The cold wind howled through the forest, carrying with it the distant echoes of the slaughter that had unfolded just hours before. Valthar and Serra had left the clearing behind, but the weight of what had happened clung to them like a second skin. Valthar's footsteps were heavy, each one burdened with the realization that something inside him had shifted—permanently.
He barely registered the passing of time as they trudged through the trees, the moon now obscured by thick clouds. The darkness was suffocating, but it didn't compare to the gnawing void growing in his chest. The Abyss was closer now, whispering louder, digging its claws deeper into his soul.
Serra walked beside him in silence. He could feel her eyes on him, full of concern, but also fear. She had seen him use the Abyssal power, had watched as he butchered those men with a cruelty that wasn't his own. He had crossed a line, and they both knew it.
But he had to. There was no other way.
After what felt like hours, they reached a small clearing, far from the carnage of before. A decrepit stone ruin lay crumbling at the center, its walls half-consumed by the forest, overgrown with vines and moss. It offered some shelter from the wind, at least.
Serra spoke first, her voice breaking the oppressive silence. "We should rest here."
Valthar nodded absently, barely hearing her. His mind was racing, his thoughts disjointed, swirling in a storm of rage, grief, and guilt. He couldn't escape the faces of those he had killed—both the raiders and the innocent. He hadn't spared them from fear. He had become their nightmare.
He sat down on a crumbling stone, his back against the cold, damp wall. Serra sat across from him, her eyes never leaving his face.
"You need to talk about it," she said after a long moment, her tone firm but gentle. "What happened back there… that wasn't you."
Valthar shook his head, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. "You don't understand, Serra. I didn't have a choice."
Serra's eyes hardened. "You always have a choice, Valthar. I've seen you fight without the Abyss before. You didn't need to do what you did."
He could hear the frustration in her voice, but it only stoked the fire burning inside him. "And what would you have me do? Let them kill those villagers? Let them burn everything in their path while I stand by, too weak to stop them?"
Serra leaned forward, her gaze piercing. "You're not weak, Valthar. You've never been weak. But this—this darkness—it's changing you. You think you can control it, but every time you use it, it takes a little more of you. Don't you see that?"
He looked away, staring out into the forest. "I don't have the luxury of turning away from power. Not now. Not with Kaelion still out there."
Serra was silent for a moment, her expression pained. "I know what he took from you. I know the hate you carry for him. But you can't let it consume you."
Valthar's jaw clenched at the mention of Kaelion. His half-brother. The traitor who had brought their entire family to ruin, who had handed over Eryndor to the Abyss, all for his own thirst for power. Valthar had trusted him once—looked up to him. That trust had been shattered the night Kaelion had slaughtered their family and claimed the throne.
And now, Kaelion was more powerful than ever, sitting on a throne of bones, ruling over the remnants of Eryndor with a fist of dark magic. Valthar had sworn to kill him, to avenge his family and reclaim his birthright. But each day, the path to vengeance grew darker, and the cost to himself steeper.
"You don't know what it's like," Valthar said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. "To see your family slaughtered… to hold your brother's body in your arms as he dies… and to know it's your fault."
Serra's eyes softened. "Valthar, you were a boy. You couldn't have stopped what happened. No one could have."
But he shook his head, the old guilt rising like bile in his throat. "I should have seen the signs. I should have known what Kaelion was planning. I should have stopped him."
Serra reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You can't carry that weight forever. It'll break you."
Valthar met her gaze, his eyes hollow. "Maybe I deserve to be broken."
Before Serra could respond, the sound of rustling leaves cut through the air, sharp and deliberate. Both of them tensed, hands instinctively going to their weapons. Valthar stood, his senses on high alert.
From the shadows, figures emerged, their faces hidden by hoods, their movements silent and predatory. There were at least ten of them, closing in from all sides, surrounding the clearing.
Serra drew her sword, her posture rigid. "More raiders?"
Valthar's eyes narrowed. "No. These are something else."
The lead figure stepped forward, his hood falling back to reveal a pale, gaunt face. His eyes were black as night, empty and soulless, his skin stretched tight over sharp bones. He looked almost inhuman, like a creature that had crawled up from the depths of the Abyss.
"Prince Valthar," the man said, his voice a rasping hiss. "We've been searching for you."
Valthar's grip on his sword tightened. "Who are you?"
The man smiled, a twisted, joyless grin. "We are the *Abyssal Reavers*, sworn to serve the true king of Eryndor. Your brother, Kaelion."
At the mention of Kaelion's name, Valthar's blood ran cold. His brother's reach was longer than he had thought.
"You're far from his throne," Valthar said, his voice laced with venom. "What does he want with me?"
The Reaver's smile widened. "He wants you to understand your place. To know that you cannot escape the Abyss, no matter how far you run. And if you refuse to serve, then you will die."
Valthar's heart pounded in his chest. The Abyss was everywhere. It had infected his brother, corrupted their kingdom, and now it was coming for him.
Serra stepped forward, her sword raised. "We're not interested in whatever your master wants. Leave now, or we'll make you."
The Reaver chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. "You think you can fight us? You think you can resist the Abyss? You're already one of us, Valthar. You can feel it, can't you? The darkness inside you, growing stronger every day. It will consume you, just as it did your brother."
Valthar's hands trembled, the words striking deep. He could feel the Abyss within him, its tendrils tightening around his heart, whispering promises of power, vengeance, and freedom. It was there, always there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for him to embrace it fully.
The Reaver's smile faded. "Join us, and you will have power beyond imagining. Together, we can reclaim Eryndor and drown the world in shadow."
Valthar's mind raced. The temptation was there, as it always was. The promise of power to defeat Kaelion, to finally end the nightmare that had begun on the night his family was murdered. But at what cost?
Serra's voice cut through his thoughts. "Don't listen to him, Valthar. You're stronger than this."
The Reaver's eyes flicked to Serra, and his smile returned, cruel and mocking. "Ah, the loyal knight, always trying to save the fallen prince. But you can't save him from what he is."
Valthar's heart pounded in his chest, the pull of the Abyss stronger than ever. He could feel it calling to him, urging him to give in, to let the darkness take control.
But Serra's words echoed in his mind, pulling him back from the edge.
With a growl, Valthar raised his sword. "I will never serve the Abyss."
The Reaver's smile twisted into a snarl. "Then you will die."
In an instant, the Reavers attacked, their movements quick and fluid, like shadows in the night. Valthar and Serra moved as one, their swords flashing in the darkness, the sound of metal on metal ringing through the clearing.
But these were not ordinary foes. The Reavers moved with unnatural speed, their bodies twisting and contorting in ways that defied logic. Valthar's sword slashed through one of them, but instead of falling, the creature's body simply reformed, the wound knitting itself back together with black, oozing tendrils.
Serra cursed under her breath. "What are these things?"
Valthar didn't have an answer. All he knew was that they were outmatched. The Reavers were relentless, their attacks vicious and precise. Valthar's sword clashed with one of them, but the force of the blow sent him stumbling back, his muscles burning with fatigue.
The darkness inside him stirred, offering strength, offering power. But Valthar resisted, pushing it back with
all his might. He couldn't give in. Not now.
But as the battle raged on, he realized with a sinking feeling that he might not have a choice.
The Abyss was closing in, and Valthar's grip on his humanity was slipping.
He couldn't hold on forever.