The sky hung low, heavy with the promise of rain, as Kairon slowly regained consciousness. He lay motionless, his limbs heavy, his breath labored. The golden light that had enveloped him had vanished, replaced by a deafening silence. His entire body felt different—stronger, more attuned to something far beyond the physical world.
"Where...?" His voice was barely a whisper.
He blinked against the dim light, trying to make sense of his surroundings. The familiar sound of crackling fire drew his attention. Villagers were gathered around makeshift camps, their faces drawn with fear and exhaustion. The earthquake had torn the village apart, leaving behind only devastation.
"Kairon!" A voice cut through the stillness.
He turned his head, spotting an old man hobbling toward him—Old Marik, the village elder. His weathered face was etched with concern, but his eyes were fixed on Kairon with a strange intensity.
"You're awake," Marik said, kneeling beside him. "Thank the gods. We thought..."
Kairon tried to sit up, but his muscles screamed in protest. "What happened?"
"The earth split open," Marik explained, his voice shaky. "Your magic... it was like nothing I've ever seen. The light... it saved us. But the village..."
Kairon's chest tightened. "I—I don't understand. I'm not..."
"You are now," Marik interrupted gently, placing a hand on Kairon's shoulder. "You've been touched by the Breath of Destiny, boy. This world is changing, and it's chosen you."
Kairon stared into the distance, the weight of Marik's words sinking in. The village—the people he had known his entire life—had been torn apart. And he had been the center of it. The golden light had saved some, but not everyone.
"I'm... responsible?" Kairon's voice trembled.
Marik's eyes softened. "The world is stirring, lad. Forces greater than us are at play. This power inside you, it's not a curse. It's a calling."
But to Kairon, it felt like both.