You’re not supposed to be here, but when has that ever stopped you? The sun bleeds through the blackened canopy of the Halvyr Woods, casting long shadows over the scorched earth beneath your boots. Every step feels like a fight with the dead land, dry soil crumbling underfoot, leaving a trail of dust in your wake. You’ve always been too stubborn for your own good.
Ralgorn told you to stay the hell away from this place, but the old bastard wasn’t around to stop you now, was he? You drag a cracked boot through the charred remains of what might’ve once been a tree, now just another corpse in the bone-dry wasteland. You don’t need to look to know that Thal is at your side, clutching his little leather satchel, eyes darting around like some monster’s going to jump out from behind a dead stump any second.
“I don’t like this, Malrak,” Thal mutters, voice trembling with that nervous energy he always radiates. You don’t blame him, not really, but damn if you’ll let him see that you might be as uneasy as he is.
“Shut up, Thal. No one gives a shit about what you like.” You keep walking, determined not to lose your nerve.
He’s always been a coward, but he’s loyal. There’s something to be said for that. Even if he flinches at every snapping twig and rustling breeze, he follows. Maybe it’s because you saved his sorry ass back in Talsor, or maybe because no one else would ever drag him along. Doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’ve got a job to do here.
You scan the horizon through the skeletal remains of the trees. There, just ahead—something gleams in the distance. An odd sight in a place that seems to have lost all sense of light and life.
“There,” you say, more to yourself than to Thal.
Of course, Thal hears you anyway. “Malrak… please. This place… it’s cursed, everyone knows that. If we just turn back—”
“Shut the hell up,” you snap, cutting him off. “It’s just a bunch of old wives’ tales. No curse. Just some fucking forest that had a bad day.” You move forward, toward the glinting object, and Thal follows, because of course he does.
As you get closer, the object comes into view. It’s not some lost relic or discarded piece of junk like you expected. No, it’s far more than that. A sword. Black as night, its blade etched with strange, fiery runes that pulse ever so slightly, like a heartbeat in your hand before you’ve even touched it.
“Don’t,” Thal breathes. “Please. Let’s go.”
You can feel his fear crawling up your spine, but you ignore it. You reach out, your fingers brushing the hilt of the blade. Heat shoots up your arm, a surge of power so raw it nearly knocks you back.
This—this is what Ralgorn feared, wasn’t it? He’d always talked about some ancient force buried in the woods. Power beyond measure. And here it is, lying at your feet, waiting. For you.
“That thing’s trouble,” Thal says, his voice barely above a whisper now. “You can’t—”
You can’t help but laugh, a low, bitter sound that sends shivers up Thal’s spine. “Trouble? No, this is the answer, Thal. This… this is fucking everything.”
But something in the air shifts. The wind howls through the dead trees, and a shadow falls across you. Someone’s here.
You turn slowly, hand still gripping the sword’s hilt, and see a figure step out from the gloom. Hulking, armored, and very, very angry.
“I knew you’d come for it,” the figure says, voice like gravel crunching underfoot. “I’ve been waiting.”
You know that voice. Damn it all to the Abyss, you know that voice.
“Karnak,” you spit the name like it leaves a bad taste in your mouth. The bastard’s still alive. You figured the years would’ve done him in, but no—he’s still here, carrying that grudge like a sack of stones.
“You should’ve stayed away, Malrak,” Karnak growls, stepping closer. His eyes are locked on the sword. His sword, if he’s telling it right. “That doesn’t belong to you.”
“I don’t give a shit who it belongs to.” You lift the blade. The heat of it throbs in your hand, power surging up your arm again, like it’s urging you on. You’ve got every reason to drive it through his thick skull and end this here and now.
But Karnak… you can see it in his eyes. The way he looks at the sword. He knows what it is, what it can do. He doesn’t fear it. No, he wants it. Like you.
“This isn’t about you and me anymore, Malrak,” Karnak says, voice low and dangerous. “That sword… it’ll kill you, same as it’ll kill me. We walk away now, or none of us walk away at all.”
But you can feel it now, can’t you? The pull, the hunger in that blade. It whispers to you, in a language you don’t understand but somehow know. Power like this? It doesn’t come around twice. You don’t walk away from this. No one walks away from this.
You glance at Thal, who’s pale as a ghost, probably ready to piss himself. He knows what you’re thinking. “Malrak,” he begs, voice trembling. “Don’t. Just… we can go. We can leave this place. Please.”
Karnak, too, waits, fists clenched, eyes locked on you. He wants the sword, sure. But more than that, he wants revenge. You can see it, the hatred that’s festered for years between you. He’s not leaving without blood, and neither are you.
The sword hums in your hand, and you know what it wants.
So, what’s it going to be? Walk away… or claim the power you’ve been chasing your whole damn life?
You’ve never been good at walking away.
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