached for the doorknob and opened it¡­ to find nothing. The room was empty. By then, Velmorian and Garran had already disappeared into the dark backstreets. They ran. Through twisting alleys, over slippery stones ¡ª breath ragged, hearts pounding. When Garran realized they were heading for the edge of the city, he finally spoke:
¡°Did you really save me? Or do you just enjoy tricking people?¡±
Velmorian smiled.
¡°If you can tell the difference, you¡¯ve gambled too much.¡±
Garran let out a strained chuckle, still visibly tense.
¡°Didn¡¯t know I owed you a favor.¡±
Velmorian shrugged.
¡°Neither did I.¡±
The streets grew quieter. Soon, they passed beyond the city¡¯s outer walls, heading toward a lone shack on the horizon. Dry grass whispered in the wind. The wooden boards of the building creaked softly, weathered by time. Inside, Velmorian tapped the wooden table with his fingers.
¡°We can stay here tonight. The city¡¯s too quiet, and we don¡¯t know if they¡¯re still after us.¡±
Garran sank into a chair, exhaling deeply.
¡°Can¡¯t believe you actually saved me. I owe you more than I can say.¡±
Velmorian gave a faint smile.
¡°Might want to hold off on the gratitude. We don¡¯t know what tomorrow looks like yet.¡±
¡°True,¡± Garran nodded. ¡°But at least for now, we¡¯re safe.¡±
Velmorian didn¡¯t respond. The shack was cold. The wooden walls creaked gently in the wind. Garran rubbed his hands together and glanced at Velmorian.
¡°Tell me something... Why did you do it? Why save me?¡±
Velmorian looked up at him for a moment. Then, with a shrug:
¡°I don¡¯t like Hogen.¡±
Garran raised a brow.
¡°Seriously? Anyone who likes gold works for him. Not liking him sounds like a luxury.¡±
Velmorian chuckled faintly.
¡°Sometimes luxury is necessary.¡±
Garran watched him with a thoughtful look.
¡°Then I guess I¡¯ve earned a drink for surviving the night, haven¡¯t I?¡±
He pulled a small flask from his belt. Velmorian dipped his head slightly.
¡°By all means.¡±
Garran took a long swig. The heat of the liquor softened the lines on his face.
¡°Want some?¡±
Velmorian shook his head.
¡°I¡¯d rather not.¡±
Garran shrugged, took another drink, and slumped back into his chair. His tension slowly faded. Then Velmorian stepped forward. He reached into his cloak and gripped the dagger. For a brief moment, something shifted in the room. The shadows quivered ¡ª like the corners of the room had drawn breath. When he drew the blade, its black surface swallowed the light. Shadows curled along its edge, yet the steel was solid ¡ª real. In one swift motion, Velmorian plunged the dagger into Garran¡¯s throat. Garran¡¯s eyes widened. He tried to scream, but no sound came. As soon as the blade touched him, the shadows stirred. His body trembled. His pupils dilated. Only Velmorian knew what the dagger truly did. This was no ordinary death. Garran¡¯s body convulsed, like something was being pulled from within. Where the blade pierced, his form seemed to blur ¡ª as if melting into shadow. For an instant, a whisper echoed through the room. Then¡­ silence. When Velmorian withdrew the blade, Garran¡¯s body slumped from the chair. The flask rolled from his fingers, spilling its last drops across the wooden floor. The dagger shimmered ¡ª cold and unreadable. It looked untouched. But Velmorian could feel it. Something moved within the dark steel. Then the whispers returned.
¡°Well done¡­ keep going¡­¡±
¡°Didn¡¯t think you had it in you¡­¡±
¡°This is only the beginning.¡±
They carved into his mind like knives. But the true weight came not from the voices ¡ª but from the memories. The dagger showed him. Suddenly, Velmorian¡¯s mind was pulled into a dark spiral. The world around him vanished ¡ª replaced by fragments of Garran¡¯s past. A woman screamed. Her eyes wide with terror, shielding a small child behind her.
¡°Please¡ªdon¡¯t! No more!¡± she begged.
In the corner stood Garran. His face twisted with rage, a belt clenched in his fist. The child¡¯s sobs echoed like broken glass in Velmorian¡¯s ears. The scene shifted. A table, scattered with playing cards and an empty coin pouch. Across from Garran sat a man ¡ª one of Hogen¡¯s enforcers.
¡°This is your last chance, Garran. How are you going to pay?¡±
Garran¡¯s forehead beaded with sweat.
¡°Just one more week¡­ please...¡±
His voice was the hollow desperation of a drowning man. Another shift. A dim alleyway. Garran gripped a woman¡¯s wrist, dragging her toward the shadows. Her face was pale with fear.
¡°Thought you could run with my coin?¡± he growled.
She replied with something, but Velmorian didn¡¯t hear the words. What he remembered was the slap. And the way she fell. Then ¡ª silence. The memories vanished. Velmorian stood once more in the shack. Garran¡¯s body lay still at his feet. The guilt lifted. He had seen the truth. This man had earned his end. The whispers faded, leaving behind a dense, unnatural stillness. Velmorian looked down at the corpse. His heartbeat had steadied, breath cold and controlled. The first name had been crossed off the list. But the weight of it¡­ lingered. He wiped the dagger on Garran¡¯s sleeve. There was no blood. Only shadow ¡ª and silence. Velmorian sat down briefly, eyes scanning the small, rotting cabin. The fangs of winter clawed at the wooden walls, but he didn¡¯t shiver. Something inside him had changed. Not just from death and return ¡ª but from taking a life and feeling¡­ nothing. Or was it something? That dull ache in his chest. Not guilt. Not relief. Something deeper. A ripple. He heard them again.
¡°More will come...¡±
¡°You¡¯ve only tasted the beginning...¡±
¡°Each death brings truth...¡±
Velmorian stood and took a breath. The parchment in his cloak pulsed faintly, as if sensing the change. He didn¡¯t yet know the next name. But the first had been claimed. And the path ahead¡­ was darker than anything behind.
Chapter 3 — The Second Name Velmorian wanted to reach for the parchment, to learn the second name without delay. As the first name was erased beneath a blackish smear, a new one began to appear. But this time, the letters did not flow like ink¡ªthey emerged as if carved with a blade. And as they formed, Velmorian heard a new whisper: ¡°The next one awaits you...¡± Velmorian narrowed his eyes, focusing on the name. His heart pounded in his chest. He had finally learned who he was meant to kill. Brennar Vark. His eyes widened. His heartbeat echoed in his ears. For a moment, he thought he was mistaken. But no¡ªthe parchment made it unmistakably clear. Brennar, the master blacksmith who had taken him in as an apprentice, taught him the craft of forging, and treated him like a son... He clenched the parchment tightly, his heart thundering. ¡°This¡­ can¡¯t be,¡± he whispered. He was caught between rising anger and helpless confusion. At that moment, the room grew cold. Velmorian took a sharp breath as the shadows stirred. And then he heard a voice¡ªor voices. All at once, from a single place yet in many tones, they spoke as one: ¡°Justice is not what you believe it to be, Velmorian.¡± Death had returned. But Velmorian¡¯s thoughts were fixed on the name etched on the parchment. Memories overwhelmed him. Brennar had been his first teacher. When Velmorian had walked through the doors of the smithy as a child, Brennar had taken him in not just as an apprentice, but as a grandson. For years he taught him how to shape steel, how to temper iron, and that a sword was more than just a sharpened edge. How could this be? Why was Brennar Vark marked for death? Now, with Death before him, he had a chance to ask. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice steady. ¡°Why Brennar? Tell me why I must kill him.¡± Death was silent for a moment. Then, the voice returned, echoing from that single, unknowable source: ¡°Do you truly wish to know?¡± Velmorian frowned. ¡°Yes.¡± Death tilted its head slightly. ¡°Then tell me this, Velmorian... If a man¡¯s death causes no harm to the world, is his continued life righteous?¡± Velmorian scowled. ¡°Of course it is!¡± Death laughed¡ªbut it was not a human laugh. It came from many mouths at once, shrill and deep, a chorus of eerie tones. ¡°Then tell me... What evil is prevented by letting Brennar live?¡± Velmorian had no answer. Words caught in his throat. His mind raced, but clarity eluded him. Death took a step closer. ¡°Your world is not made of black and white, Velmorian. Justice lies beyond the veil of certainty. I did not write that name upon the parchment. But it is there. And you¡ª you must erase it with your own hand.¡± A chill settled deep in Velmorian¡¯s chest. He looked again at the parchment. Brennar Vark remained etched in it¡ªlike something branded into flesh. He turned back toward Death. ¡°And if I refuse?¡± Death paused again before the dark voice echoed once more: ¡°Death cannot be refused, Velmorian. Only delayed.¡± Velmorian clenched the parchment in his fist, holding his breath. He couldn¡¯t do this. Kill Master Brennar? It was madness. No matter what Death said, that name didn¡¯t belong on the list. ¡°No,¡± he said, voice trembling but firm. ¡°His name shouldn¡¯t be here.¡± Death stood motionless. Shrouded in white robes, a faceless figure that watched him with no eyes. But the voice returned¡ªdeep, echoing straight into Velmorian¡¯s thoughts. ¡°A name appears only because it belongs.¡± Velmorian gritted his teeth. ¡°Are you playing games with me? Master Brennar didn¡¯t just teach me to forge steel¡ªhe taught me how to live. Without him, I¡¯d have been just another stray on the streets. He deserves life more than I ever did!¡± Death inclined its head slightly. ¡°So¡­ the question is who deserves to die?¡± Velmorian said nothing. Death raised its hands¡ªor the shadowy forms that extended from beneath the robe¡ªand continued: ¡°Humans fall into the same delusion again and again. If one death is more justified than another, does that mean justice is served? And if so, what lies in the other scale of the balance, Velmorian?¡± Velmorian squeezed his eyes shut. Thoughts crashed through his mind. Was this a test? Was Death trying to teach him something about justice? Or was it simply the consequence of the pact he had made? But deep down, he knew. He could feel it¡ªthe truth lingering beneath Death¡¯s words. Death whispered one final time: ¡°People die, Velmorian. Their goodness or wickedness lives only in the stories they leave behind. But we¡­ we write the final line of every story.¡± Velmorian looked at the parchment in his hand. Brennar Vark¡ªthe name was still there. Etched, waiting to be erased. But what if he chose not to erase it? He quietly brushed the dirt flat with his hands. He wiped the mud from his fingers. He had buried Garran Holt and decided to move on. In the small yard behind the shack, no one would notice the body beneath the soil¡ªat least not for a while. Velmorian took a deep breath and returned to the city. As he walked the narrow streets of Aldenora, he moved among familiar and unfamiliar faces alike. He laid down on the creaking bed of the inn where he stayed. But when he closed his eyes, his mind offered no rest. Master Brennar¡¯s face flickered in his thoughts¡ªghosted by a strange and growing guilt. He had to see him. Even just to say goodbye. At dawn, Velmorian made his way straight to the forge. It was still there¡ªits stone walls stained black with soot, smoke rising from the chimney, the sharp sound of hammer on steel echoing from within. Nothing had changed. He opened the door. Inside, by the great anvil, stood a man hammering a blade with powerful arms. His hair had gone gray, his face was lined with age¡ªbut the fire in his eyes had not faded. Velmorian paused for a moment, then stepped forward with a faint smile. ¡°Good steel,¡± he said, glancing at the blade. ¡°Forged by someone who knows what he¡¯s doing.¡± Master Brennar lifted his head, wiping sweat from his brow as he examined the stranger. Then he spoke in his deep, booming voice: ¡°A guest who knows iron, huh? Have we met before, son?¡± Velmorian gave a small nod. ¡°Perhaps we¡¯ve crossed paths. But I can assure you¡ªI know enough about forging to recognize a master¡¯s touch.¡± Brennar smiled faintly. ¡°Is that so? Then let¡¯s see if you actually know what you¡¯re talking about¡­¡± He gestured to a nearby hammer. ¡°Shape that steel for me.¡± Velmorian picked up the hammer as if it were second nature, striking the hot iron with precision. Brennar¡¯s eyes narrowed in mild surprise. ¡°The way you hold that hammer¡­ just like my old apprentice Velmorian. That boy was a handful¡ªbut he knew how to forge.¡± A chill passed through Velmorian, but not a hint of it reached his face. He smiled, calm and unreadable. ¡°When forging becomes part of your soul, you don¡¯t forget.¡± Brennar laughed. ¡°You¡¯re right, son, you¡¯re right!¡± He returned to the forge. ¡°Now then, tell me¡­ Who are you, and what brings you to Aldenora?¡± Velmorian could already feel the whispers returning. "Are you here for closure... or are you fooling yourself?" "Does his warm smile comfort you? It won''t last." "Is this why we chose you? Remember, the name must be erased." Velmorian decided to lie¡ªhe couldn¡¯t leave his old master¡¯s words unanswered. "I grew up in a village outside the city," he said. "I spent some time apprenticing under my blacksmith uncle when I was young. But lately, our village¡¯s been plagued by bandits¡ªreal trouble. If we don''t arm ourselves, we won¡¯t stand a chance." Master Brennar listened with furrowed brows. "Bandits, huh? I haven''t heard of any such trouble near Aldenora, but times change¡­ You''re not too bad with a hammer. Your uncle must¡¯ve taught you well." This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. Velmorian gave a slight bow, as if in thanks. But inside, something was cracking. The whispers didn¡¯t stop. "You''re drowning in lies." "The name still lingers on the parchment." "You must finish this." Velmorian kept hammering the piece of metal Brennar had given him. The steel cried out with a sharp clang, like a scream. The whispers scraped at his thoughts. His fingers were clenched, his palms damp with sweat. All he could think about was his master¡¯s warm smile¡ªand the memories that came flooding back with it. He raised the hammer again, this time striking harder. But the whispers surged in turn. "Are your hands trembling, Velmorian?" "Do you long for the past instead of erasing the name?" He struck again, trying to clear his mind. But the voices of the Lost Souls stole his focus for a brief second. That moment was enough¡ªa drop of molten metal leapt from the forge and landed on his left arm. Velmorian recoiled instinctively, clenching his teeth to stifle the pain. The sharp scent of burnt skin filled the air, but he forced himself not to react. Brennar grunted as he saw the recoil. "You mustn¡¯t hesitate, son," he said with a firm, commanding tone. "Iron doesn¡¯t tolerate neglect." Velmorian took a deep breath and nodded. Brennar glanced at his arm, then chuckled softly. "You said you apprenticed under your uncle, but your moves... you''re still green. The iron commands you¡ªyou do not command it." Velmorian offered a faint smile, though his chest ached. The words echoed¡ªthings Brennar had once told him many times. But now, he was just a stranger standing across from him. Brennar placed a hand on Velmorian¡¯s shoulder. "Work a little harder and you might make something of yourself," he said with a hearty laugh. "But first, go wrap that burn. If you want to make peace with the forge, you need to show it respect." Velmorian lowered his head and stepped out of the workshop. The whispers followed his every step. "Peace with the forge, Velmorian?" "Do his warm words soothe you?" "Remember¡­ blood must be spilled to erase the name." "The longer you wait, the harder it will become." Velmorian paused after just a few steps outside. The sting of the burn mixed with the gnawing whispers left a tight knot in his chest. He felt both a strange satisfaction from the time spent with his master and a growing tension¡ªbecause the cursed name on the parchment still remained. He closed his eyes. ¡°Just a little more time¡­¡± he whispered, not knowing who he was asking¡ªDeath, or himself? But the Lost Souls were growing impatient. "You wait¡­" "But waiting won¡¯t free you." "You must kill him, Velmorian. There is no other way." Velmorian clenched his fists. ¡°I know.¡± He needed to make it feel like an accident¡ªso that Brennar¡¯s death wouldn¡¯t feel like murder. That evening, he made his way to the market square. He entered a small, ramshackle apothecary. The door creaked as he stepped inside. A lone lantern lit the shelves lined with metal canisters, powder sacks, and old chemical concoctions. Behind the counter stood a hunched old man. His eyes were small, and his hands were blackened and calloused. As Velmorian entered, the man slowly lifted his head. ¡°What are you looking for, stranger?¡± Velmorian let his eyes wander over the shelves. ¡°Gunpowder. Not much, just enough to get the job done.¡± The man eyed him suspiciously. ¡°And what job would that be?¡± He then reached up and placed a small pouch on the counter. Velmorian stared at the pouch for a moment. ¡°My garden¡¯s been overrun by rats. Thought I¡¯d go for a more... permanent solution.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll end up blowing up your whole yard, young man. Here, take it. Just be careful not to set your house on fire.¡± Velmorian paid and took the pouch, stepping out of the shop. Before returning to the forge, he paused for a deep breath, as if trying to bury the last of his doubts. ¡°You have to do this, Velmorian.¡± ¡°There is no other way.¡± Later that night, he returned to the forge. The streets were deserted. He remembered how his master would always rise early to stoke the fire in the hearth. The plan was simple. He would place the gunpowder deep in the furnace. In the morning, when Master Brennar used the bellows as usual, the pressure would rise rapidly¡ªthen detonate. Velmorian slipped inside, moving silently among the stone walls that reeked of sleepless nights. He carefully opened the pouch and placed it into the heart of the coals, forcing his hands not to shake. When the deed was done, he left without looking back. Tomorrow... it would all be over. But peace did not come. Velmorian barely slept that night. The small, damp room stank of mildew. He tossed and turned in his bed, his mind a storm of doubt and regret. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his master¡¯s warm smile. The clang of the hammer, his old lessons, echoed in his ears. ¡°The iron is mastering you, not the other way around.¡± The whispers grew louder in the dark: ¡°You had no other choice...¡± ¡°This wasn¡¯t your will¡ªit was his fate...¡± ¡°Blood must be shed, Velmorian. The Lost Souls await...¡± When dawn¡¯s light finally broke through the window, Velmorian opened his eyes, heavy with exhaustion. He took a deep breath. Today, a part of his fate would be fulfilled. He stood in the street near the forge, heart pounding. His hands trembled inside his coat pockets. Then the door opened. Brennar stepped inside, coughing lightly, then shut the door behind him and approached the bellows. Velmorian held his breath as he watched from afar. A thin plume of smoke began to rise from the chimney. Each pump of the bellows was like a drumbeat in Velmorian¡¯s ears. His pulse quickened. He closed his eyes and drew in a shaky breath. And then¡ª BOOM! Velmorian¡¯s eyes widened. The explosion had been far worse than he¡¯d expected. He sprinted to the forge. The sight inside chilled him to the bone. The beams had collapsed. Smoke and ash billowed everywhere. Glowing shards of metal littered the floor. Then he saw him. Master Brennar lay on the ground. A heavy beam had pinned his leg. His chest was scorched, and he gasped for air in a half-conscious daze. Something inside Velmorian shattered. He ran to his master¡¯s side without hesitation. ¡°Master! Hold on!¡± He dropped to his knees, trying to lift the heavy beam. His skin blistered under the heat, but he pushed with all his strength. It didn¡¯t budge. Brennar opened his eyes, wincing in pain. The flickering light of the flames carved deep shadows into his weathered face. His vision was blurred, but in that moment, Velmorian knew¡ªhe recognized him. Brennar reached out weakly. His trembling fingers found Velmorian¡¯s arm and squeezed, ever so gently. ¡°Wait, son¡­¡± his voice was broken and rasping. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ too late now.¡± Velmorian¡¯s heart shattered. He looked at his master in desperation. ¡°No! I¡¯ll get you out of here, hold on, master!¡± Brennar Usta shook his head slightly, a pained but warm smile appearing on his face. His pale lips trembled as they parted: ¡°Don¡¯t bother, son. My time has come.¡± Velmorian¡¯s eyes burned. His hands clenched the beam hopelessly, blood dripping from his palms, but he didn¡¯t even feel the pain. His master, gasping for breath with a wheezing sound, looked at him. There was deep sorrow and understanding in his eyes. ¡°Your grip on the hammer hasn¡¯t changed... Velmorian, my child.¡± Velmorian¡¯s eyes widened, his heart pounding so fast he thought it would burst from his chest. He couldn¡¯t say a word. The tears that fell from his eyes hit the ash-covered ground. Brennar Usta: ¡°I lived with the iron, but now the fire consumes me. This... is not an honorable end for me.¡± Velmorian¡¯s eyes filled with tears. His face darkened with the weight of the tragedy he had caused. ¡°There must be another way... I can save you!¡± Brennar weakly shook his head. His hands, trembling, grasped Velmorian¡¯s wrist and squeezed tightly. ¡°No... my path ends here. No matter how much I suffer, what use is an old man without legs?¡± ¡°Do you see, Velmorian? Blood must be spilled.¡± ¡°Did you think you could save him?¡± ¡°You can¡¯t escape fate.¡± Brennar Usta¡¯s trembling voice spoke once more: ¡°Please, Velmorian¡­ With your own hands, send me from this world.¡± Velmorian took a deep breath. He had finally accepted that he had no other choice. His eyes filled with tears, his voice trembling with pain as he looked at his master: ¡°Forgive me, master...¡± He slowly drew the dagger. The blade forged from shadows gleamed in the dim light. His hands still trembled. A peaceful, comforting smile appeared on Brennar¡¯s face. Velmorian closed his eyes tightly and, with the last shred of human feeling in his heart, drove the dagger into Brennar Usta¡¯s chest. Brennar¡¯s hand slowly relaxed, slipping from Velmorian¡¯s palm. The old man¡¯s chest rose one last time and then lay still. Velmorian remained kneeling on the floor in the now silent workshop. His tears fell, quiet and heavy. As he looked at his master¡¯s lifeless body, he felt the last remnants of his humanity disappear, burning away with the flames. Now, the name on the parchment had been erased. But within Velmorian, a much deeper wound had opened. The whispers of the Lost Souls rose again: ¡°Finally, Velmorian.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve done your duty.¡± Velmorian slowly lifted his head. His face held a much darker expression than before. He remained motionless for minutes. His hands still trembled; his eyes fixed on his master¡¯s lifeless body. At that moment, the dagger shuddered slightly. Velmorian involuntarily looked at the dagger. The blade forged from shadows now offered him something different. Memories. Darkness appeared before his eyes, and then fragments of Brennar Usta¡¯s life began to come to life. The first image was familiar; in the forge, young Velmorian was holding the hammer with trembling hands. Brennar Usta, with his strong but gentle hand, guided his hand, speaking in a patient voice: ¡°Hold the hammer tight, son, it will become a part of you. Don¡¯t let the iron rule you, you must rule it.¡± The images quickly changed; it was a winter day, the day Velmorian fell ill and was bedridden. Brennar Usta, disregarding the harsh storm, had set out late at night to find a healer. The worry on his face mirrored a father¡¯s love for his son. In another memory, young Velmorian was sitting with his master in front of the forge, sharing bread and cheese. Brennar Usta¡¯s face wrinkled even more when he laughed. His fatherly voice echoed in Velmorian¡¯s mind: ¡°That¡¯s enough work for now¡ªeat! How can a scrawny lad like you become a blacksmith?¡± The memories kept flowing; some filled with laughter, others with sorrow¡ªbut always Brennar¡¯s warm, familiar face made Velmorian¡¯s heart ache more and more. One final image flashed in his mind: late at night, Brennar Usta sat in the forge, opening an old chest. Inside was a small wooden toy¡ªVelmorian¡¯s very first. The visions faded, slowly slipping into darkness. Velmorian dropped to his knees, breathless and overwhelmed. Silent tears streamed down his face. Outside, shouting voices broke through the fog of memory: ¡°Is anyone inside?¡± ¡°What happened to Master Brennar?¡± ¡°Put out the fire!¡± Velmorian stirred under the weight of those memories. His eyes were still wet, but he had to leave. He ran to the wooden back door of the workshop, slipped outside, and closed it behind him. As he disappeared down the dark alley, he tried to outrun the images in his mind. But the memories did not leave him. The peaceful, comforting moments shown by the dagger were now thorns in his chest. Even if it had been necessary, he was now crushed under the weight of a past he had destroyed with his own hands. ¡°Do you see now, Velmorian? This is your true punishment. You will not forget.¡± His hurried steps led him into a quiet, empty street. Velmorian collapsed, unable to control himself. He pressed his back against a cold wall and buried his head in his hands. The pressure in his chest was unbearable. ¡°What have I done¡­¡± he whispered. His hands were still stained with his master¡¯s blood. Silent sobs shook his body. The wound in his soul had deepened, becoming an abyss with no return. He raised his head; the sun had risen, but Velmorian¡¯s world was drowned in endless darkness. He sat slumped against the wall, still trembling. His tears had dried, leaving behind only emptiness. He took a long breath and slowly opened his eyes. And at that moment, the world fell silent again. The street sounds, the birds¡ªall seemed to stop. He knew. Death had returned. When he looked up, he saw the white-robed silhouette. As always, Death¡¯s face was formless, undefined. ¡°You mourned longer than I expected, Velmorian.¡± Velmorian looked at it with hollow eyes. He had no strength left to run. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have killed him,¡± he said, his voice cracked and shaking. ¡°It¡­ it was wrong.¡± Death slowly inclined its head. ¡°Wrong? The world is not fair, Velmorian. I told you this before. It wasn¡¯t your choice, but you must accept the consequences.¡± A spark flared in Velmorian¡¯s eyes¡ªan angry blend of rage and helplessness: ¡°You did this. You drew this path, not me!¡± Death¡¯s voice turned cold and firm: ¡°I did not draw your path. You died, and I brought you back. You knew the cost of this second life. So why are you surprised?¡± Velmorian clenched his jaw, struggling to contain the fury rising within. Slowly, he stood and looked Death straight in the eye: ¡°What do you want from me? How many more lives? How many more souls must I take to be free of you?¡± Death remained silent for a moment, then replied with an odd tone of gentleness: ¡°Your purpose is not to be free of me. It is to shape the fate of the Lost Souls. As for me¡ªI am Death. I am inevitable. The day you accept that, your burden will ease.¡± Velmorian shook his head with despair. ¡°I will never accept it.¡± Death paused for a few seconds, then its voice¡ªnow a whisper woven from a thousand mouths¡ªspoke once more: ¡°Time will tell, Velmorian. But remember¡ªwhat matters is not the path you take¡­ It is how you walk it.¡± Death¡¯s white robe faded like mist, and the world began to move again. When Velmorian found himself alone once more, he felt an odd lightness in his chest¡ªpaired with an even deeper weariness.