Arthur drifted in a deep, dreamless sleep. The darkness enveloped him, soothing and comforting after the chaos of the past days. But soon, the void gave way to visions of his parents. He saw them as they had been: loving, caring, and full of life.
He remembered his mother's gentle touch, the way she would stroke his hair as she sang him to sleep. Her laughter was a sweet melody that filled their home with warmth. He could see her now, standing in their kitchen, preparing dinner with a smile on her face. She glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyes twinkling with love and affection.
"Arthur, come help me with the vegetables," she said, her voice like a balm to his soul. He moved to help her, feeling the familiar comfort of her presence.
His father was there too, strong and steady as always. Maren was teaching Tomas how to forge a blade, his hands guiding Tomas's with patience and care. The forge's heat was intense, but Maren's presence made it bearable. "Remember, Tomas," Maren said, his voice filled with pride, "the right mixture of metals can make all the difference."
Arthur watched them, his heart swelling with love and gratitude. These were the moments he cherished most, the simple, everyday acts of love that had defined his childhood. He saw his father's broad smile, heard his mother's soft laughter, and felt the warmth of their love surrounding him.
But the dream began to change. The warmth faded, replaced by a chilling cold. The laughter turned to screams, and the vision of his parents dissolved into a scene of horror. Arthur saw the bandits, the blood, and the lifeless bodies of his parents.
He woke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest. For a moment, he hoped it had all been a nightmare, but the reality was undeniable. His parents were gone, and he was left with a burning desire for vengeance.
Arthur sat up, his mind racing. He reached for the amulet, but his hand found nothing. Panic surged through him. Had he dreamed the entire ordeal with Baal as well?
"Looking for this?" a voice echoed in his mind, dripping with sarcasm.
Arthur froze. The voice was unmistakable. "Baal?"
"Yes, yes, it's me. The demon you so cleverly enslaved," Baal replied, his tone laced with dark humor. "And no, you didn't dream it. This is your new reality."
Arthur felt a mix of relief and frustration. "Where's the amulet?"
"It's still with you, embedded in your essence," Baal said, clearly annoyed. "Congratulations, child. You've managed to bind me to you. A feat no one has accomplished in centuries. Do you want a medal?"
Arthur ignored the sarcasm, his mind focused on one thing. "I want to know about the power you promised. I need to avenge my parents."
Baal chuckled darkly. "Ah, vengeance. The sweetest of motivations. Unfortunately, there's a slight problem. All the energy I used in our little tussle with the guardian was accumulated over centuries. I'm currently... depleted."
Arthur's frustration grew. "What do you mean, depleted?"
"I mean," Baal replied, his voice dripping with disdain, "that I have no energy left to lend you. You'll have to figure things out on your own for now."
Before Arthur could respond, a new presence entered the cave. He turned to see a massive creature, its eyes blazing with fury. It was another magical beast, its form powerful and intimidating. It roared in grief and rage as it saw the body of the guardian stag.
"You killed him!" the beast bellowed, its voice shaking the cave. "I will avenge him!"
Arthur barely had time to react before the beast lunged at him. He dodged to the side, the creature's claws barely missing him. The beast was relentless, attacking with a ferocity that left Arthur scrambling to defend himself.
"Baal, I need help!" Arthur shouted mentally, hoping the demon would respond.
Baal's voice was cold. "I told you, I'm not inclined to help right now. Besides, I have no energy to spare. You're on your own, kid."
Arthur gritted his teeth, trying to focus. He had to rely on his own skills and the training his father had given him. He dodged another swipe from the beast, feeling the air crackle with mana.
The beast's attacks were swift and powerful, but Arthur noticed something. It hesitated slightly, as if unsure about attacking him. Using this to his advantage, he tried to parry its blows, though his strength was waning.
The beast roared again, its eyes glowing with anger and pain. "You carry the demon's mark. You must be destroyed!"
Arthur was pushed to his limits, each blow from the beast making his body ache. He fought back with all his might, but it was clear he was outmatched. The beast's power was overwhelming, and Arthur's desperation grew.
Just as the beast was about to strike a fatal blow, it paused, its eyes narrowing. It sniffed the air, sensing something different. It looked at Arthur more closely, its gaze piercing. "You are not the demon. You are human."
Arthur, panting and exhausted, managed to nod. "Yes, I am. The demon is... bound to me. But I am not him."
The beast seemed to consider this, its anger slowly fading. It transformed before Arthur's eyes, shrinking and morphing into a woman with long, flowing hair and fierce, penetrating eyes. Her features were striking, with high cheekbones and a regal bearing. Her presence was both intimidating and comforting.
"I am Lyra," she said, her voice now calm but still filled with sorrow. "The guardian was my mate. I felt his death and came to find him."
Arthur's knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground. The weight of everything that had happened pressed down on him. He looked up at Lyra, unable to find the words. Instead, his body acted on its own. He reached out, clutching her leg, and began to sob uncontrollably.
Lyra, surprised but not unkind, knelt beside him, her hand gently resting on his head. She reminded him so much of his mother that it broke something inside him. Arthur buried his face in her robes, his tears soaking the fabric.
For a moment, there was silence in the cave, save for Arthur's sobs. The emotions he had bottled up for so long finally poured out, each tear a release of the pain and grief that had been building inside him. Lyra's presence was soothing, a balm for his shattered soul.
As Arthur cried, Lyra held him, her expression softening. "It is all right, young one. Let it out. Grieve for your loss."
Arthur clung to her, feeling a mix of sorrow and comfort. He had lost so much, but in this moment, he allowed himself to feel the pain, to acknowledge the depth of his grief. And in Lyra's embrace, he found a flicker of hope, a promise that he was not alone in this dark and cruel world.