The wind howled through the charred remains of the palace, carrying the stench of death and the bitter tang of smoke. Valthar stood at the edge of a jagged cliff, his cloak billowing in the wind as he watched the once-great kingdom of Eryndor burn. What was once his home, a place of strength and glory, now lay in ruins. Ashes swirled like mournful ghosts through the air.
The blood of his family had soaked the stones where they once walked. His father, a man of honor and strength, had fallen first—betrayed by a blade that had once sworn loyalty to him. His mother's scream still echoed in Valthar's mind, piercing, unforgettable. His brothers... gods, his brothers. He had found them in the throne room, their throats slit like lambs, their eyes wide with terror even in death.
Valthar's knuckles whitened around the hilt of his sword. He had failed them. He, the crown prince, had been too blind to see the treachery. Too trusting. Too naive.
The traitor's face flashed before his mind—a face he had once called friend. Kaelion, now a tyrant with dreams of power far beyond the throne. The man who had brought Eryndor to its knees. The man who had orchestrated the massacre of his family, his people.
But Kaelion's betrayal was more than ambition. There was something darker, something twisted behind his rise to power. Whispers had reached Valthar's ears before the kingdom fell, rumors of forbidden magic, of deals made with the darkest of forces. The Abyss. The very word sent a chill down his spine, a place of ancient evil where nightmares were born and twisted gods slept.
The Abyss had taken root in Kaelion's heart, and Valthar could feel its presence now, lurking on the horizon like a storm.
"You should have died with them."
The voice came from behind, soft yet carrying the weight of venom. Valthar didn't need to turn to know who it was. Serra, his father's champion, a woman forged in battle and tempered by loyalty. She stood as the last bastion of a dying order, her armor darkened by soot, her face hard as the steel she wielded.
Valthar didn't reply immediately, his gaze still fixed on the distant ruins of the palace. He could see the flickering shadows of soldiers moving through the remains, scavenging what they could from the dead. His hands clenched tighter around his sword, the blade still slick with the blood of the enemies he had cut down during his escape.
"I should have," he finally said, his voice rough, raw. "But I didn't. Now all I have left is vengeance."
Serra's eyes burned with fury, but there was something deeper there—sorrow, perhaps even guilt. "Vengeance won't bring them back."
Valthar turned, his eyes cold. "No, but it'll make sure Kaelion doesn't enjoy his victory."
Serra's jaw tightened. "You're walking down a path that can't be undone. I swore to protect this kingdom, your family—"
"My family is dead," Valthar spat, the words like poison on his tongue. "They're gone, Serra. And nothing you or I do will change that."
Serra's gaze faltered for a moment, and Valthar turned away from her, his heart heavy with the weight of loss. It was then that he felt it—a presence. A dark, gnawing sensation at the edge of his consciousness, like the tendrils of some ancient shadow creeping into his soul.
He froze. His breath caught in his throat.
Something watched him. Something from beyond.
He had first felt it in the chaos of the battle, when he had narrowly escaped Kaelion's soldiers. It was a subtle whisper in his mind, growing louder with every passing moment, every heartbeat. Now, standing on the precipice of all he had known, the whisper became a voice. A voice that was not his own.
"You have tasted their blood... now taste their power."
The words sent a cold shiver down his spine. Valthar took an involuntary step back, his head pounding. He had heard tales of this—a voice from the Abyss. The forbidden. The cursed. Those who listened too long were never the same again.
But part of him—an angry, broken part—was drawn to it.
"Give yourself to me," the voice coiled around his thoughts, seductive and dangerous, "and I will give you the power to destroy him. To make Kaelion suffer as you have suffered. Only I can give you what you seek."
Valthar's breath came in ragged gasps. His blood felt as though it burned beneath his skin, and his vision darkened at the edges. The rage, the grief, the hatred—all of it fed into the abyssal pull, and he could feel the offer tempting him, wrapping its dark tendrils around his heart.
"Valthar!" Serra's voice cut through the haze, pulling him back from the edge. She grabbed his arm, her grip firm but trembling. "Whatever it is, whatever you're hearing, you need to fight it."
For a moment, Valthar stared at her, his mind torn between the offer of the voice and the truth of her words. His heart was a battlefield, but something inside him shifted, giving way to a primal need—one that went far beyond vengeance.
The voice in his mind hissed in anger, but it receded, leaving him standing on the cliff, empty yet alive.
Serra's eyes bore into his, searching for the man she once knew. "What did you hear?"
Valthar swallowed hard, the weight of the dark offer still lingering in his soul. "A voice... from the Abyss. It promised me power."
Serra's face darkened. "You can't trust it. The Abyss is nothing but death and corruption. It devours everything it touches."
Valthar turned his gaze back toward the burning ruins of his kingdom. "I know. But Kaelion is using it. He's already made his pact."
Serra stepped forward, her expression fierce. "Then we find another way. We don't walk the same path as him. I won't let you fall to that darkness."
Valthar said nothing for a long moment, staring into the flames below. Part of him wanted to believe her, wanted to think there was another way. But he had seen the power Kaelion wielded, the way the darkness bent to his will. If he wanted to defeat him, he needed more than steel. He needed something stronger. Something darker.
But for now, he nodded. "We'll find a way."
Serra seemed to relax slightly, though the tension never fully left her. "We'll head north. There's a chance some of the old allies remain. If there's hope for this realm, it lies there."
As they turned to leave the ruins behind, Valthar cast one last glance at the palace where his family had died. The whispers of the Abyss still lingered, just at the edge of his mind.
He wasn't sure how much longer he could resist them.
And somewhere, in the darkest corner of his heart, he wondered if he even wanted to.