> In a world painted with light and joy, despair always lingers in the shadows.
From that despair, kings of evil are born.
Arkin walks a tragic road where no hand reaches for him — only darkness welcomes his soul.
As he surrenders to rage and grief, one question remains:
Will he rise as a lord of evil… or be devoured by the abyss within?
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Author's Note:
Hey everyone! It's your boy Arkin, a dark-fantasy lover writing from the heart. ❤️
This is my original story — if something feels similar elsewhere, let me know!
I hope you enjoy this journey through light and despair. 🌙
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Chapter 6: DESPAIRED REBIRTH
The morning sun rose high above the horizon, spilling golden light across the training grounds. Erin's body glistened with sweat as he swung his sword again and again, the sound of metal slicing through air echoing across the field. Each movement carried the weight of memories he wished he could forget—memories of despair and loss that refused to fade. Those haunting scenes had carved themselves deep into his soul. But through pain came strength, and day by day, Erin pushed himself harder, determined to never be that helpless boy again.
As he paused, panting heavily, his father approached with a warm smile and a glass of cool water. "You've worked hard enough for today," his father said softly, handing him the drink.
Erin sat down beside him, drinking deeply before glancing at the horizon where the ruined village lay hidden beyond the mountains. "Father," he said after a moment, "I've been thinking… maybe I should visit that place again. The one where it all happened. I want to pay my respects to the dead—to Arkin, and the others."
His father looked thoughtful, then placed a hand on Erin's shoulder. "Son," he said gently, "do what your heart tells you. Nothing in this world is more important than listening to your heart. If it feels right, then follow that feeling. The goddess watches over those who stay true to themselves."
Erin smiled faintly, touched by his father's words. He hugged him tightly, feeling a spark of courage awaken in his chest. "Thank you, Father," he whispered. Then, standing tall, he picked up his sword once more. "Let's train a bit more before I leave."
That afternoon, Erin prepared for his journey. He packed food, water, his blade, and a small bouquet of wildflowers he had gathered near the fields. His destination was north—the village of ruins. Once, it had been a place filled with laughter, small markets, and the fragrance of blooming lilies. Now, it was nothing but ashes, bones, and silence.
The path ahead was harsh. Erin crossed broken bridges, climbed steep slopes, and fended off wild beasts that lurked in the forest shadows. But the fire inside him refused to die. He moved forward, step by step, until the smell of damp earth told him he was close.
When he reached the village, his chest tightened. The sight was worse than memory could recall. Crumbled homes lay scattered, the air still heavy with the echo of screams that once tore through this place. Erin knelt by each shattered tombstone, placing a flower, whispering a prayer for every soul lost that day.
At last, he reached the farthest edge of the ruins—Arkin's resting place. Erin froze. His breath hitched. The soil was freshly disturbed, and the tomb was empty.
"No…" His voice trembled as he dropped the flowers. "What… what is this?" He fell to his knees, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Where's the body? Did someone take him? Did beasts dig him up? Goddess… why?!"
Confusion and dread wrapped around him like chains. Questions flooded his mind—unending, merciless. His heart pounded until it hurt, and before he could make sense of anything, his vision blurred. The world around him faded into blackness, and Erin collapsed beside the hollow grave.
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Far beyond mortal sight, in the dark void of despair, Arkin's soul drifted. His consciousness was scattered, broken, crushed under the weight of rejection. The goddess's divine light had once touched him—but now, that light was gone. His cries echoed in emptiness until even sound seemed to die.
But then—something stirred.
A faint flicker of awareness returned. Arkin's eyelids fluttered open. His body was cold, his surroundings darker than night itself. "Where… am I?" he whispered, his voice hoarse. No answer came. Only silence.
He reached upward, pushing with trembling hands—and suddenly, his palm met soil. With all his strength, he clawed his way through, gasping as sunlight blinded his eyes. He lay there for a long moment, breathing heavily.
"How… how am I alive?" he muttered. "Why am I back?"
Confusion clouded his thoughts, but beneath it all, something felt different. A strange energy pulsed within him—wild, unfamiliar, and powerful. He clenched his fists. His heart was beating, but it felt heavier, darker, as though it carried the weight of despair itself.
Arkin stumbled to his feet and looked around. The village was silent, the wind whispering through the ruins. He took a step forward—then froze. A low growl cut through the stillness.
From behind a pile of stones emerged a massive wolf, its fur matted and its eyes burning red.
Arkin's blood ran cold. His legs trembled. He couldn't move. The beast lunged, teeth bared. Instinct screamed for him to run, and he did—sprinting through the wreckage, the wolf's snarls echoing behind him. His lungs burned, his legs ached, but then—something glinted in the dirt ahead. A sword.
He dove toward it, grabbing the hilt just as the wolf leaped. Arkin swung blindly, eyes shut in terror. A flash of light. A sound like thunder. Then silence.
When he opened his eyes, the wolf lay still, its blood pooling around the blade. Arkin stood there, shaking, staring at his trembling hands. "Did… did I do this?" he whispered. "How?"
The air around him hummed faintly, as if the despair within him had fused with his strength. The goddess's rejection had not destroyed him—it had reshaped him. He was no longer the same man. He had absorbed the darkness itself, and it had given him unimaginable power.
He sat down, his chest heaving. His stomach growled with hunger, sharp and painful. Desperation overtook him. With a grim expression, he tore a piece of flesh from the slain wolf and ate, the taste bitter but life-saving.
When he finished, Arkin stood again, staring into the forest beyond the ruins. "If despair is my curse," he murmured, "then I'll make it my weapon." With a new resolve burning in his eyes, he walked into the woods—alone, reborn, and uncertain of what awaited him.
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Meanwhile, far away, Erin awoke. His head throbbed as he remembered the empty tomb. Despair gripped him again, but this time he refused to let it break him. He staggered back to his village, tears welling in his eyes as he told his father everything.
His father listened silently, then pulled him into a tight embrace. "It's all right, my son," he whispered. "Everything happens according to the will of the goddess. Perhaps Arkin's soul is free now—perhaps he walks in the heavens. The body does not matter if the soul has found peace. Never lose faith."
Erin closed his eyes, his tears soaking into his father's shoulder. "I just… I don't understand," he whispered.
"You will," his father said gently. "One day."
That night, Erin lay awake, staring at the ceiling, determination flickering in his eyes. He would not surrender to despair. He would grow stronger, face whatever fate the goddess had written—and uncover the truth behind Arkin's disappearance.
Two paths now diverged—one of light, one of darkness. What fate awaited Erin and Arkin? What choices would shape their destinies from this moment onward?
Only time would tell.
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Author: "IT'S ME ARKIN."
Creation is hard! Motivate me with your votes 💪
Your boy Arkin signing out — show me you're worthy of reading this! See you in the next chapter 😎🔥
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