The night was colder than usual. Even with the crackling fire in the center of the cavern, a chill lingered—one that crept into the bones and refused to let go. Eron sat quietly, sharpening his dagger. His eyes were focused, yet his thoughts wandered.
It had been five days since the ambush at the Silver Veil Forest. Five days since the Abyss King's name had returned to the whispers of the world.
Across the fire, Nira adjusted her bowstring. Her normally vibrant spirit had dimmed. The weight of what they were facing was beginning to show in her posture, her eyes, and even her silence.
Suddenly, a faint hum echoed through the cavern.
Low. Sinister.
Eron froze.
The blade in his hand began to vibrate.
Nira noticed. "What's wrong?"
Eron turned the dagger slowly. The metal shimmered with a black sheen that hadn't been there before. From within the blade, he heard it again.
A whisper.
"Unseal me..."
His fingers tightened. This wasn't ordinary steel. It was a relic. A cursed one.
"Where did you get that?" Nira asked, standing now, arrow half-knocked.
"I... I thought it was just a blade I took from the Abyssal Knight we defeated last winter," Eron murmured. "But it's speaking."
Nira's face turned pale. "A Whispering Blade... those were lost after the First Abyss War. They were forged in the Abyss, imbued with the souls of ancient warriors."
Eron felt a cold presence behind him—though no one was there.
The voice whispered again.
"I know who you are, Eron. You are not like the others."
He dropped the blade, but it didn't clatter. It hovered inches from the ground, vibrating faster. Shadows pulsed from it, forming the vague silhouette of a cloaked figure with glowing blue eyes.
Nira backed up. "We have to run."
But Eron didn't move.
The shadowy figure spoke with an ancient voice, distorted and fragmented. "You carry the mark of the Abyss. Deny it, and you will perish like the rest. Accept it, and become more than you ever dreamed."
Nira shouted, "Don't listen to it! That's how it begins!"
But something inside Eron stirred.
A memory—of fire, of blood, of his home being swallowed in black mist. Of the strange sigil on his chest that burned every time he neared the ruins.
"What do you want from me?" Eron whispered.
The shadow pointed at his chest. "You have the blood of the Abyss King."
Nira gasped. "No... that's not possible. He's—he's gone. Erased."
But Eron already knew. Deep down, he had always suspected.
He was different. Too fast. Too strong. Dreams that felt like memories. And the way monsters cowered before him… it wasn't normal.
The shadow dissipated, leaving only the blade resting silently on the stone floor.
The cavern fell into silence.
Eron turned to Nira, whose face was filled with fear and uncertainty.
"You don't believe it, do you?" he asked.
"I want to say no. I want to say it's lying," she said quietly. "But I've seen things. You've done things no one else can."
Eron picked up the blade. It no longer whispered. It waited.
"I don't know what I am," he said. "But if this is part of the truth... then I need to know everything."
Nira nodded. "Then we go to the Black Citadel. That's where his legacy ends—or begins again."
The journey was no longer just about survival.
It was about identity.
And what Eron might become when the truth was fully revealed.