The biting wind howled through the dilapidated wooden shacks of Willow's End, a tiny village nestled on the outskirts of the ancient and foreboding Darkwood Forest. The sky was a dull, oppressive gray, heavy with the promise of more snow to come. Every breath Saga took was a struggle against the bitter cold, each exhale visible as a puff of mist in the air. His thin, ragged clothing did little to ward off the chill, but he was used to it. Life in Willow's End had always been hard, and for Saga, it had been even harder since the day his parents were taken from him.
The memories of that day were etched into his mind like a scar. He was just a boy, no older than twelve, when the evils came. They appeared without warning, a group of twisted, monstrous beings that bore no resemblance to anything human. Their eyes gleamed with malice, and their laughter was a haunting echo that still filled Saga's nightmares. His parents, simple woodcutters who had never harmed a soul, were slaughtered in front of him, their bodies left to rot as the creatures disappeared back into the shadows of the Darkwood. No one in the village dared to pursue them, and from that day on, Saga was alone.
Now seventeen, Saga had grown into a young man, but the same emptiness gnawed at his heart. His parents' deaths had left him with nothing but a burning desire for revenge—a desire that had gone unfulfilled for years. He was weak, too weak to stand up to the creatures that had taken everything from him. Every day was a struggle for survival, and every night, the weight of his helplessness pressed down on him like a stone.
The village elders had warned everyone to stay away from the forest, especially during the harsh winter months when the beasts that roamed its depths were at their most dangerous. But Willow's End was facing a crisis. The stockpile of firewood had dwindled to almost nothing, and the villagers were desperate. Without wood, they would freeze before the winter ended. The strongest of the men had ventured into the Darkwood over the past few weeks, but none had returned.
That was why, on this frigid morning, Saga found himself trudging through the thick snow toward the forest's edge. He had no family to mourn him, no one to plead with him to stay. His decision was not one of bravery but of necessity. He could not stand idly by while the village starved and froze, and deep down, there was a part of him that longed for the forest. He felt a pull toward it, as if the answers to his pain lay hidden within its dark embrace.
His breath came in shallow gasps as he reached the forest, the towering pines looming over him like ancient sentinels. The forest was silent, an unnatural stillness that made Saga's skin crawl. But he pushed forward, his resolve hardening with each step. The forest was a place of danger, but also one of secrets. Perhaps, just perhaps, it held something that could change his fate.
Hours passed as Saga ventured deeper into the Darkwoods, the snow crunching beneath his worn boots. The cold seeped into his bones, numbing his fingers and toes, but he pressed on. He was not sure what he was looking for—just firewood, he told himself—but there was a voice in the back of his mind urging him to go deeper, to seek something more.
As the day drew to a close, with the sun barely visible through the thick canopy of trees, Saga stumbled upon a clearing. In its center stood the ruins of what appeared to be an ancient altar, overgrown with moss and surrounded by twisted, gnarled roots that seemed to pulse with a faint, eerie light. The sight of it sent a shiver down his spine, but at the same time, he felt an undeniable pull toward it.
He approached the altar cautiously, his heart pounding in his chest. There was something strange about this place, something that felt both dangerous and inviting. As he drew nearer, he noticed a small, intricately carved stone set into the altar, partially buried under the snow. Without thinking, Saga reached out and brushed away the snow, revealing the stone in its entirety. It was warm to the touch, a stark contrast to the cold air around him.
The moment his fingers made contact with the stone, a surge of energy shot through his body, making him gasp in shock. The forest around him seemed to blur and fade, and for a brief moment, everything went black. When his vision cleared, he found himself standing in the same clearing, but the world felt different—more vivid, more alive.
A voice echoed in his mind, soft and melodic yet filled with power. "You who have touched the stone, you are now bound to the System. Complete its tasks, and you shall be granted the power you seek. Fail, and you will perish."
Saga staggered back, his heart racing. He looked around wildly, but there was no one there. The voice had come from within him, resonating deep in his soul. He felt a strange sensation coursing through his body, as if something ancient and powerful had awakened within him. It was overwhelming, terrifying, and yet... exhilarating.
For the first time since his parents' death, Saga felt a glimmer of hope. This power—whatever it was—could be his chance to change everything. To avenge his parents, to protect his village, and perhaps, to become something more than the weak, broken boy he had always been.
With a determined gleam in his eye, Saga tightened his grip on the stone and turned back toward the forest. His journey had only just begun.