The woods were silent as Elrianon now Seth vanished into their depths, leaving behind the smoldering remains of a battlefield and the faint echoes of victory cries that no longer felt like his own. His once noble purpose had crumbled under the weight of his curse. The power he had unleashed to destroy Zorath's darkness had not just saved Aeloria but had transformed him into something else entirely. Something the people feared.
The forest embraced him like a grave, its dense canopy blocking out the remnants of sunlight. The ancient trees whispered secrets to one another as if they too were wary of his presence. Seth wandered aimlessly, the earth beneath his feet soft and damp, each step sinking into the soil like a promise of eventual decay. But not for him. Death, the ultimate reprieve, would never come.
For decades, Seth lingered in the shadows of Aeloria, watching over the people he had sworn to protect. He helped silently at first, dragging wagons from ditches, guiding lost travelers, and warding off wandering predators. But the sight of his cursed visage the glowing crimson cracks that spiderwebbed his skin and the faint aura of shadow that clung to him terrified those he aided.
Stories spread. Terrors and tall tales grew, painting him not as the hero who had saved Aeloria but as the monster who had brought doom. They called him The Red Wraith or The Shadow's Hand. Children were warned not to wander into the forest, lest the cursed monster claim them. Fear turned to hatred, and hatred to violence.
Hunters came. Armed with weapons imbued with fledgling magic, they sought to kill the "beast" who haunted the edges of their villages. Seth had no desire to fight them. He disarmed them easily, sending them fleeing back to their homes with stern warnings. But with each encounter, their hostility grew fiercer, their attacks more determined.
Years became decades, and decades became centuries. The kingdom of Aeloria changed, its borders expanding and contracting as wars were fought, alliances made, and monarchs rose and fell. Seth watched it all from the shadows.
The once-vibrant city of Aeloria, home to towering spires of elven architecture and glowing arcane runes, fell into ruin. The great elven halls became overgrown with ivy and moss, their golden light extinguished. The forest crept closer, reclaiming the land. The people of Aeloria the few who remained moved into simpler homes, their connection to magic slowly fading as they relied more on steel than spells.
Seth returned to his old home, now hidden beneath layers of vines and dirt. He uncovered the crumbled remains of the high council chambers where he once commanded armies. Dusting off a shattered chair, he sat there for what felt like days, staring at the emptiness. Memories flooded back his mother Elyndra, his father Thalion, the soldiers who had fought under his banner, and the people he had sworn to protect.
He wept. For the first time in centuries, tears fell from his eyes. Not for himself, but for the world he had loved a world that had all but forgotten him.
Seth's isolation deepened. He learned to stay away from towns and villages, venturing only to observe from afar. He watched generations rise and fall. Families grew and faded into dust. Fields that once teemed with crops became barren, only to be replanted anew. Entire forests he had once walked through were cut down, replaced by roads and stone buildings.
Magic, once the lifeblood of Aeloria, grew weaker with each passing century. The mages of old who had wielded tremendous power became scarce, replaced by lesser practitioners who viewed magic as a trade rather than an art. Magic schools were abandoned, their knowledge forgotten, their libraries pillaged or left to decay.
As magic dwindled, something new emerged. The northern tribes, known as the Nords, began to build machines. At first, they were simple constructs powered by steam and gears tools for farming, weapons for war. But as centuries passed, the Nords' technology grew more sophisticated. Machines that once required human or magical input became autonomous, driven by glowing blue cores that hummed with unknown energy.
Seth observed these changes with growing unease. The machines were efficient, relentless, and devoid of empathy. Unlike magic, which required connection and understanding, the machines knew no balance. They were cold, calculating, and bound only by the will of their creators.
The age of magic was over. The age of machines had begun.
For Seth, the passage of time felt like a cruel joke. The centuries that came and went left him untouched, his immortal body refusing to age. Yet, his mind bore the weight of every moment. Memories that once brought him joy his mother's laughter, his father's stern yet loving guidance, and the camaraderie of his soldiers became unbearable. They haunted him, vivid and unrelenting.
Two million years passed, and for Seth, it felt like an eternity. He wandered the vast lands that had once been Aeloria, now unrecognizable. The great mountains where he had fought Zorath were eroded to hills. The rivers that had once sparkled with life were polluted or diverted by Nord machines. Cities that had been bastions of hope and beauty were now sprawling, mechanical monstrosities, their skies choked with smoke.
Seth tried to remain unseen, but even in this new world, fear of the unknown persisted. On the rare occasions when he encountered humans, they screamed and fled, calling him a demon or a monster. Hunters still came, though now they wielded weapons of steel and fire instead of magic. And while they were no match for Seth, their determination reminded him of the hunters from centuries ago.
He saved some, once again trying to aid the people of this new world. But they recoiled from him in terror. The Nords, in particular, labeled him a "relic of the past," an aberration to be eradicated.
"I tried," Seth muttered to himself one evening, sitting atop a crumbled ruin. "I tried to help. To protect. But they don't want me. They never did."
The world around him became unrecognizable. The forests he once called home were cut down, replaced by Nord factories and mining operations. The skies, once painted with the vibrant hues of sunsets, were now gray with smoke. The hum of machines and the clatter of iron replaced the songs of birds.
Even the people were different. Their lives were shorter, their goals smaller. They no longer revered nature or sought to understand the balance of the world. Instead, they sought control—over the land, over the skies, and even over one another.
The Nords became the dominant force, their machines spreading across the continents. They built great mechanical cities that towered into the clouds, their glowing cores visible for miles. Magic was a thing of myths and legends, spoken of in hushed tones but rarely believed. The ancient elven tales of Aeloria and its great war were dismissed as mere stories, forgotten in the shadow of Nord progress.
And yet, despite all this, Seth remained.
Every so often, Seth returned to the ruins of Aeloria, the only place that still felt like home. He would sit among the overgrown stones, tracing the carvings that once adorned the walls of elven halls. Sometimes, he would hear faint echoes of laughter the memories of his people still clinging to the stones. Other times, he would dream of the life he could never return to.
He often wondered why he still lived. Was it truly the curse of the book that bound him to this world? Or was it something else? He longed for an end, a release from the endless march of time. But death refused to claim him. His body remained unbroken, his mind sharp despite the centuries.
"Is this punishment?" he asked the void one night, standing atop a hill overlooking the ruins. "For using the book? For wielding its power? Or am I meant to suffer until I've atoned for my sins?"
But the void offered no answer.
Though the world had changed, Seth sometimes sensed faint traces of magic in the air hidden pockets of power untouched by Nord machines. These places were few and far between, but they reminded him that the magic of Aeloria was not entirely gone.
Deep in the woods, far from Nord cities, he found a single tree glowing faintly with ancient elven magic. Its bark shimmered with silver light, and its leaves hummed with energy. Seth knelt before it, placing a hand on its trunk.
"You remember, don't you?" he whispered. "You remember what this world used to be."
The tree's light pulsed faintly in response, a gentle acknowledgment. For the first time in centuries, Seth felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps not all was lost.
The chapter closes with Seth retreating deeper into the wilderness, the faint glow of the tree reflected in his crimson eyes. Though the world around him had changed, he resolved to keep searching for a purpose a reason for his endless existence.