The sky bled crimson.
Shattered banners swayed limply in the wind, their once-proud emblems drowned in mud and blood. Corpses of men and beasts alike littered the scorched plain, and broken steel glimmered faintly under the lightning-streaked heavens.
At the center of this ruin stood a lone figure.
Cloaked in tattered black, his shoulders bowed under invisible weight, Kael Ardyn gripped a sword that no longer gleamed—its edge fractured, its once-mythical glow reduced to faint embers of blue. Behind him, the faint outline of a colossal beast flickered in and out of the storm—its shape wolf-like, its eyes blazing like dying stars.
Every breath Kael drew rattled like broken glass. His body was scarred, bleeding, trembling on the edge of collapse. And yet his gaze—ashen gray, dull with sorrow—never wavered from the shadowed figure across the field.
"You," Kael rasped, voice hoarse with betrayal. Lightning struck, revealing the face of the one who had once been closer than a brother.
For a moment, the storm itself seemed to hold its breath.
Kael's lips curled into a smile—broken, bitter, yet defiant.
"So this is where your betrayal has brought me. The world in ruins… my soul in chains. And still… I will rise again."
The beast at his back roared, shaking the skies. The fractured sword in his hand flared once more with impossible light—bright enough to cut through the storm.
And then—
Darkness.
————————————————————
The world smelled of fresh rain.
Kael awoke to the sound of his mother's voice rising through the rafters of their cottage.
"Kael Ardyn! If you don't drag yourself out of that bed this instant, I swear by the Ancestors you'll be the only boy to miss his Binding Ceremony!"
The voice snapped him out of a haze he hadn't realized he'd been trapped in. Sweat clung to his brow, his chest heaved, and for the briefest heartbeat he still heard the echo of a battlefield not yet lived—the clash of steel, the bellow of beasts, the voice of betrayal cutting sharper than any blade.
But when his eyes opened, he found only the cracked wooden beams above his head. Morning sunlight filtered through the shutters, throwing bars of gold across the room. Dust motes drifted lazily in the beams, as though the world hadn't a care in it.
Kael sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. His hand brushed against rough straw instead of the hilt of a sword. He blinked at his reflection in the small warped mirror leaning against the wall.
The face staring back wasn't the scarred warrior of his nightmare. It was a boy's face. His own. Messy black hair stuck out at odd angles. Sharp gray eyes blinked back at him, eyes that looked too old for twelve summers. His frame was wiry, more bones than muscle, but there was a quiet stubbornness in the set of his jaw.
He laughed softly, though the sound felt strange. What kind of dream was that?
Downstairs, a pan clattered and his mother's voice grew sharper.
"Don't make me come up there, Kael!"
Kael swung his legs over the side of the bed. His stomach knotted—not from fear of his mother's scolding, though that was certainly no small thing—but because today wasn't just any day.
Today was the Binding Ceremony.
The moment every child in the village had awaited, dreaded, and dreamed of. The day they would stand before the Seerstone and test their souls. Some would forge a bond, a Soul Pact, with a beast. Some would awaken affinity to elemental Forces. And some… some would find nothing at all.
Those who failed would remain ordinary. Powerless. A future with no glory, no place in the kingdom's armies, no chance to rise above a life of fields and mud.
Kael's hands trembled slightly as he reached for his tunic. Why am I so nervous? he thought. I already know I'm nothing special.
But that wasn't quite true, was it? His dreams said otherwise. The battlefield, the broken sword, the looming shadow-beast at his back—they had felt real. Too real.
He pulled the thought aside. Dreams were dreams. Today, reality would decide who he truly was.
Downstairs smelled of stew and smoke. His mother, Miriel, bustled about the kitchen with her sleeves rolled up. She was a tall woman with streaks of silver already laced in her dark hair, but her hands moved with the practiced speed of one who had run a household alone for years.
"You're late," she said without looking up, thrusting a wooden bowl at him the moment he sat down. "Eat. You'll need strength if you faint at the Seerstone."
Kael frowned. "I won't faint."
"You nearly faint every time I make you split firewood," Miriel replied dryly. "Eat."
Kael muttered under his breath but obeyed. The stew was hot and rich, though his stomach was too knotted with nerves to taste it properly.
From the hearth came a soft chuckle. An old man sat there, leaning on his cane. His eyes were a pale blue, nearly white with age, but they still gleamed with mischief. Grandfather Taron had been a warrior once—or so his endless stories claimed. Kael had never seen proof beyond the man's limp and the countless scars etched into his skin.
"Leave the boy be, Miriel," Taron said, a crooked smile tugging his lips. "It's the Binding Day. If he faints, the Ancestors will pick him up and dust him off. That's their job."
Miriel shot the old man a look. "And whose job will it be to feed him when he fails?"
Kael winced. "Thanks for the encouragement, Mother."
Taron chuckled harder, coughing midway. "Bah. The boy has your stubbornness and my charm. He'll be fine. Or at least entertaining."
Kael finished the stew quickly and rose before his mother could scold him again. He pulled on his boots, slung his old wool cloak over his shoulders, and stepped out into the village square.
The village of Duskmoor lay nestled at the edge of the Verdantwild Forest, a borderland settlement far from the gleaming spires of the kingdom's capital. Wooden houses leaned together along narrow streets, smoke rising from chimneys. Merchants shouted, children darted between stalls, and hunters unloaded fresh kills from the morning hunt.
Today, however, the air buzzed with more than daily routine. Banners of green and gold hung from posts. Drums echoed faintly as villagers gathered in the square, forming a crowd around the raised stone platform at its center.
The Binding Ceremony was no small affair. Even in a village this remote, it was sacred.
Kael spotted familiar faces in the crowd. Joren, his closest friend, already waving wildly from near the platform. The boy was tall, broad-shouldered, with a grin that could charm even the most humorless elder. He bounded over the moment Kael appeared.
"You're late!" Joren clapped him on the back hard enough to nearly send him stumbling. "I thought you'd overslept and missed it!"
Kael scowled. "I almost did."
Joren laughed. "Then thank the Ancestors I'm here to drag you into destiny."
Before Kael could reply, another voice drifted over. Smooth, mocking.
"Well, well. The farm rat made it after all."
Kael's scowl deepened as he turned. Daren Veylin, son of the village magistrate, stood with his arms folded. His blond hair gleamed in the sunlight, and his fine clothes marked him as wealthier than half the village combined.
"What's the matter, Ardyn?" Daren sneered. "Afraid the Seerstone won't find a beast foolish enough to bind to you?"
Joren's grin faltered. "Shut it, Daren. You're just scared Kael's pact will be stronger than yours."
Daren smirked. "Please. My family's bloodline has bonded with beasts for generations. He's got nothing but mud in his veins."
Kael clenched his fists but said nothing. Joren bristled on his behalf, but before he could retort further, the crowd hushed.
The elders of the village were approaching. At their head walked Elder Varis, a tall man with long white hair and a staff of polished oak. His voice carried easily over the crowd.
"Children of Duskmoor, today you stand before the Seerstone. Today, you will place your hands upon it, and the bond of your soul shall be tested. Some of you will forge pacts with beasts who will be your companions for life. Some will awaken affinities to the Forces that shape our world. And some will find that the Ancestors have other paths prepared for you. Whatever the result, remember—your worth is not only in power, but in the choices you make."
A ripple of nervous murmurs passed through the children gathered. Kael swallowed hard.
The elders began calling names. One by one, children stepped up to the Seerstone—a massive crystal pulsing faintly with inner light. When they placed their hands upon it, the stone flared in different colors. Some children cried out as phantom shapes of beasts appeared before them, shimmering briefly before vanishing into their bodies. Others stood with wide eyes as sparks of fire or water danced in their palms.
Every success drew cheers. Every silence—when the stone remained dim—drew pitying looks.
Kael's chest tightened with every name. Joren was called, and the Seerstone blazed with golden light. A spectral lion appeared at his side, roaring proudly before vanishing into his soul. The crowd erupted in cheers, and Joren turned to Kael with a grin that was equal parts triumph and reassurance.
Then came Daren. The stone flared with icy blue, and a serpent of frost coiled into him with a hiss. The villagers cheered louder still. Daren's smirk said everything.
And then—
"Kael Ardyn."
The name rang out like a tolling bell.
Kael's heart hammered. His legs felt heavy as stone as he stepped onto the platform. Every eye in the village burned into him. His mother's, worried. Joren's, hopeful. Daren's, mocking.
He stopped before the Seerstone. Its surface shimmered faintly, waiting.
Kael drew in a breath. Slowly, he placed his hands against the crystal.
The world went silent.
And the stone—
The stone—
did not glow.
Not at first.
For a heartbeat, the Seerstone was as cold and lifeless as any ordinary crystal. The villagers began to murmur. A boy snickered. Daren smirked openly.
Kael's stomach sank. Nothing? Am I… nothing?
He clenched his teeth and pressed harder, refusing to let go. No. Not like this. Not before I've even begun.
And then—
A crackle echoed deep within the stone. A flicker of blue light pulsed from its heart, faint at first, then flaring brighter, brighter—until it engulfed his entire vision. Gasps rose from the crowd as the glow twisted, shifting in colors no one could name. It was not gold like Joren's, nor ice-blue like Daren's. It was a deep, shimmering azure laced with streaks of shadow, like starlight drowning in an abyss.
The Seerstone shook.
"Impossible…" Elder Varis whispered, his voice breaking.
From the light, a shape emerged. Not a lion, not a serpent, not any beast known to Duskmoor. It was a towering silhouette, vast and indistinct, its edges fraying like torn smoke. Twin eyes glowed in the dark—ancient, patient, filled with something Kael could not understand.
The air grew heavy. Villagers stumbled back. Children whimpered. Even Daren's smug grin faltered.
Kael's breath caught in his throat. He could not move. Could not speak. The shadowed figure loomed closer, its eyes boring into his very soul.
Then, without warning, the shape lunged forward—straight into him.
A rush of cold fire tore through his body. His knees buckled. Pain seared his chest, his veins, his very bones. He heard voices, hundreds of whispers overlapping, ancient tongues he could not recognize. And beneath it all, a single voice thundered inside his mind.
Vessel.
Kael screamed—
but no sound escaped.
The light vanished.
He was falling. Through endless dark. Through memories that weren't his.
Flashes.
A battlefield drowned in blood. Blades shattered beneath the weight of titans. Kingdoms burning under skies torn open. A man cloaked in blue, standing alone against an army, betrayal gleaming in the eyes of the one beside him.
And deeper still, a prison of chains. A colossal figure bound in shadow, reaching out with clawed hands. Its voice roared once more:
Vessel… mine… awaken…
Kael's eyes snapped open.
He lay sprawled on the stone platform, gasping for breath. Sweat drenched his skin. The world tilted and swam, but the voices were gone. The shadow was gone.
Only silence remained.
And every villager stared at him as though he were a stranger.
The Seerstone stood cracked. A hairline fracture ran down its surface, pulsing faintly with dying light. The sacred artifact—unchanged for centuries—had broken at his touch.
No one spoke. No one moved.
Then Elder Varis lifted his staff with trembling hands. His voice, normally steady as oak, faltered.
"The boy… the boy is—marked."
The word sent ripples through the crowd. Fear. Awe. Suspicion.
Miriel pushed through the onlookers, rushing to her son's side. She knelt, cradling Kael against her chest. "He's just a child!" she snapped at the elders. "Whatever you saw, he is still Kael!"
But Kael barely heard her. His ears rang. His chest still burned where the shadow had entered him.
Marked. Vessel. What did it mean?
Joren shoved his way forward, face pale with shock but fierce with loyalty. He crouched beside Kael, gripping his shoulder. "Don't listen to them. You're fine. You're… you're fine, Kael."
Daren, however, smirked once more, though unease lingered behind his eyes. "Fine? He broke the Seerstone. He called something—something wrong. If that's fine, then maybe we should all kneel before him, eh?"
Murmurs swelled again. Fear tainted every face.
Kael swallowed hard. His body shook, his mind reeled, but one thing was clear—
whatever had just happened, he was no longer ordinary.
And perhaps… no longer safe.
That night, sleep refused him.
He lay on his straw bed, staring at the cracked beams above, replaying the ceremony over and over. The eyes. The voice. The word Vessel.
What did it put inside me?
The village had been restless all evening. He'd heard the whispers. Some said he was cursed. Others claimed he was blessed. Some feared he'd bring ruin upon them.
His mother had kept him close, refusing to let him leave the house. His grandfather had only smiled that knowing smile, muttering, "The Ancestors weave strange threads."
And Joren—Joren had stood outside until dark, promising Kael wasn't alone.
But now, in the dead of night, Kael felt utterly alone.
Then—
Thrum.
A pulse stirred in his chest. He sat bolt upright. The room was dim, lit only by the moon through the shutters, yet he could feel it—the presence. Heavy, vast, watching.
And then, inside his mind, the voice returned.
Vessel.
Kael froze. His mouth went dry. "…Who… what are you?"
I am bound… and you… are chosen.
"Chosen? For what?"
To bear me. To carry what was forsaken. To awaken what was sealed.
Kael's hands shook. His heart raced. "I don't understand. I don't want this! I just wanted—just wanted a normal pact! A beast, a spark, anything but… this."
Silence stretched. Then the voice rumbled again, softer this time, almost amused.
Fate does not ask what you want, Vessel. It takes. It claims. And it has claimed you.
Kael's chest constricted. He wanted to scream, to run, but he couldn't move. The weight of the voice pressed him into stillness.
And then—suddenly—it withdrew.
The pressure lifted. The presence faded.
Kael collapsed back onto his bed, gasping for air, heart pounding like a war drum. His sheets were damp with sweat.
The voice was gone.
But he knew—
it would return.
And when it did, nothing would ever be the same.