Valthar and Serra moved through the dense forests north of Eryndor's borders, the trees towering above them like silent sentinels. The air was heavy with the scent of pine and damp earth, a stark contrast to the burning remains of the kingdom they left behind. Valthar's thoughts were still haunted by the voice from the Abyss. The whispering promises of power echoed in his mind like a distant scream he couldn't escape. He glanced at Serra walking ahead, her eyes constantly scanning the trees, ever watchful for danger.
"How far to the northern pass?" Valthar asked, his voice low. He could barely feel the weight of his sword at his side, a weapon he had once wielded with pride. Now, it felt like an instrument of failure.
"Another two days if we keep this pace," Serra responded without looking back. She didn't trust the silence that surrounded them, and neither did he.
The northern pass was their only chance now. If there were still allies in the neighboring kingdom of Tharos, they would need to gather their forces quickly. But Valthar knew what was waiting for them there wouldn't be enough. Kaelion had the power of the Abyss on his side. And if Valthar was honest with himself, he feared that not even an army of ten thousand men could stand against the dark magic Kaelion wielded.
He hadn't told Serra about the dreams.
For the past few nights, ever since the fall of his kingdom, his sleep had been plagued with images of shadowy figures, blackened landscapes, and voices calling out to him. Each time, the same offer whispered through the darkness—Give in to me, and you shall have your vengeance. Each time, it was harder to resist.
As they pressed deeper into the forest, Serra spoke, breaking the tension. "Do you feel it too?"
Valthar tensed. "Feel what?"
"The wrongness in the air," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She stopped, scanning the surroundings. "It's quiet, too quiet. The birds, the animals... they're gone. Something's not right."
Valthar hadn't noticed it before, but now that she mentioned it, the silence was unnerving. The natural sounds of the forest—the chirping of insects, the rustling of leaves—had vanished. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. His grip tightened on his sword hilt as he looked around.
"We should keep moving," he muttered, but as they continued, the feeling of being watched grew stronger. It wasn't just paranoia. There was something—someone—following them.
After another hour, they reached a small clearing. Valthar stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing. Something was off. The air felt thick, as though it was pressing down on them. Serra looked back at him, her brow furrowed. She felt it too.
Suddenly, a cold wind swept through the clearing, bringing with it a low, guttural growl that echoed through the trees. Valthar's heart raced, and his hand instinctively went to his sword. Serra had already drawn hers, her stance low and defensive.
Out of the shadows stepped a figure draped in tattered black robes, its face obscured by a hood. The air around it shimmered with dark energy, tendrils of shadow coiling at its feet like snakes. Valthar felt a chill run down his spine as the creature's gaze locked onto him, though no eyes were visible beneath the hood.
"Abyssal," Serra hissed, taking a step forward. Her sword gleamed in the dying light of the day.
The figure didn't move, but its voice came, low and rasping, like the sound of metal scraping against stone. "You walk the path of vengeance, Prince Valthar."
The sound of his name coming from the creature's lips sent a shock through him. "Who are you?" he demanded, stepping forward with his sword drawn. "What do you want?"
"I am a messenger of the Abyss," the figure said, its voice like a whisper that cut through the air. "I have come to deliver a message."
"Tell your master I'm not interested," Valthar spat, though his heart was hammering in his chest. He could feel the weight of the dark magic radiating from the creature, pulling at him like an invisible hand.
"You cannot escape the Abyss, Valthar," the creature continued. "The blood in your veins calls to it. The power you seek lies within, waiting for you to embrace it."
Serra stepped between Valthar and the figure, her sword raised. "You'll find no easy prey here, demon."
The creature tilted its head, as though regarding her with mild curiosity. "The mortal woman believes she can protect you. But she cannot. The Abyss already has its hold on the prince. He is marked."
Valthar's heart lurched at the words. Marked? He hadn't told anyone about the voice, the dreams, but this creature knew. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
"The moment you tasted the blood of your enemies, the Abyss claimed you," the figure rasped. "You are bound to it now, as much as Kaelion is. But unlike him, you have yet to accept its gifts."
Valthar's hand tightened on his sword, his knuckles white. The rage simmered beneath his skin, his grief and anger threatening to boil over. "I don't want your gifts. I want Kaelion's head."
"And you will have it," the creature said, taking a step forward. Serra moved to strike, but Valthar raised a hand to stop her. He needed to hear this. "But only if you accept the power that is already yours."
"Lies," Serra growled. "The Abyss takes everything. You offer nothing but death."
The creature's hood turned slightly toward her. "True. Death is inevitable. But for those who embrace the Abyss, death is a tool—a means to an end."
Valthar stared at the creature, the weight of its words sinking in. Every part of him wanted to reject it, to fight back against the darkness that sought to claim him. But at the same time, the temptation gnawed at him, a relentless hunger he couldn't ignore.
He could kill Kaelion. He could make him suffer for everything he had done. All he had to do was give in.
"Valthar," Serra said, her voice sharp. "Don't listen to it. This is what Kaelion did. This is how he became what he is now. You saw the destruction he brought to Eryndor. This is the path that leads to ruin."
But Valthar wasn't sure anymore. Kaelion had embraced the Abyss, and he had become more powerful than any mortal king. If Valthar didn't take the same path, how could he ever hope to defeat him?
The creature raised its hand, and the air between them seemed to ripple with dark energy. "Choose, Valthar. Accept the power you were born to wield, or continue to struggle as a mortal, weak and helpless. The Abyss waits for no one."
The silence stretched between them, thick with tension. Valthar's heart raced as he weighed his options, his mind spinning with the possibilities. Serra was right—this was the path that had destroyed Kaelion. But what if it was the only way to defeat him?
The creature lowered its hand, the shadows around it growing deeper. "You have until the next moonrise to decide. After that, the Abyss will take what it is owed."
With that, the figure vanished, dissolving into the darkness of the forest. The air returned to normal, but the tension lingered. Valthar stood frozen, his hand still gripping his sword.
Serra stepped closer, her eyes filled with concern. "We need to keep moving."
Valthar nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. He had to make a choice—one that would determine not just his fate, but the fate of the entire realm.
The Abyss was calling.
And he wasn't sure he had the strength to resist it.