That night, the dream returned.
Kael found himself standing in the heart of a battlefield, a realm drenched in chaos where the air was thick with the acrid stench of blood and sweat. The sky above roiled with ominous storm clouds, painted a deep, unsettling gray, illuminated sporadically by violent bursts of magic that arced across the horizon like falling stars. Each flash was followed by the reverberating echoes of battle, a discordant symphony of clashing steel, guttural shouts, and the haunting screams of the fallen, creating a cacophony that was both terrifying and exhilarating.
Warriors swarmed around him—some clad in battered armor, others in grotesque forms, their appearances defying the natural order. They collided in a frenzied maelstrom of steel and sorcery, each strike punctuated by cries of rage and anguish. The clang of swords meeting shields sent vibrations through the air, and the ground beneath his feet trembled as bodies fell, felled by the brutality of their foes.
But this time, something was distinctly different. The dream was more vivid, sharp as if the details were etched into his mind with an unsettling clarity that was both exhilarating and terrifying. Every step Kael took through the mire of the battlefield left an imprint in the thick mud, each breath filled with the metallic tang of death and decay. It felt too real; it felt as if he were not merely an observer but a participant in this brutal dance of war.
Ahead, his gaze snapped to a figure amidst the chaos—a soldier, perhaps not much older than himself, standing his ground, clutching a sword with trembling hands. Desperation was carved into the man's features, his wide, terrified eyes darting anxiously from side to side, as if seeking an escape from the nightmarish reality encircling him. His armor, once glimmering with pride, was now battered and streaked with the crimson stains of blood—his own and that of his fallen comrades. Kael could see the soldier's breath coming in ragged gasps, the sheer weight of fear pressing down upon him as the circle of enemies tightened, their grins malevolent and triumphant.
Kael felt a surge of helplessness wash over him, an overwhelming urge to rush to the soldier's side, to shout a warning and offer aid. But his voice remained trapped in his throat; his feet felt anchored to the ground, as if the very earth conspired to keep him there, a powerless witness to the unfolding horror.
Just when it seemed the soldier would be overwhelmed, a shadow fell over him—a figure materializing from the chaos behind. It was the old man from Kael's previous dreams. His grizzled visage, marked by the passage of time, radiated a strange calm amidst the storm. White hair cascaded down his back in a loose knot, and his sharp, penetrating gaze sparkled with a knowing intensity, as if he held the secrets of the universe in his wisdom-worn eyes.
The old man placed a firm hand on the soldier's shoulder, leaning in close to whisper something inaudible over the din of battle. Kael strained to catch the words, but they were swallowed by the roar of chaos surrounding them. Yet the soldier's response was immediate; the trembling of his limbs stilled, and a look of grim determination replaced the terror etched across his features. With a forceful cry that cut through the clamor, he lunged forward, his sword arcing through the air like a harbinger of death.
Kael's heart raced as he watched the soldier, now infused with newfound ferocity, cut down enemy after enemy with an intensity that seemed impossible mere moments before. The old man, though silent now, radiated a presence that guided the soldier, a spectral force urging him onward, granting him a second wind amidst the carnage.
The scene shifted violently. In the blink of an eye, Kael was no longer a mere observer but found himself standing on the edge of a hill overlooking a vast expanse of death and destruction. The ground below was littered with the fallen, weapons half-buried in mud, their owners lost to time and memory. A sickening stillness blanketed the battlefield, punctuated only by the distant cries of the wounded and dying, the echoes of despair hanging heavy in the air like a shroud. The stench of blood was thick enough to choke, curling around him like a malevolent spirit.
Kael's gaze swept over the wasteland, absorbing the sheer magnitude of the devastation. In the distance, he spotted the old man once more, a solitary figure standing resolute amidst the carnage, his silhouette a stark contrast against the stormy sky. The man surveyed the battlefield, his expression inscrutable, but there was an undeniable aura about him—something that transcended the dream. It was a connection that Kael couldn't quite grasp, a feeling that the old man was tethered to him by more than just the dream realm.
The dream twisted again, faster this time. The sky darkened further, the ominous clouds deepening to a pitch black as if the night itself had come alive, suffocating the world in its embrace. The sounds of battle receded, the clamor fading like whispers in the wind, leaving only a void filled with the remnants of despair. Kael felt the darkness encroach, an oppressive force that threatened to swallow him whole. In the center of it all stood the old man, his eyes piercing and cold, locking onto Kael's with an intensity that sent a chill racing down his spine.
And then, with a voice that reverberated through the fabric of the dream, he spoke, words heavy with foreboding. "You're not ready, Kael."
The declaration rang through Kael's mind like a hammer striking an anvil, echoing through the vast chasm of his consciousness. His heart raced, pounding against his ribcage as the darkness pressed in, swallowing the old man and the battlefield in one fell swoop.
Kael woke with a start, jolting upright.
His chest heaved as he gasped for air, drenched in cold sweat. His hands twisted the rough fabric of his blanket as if he had just escaped the clutches of death itself. The room around him was dim, the early morning light barely filtering through the small window of his hut. Shadows clung to the corners, mirroring the unease that churned within him. The echo of the old man's voice lingered in his ears, heavy and foreboding.
"You're not ready."
Kael sat up, rubbing his hands over his face in an attempt to dispel the lingering remnants of the dream. It was just a dream, he reassured himself—a vivid, unsettling nightmare, but still just a dream. He forced himself to breathe deeply, seeking to calm his racing thoughts. Yet, as he stared into the encroaching daylight, a nagging sensation crept up his spine, whispering of truths he dared not confront. These dreams... they were becoming too frequent, too real to ignore.
Kael's mind raced, desperately trying to piece together the fragments of the dream—the battlefield, the desperate soldier, the guiding old man. Each time the old man appeared, he seemed to direct someone caught in the throes of war, whether that someone was Kael himself or another lost soul fighting for survival. And with each encounter, Kael was left with a deep sense of unease, as if he were missing a critical piece of the puzzle, something that connected it all.
A familiar voice slithered into his thoughts, the crystal's tone lazy and amused. "A rough night, was it? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Kael clenched his fists, irritation bubbling beneath the surface at the sound of the crystal's taunt. "It's just a dream," he muttered aloud, more to convince himself than to appease the voice.
"Dreams are never just dreams, Kael," the crystal purred, its tone dripping with condescension. "Especially not for someone like you."
With a groan, Kael swung his legs over the edge of the bed, standing up slowly as his muscles protested the movement, aching from the previous day's training. He stretched, rolling his shoulders to relieve the stiffness that had settled in overnight. Yet his thoughts remained anchored in the dream, haunted by the old man who lurked in the shadows of his mind.
"You're not ready."
The words echoed again, sending a fresh wave of dread surging through him. What wasn't he ready for? What did the old man know that he did not? And why did it feel like these dreams were warnings, harbingers of something looming just beyond his grasp?
Shaking his head, Kael pushed the thoughts aside and dressed quickly, determined not to dwell on the strangeness of his dreams when the reality of his situation loomed larger. The village still reeled from recent attacks, and despite his growing frustration with the crystal and the slow evolution of his powers, he knew he couldn't falter.
After all, no one else had the crystal. No one else could shoulder the burden he carried. No one else could protect them.
As he stepped outside, the village lay before him, bathed in the cool, early morning light. The fresh air brushed against his skin, carrying with it the faint scent of earth and impending rain. He glanced around, surveying the small houses and dirt paths that defined the settlement. It was still early—too early for most to be awake—but he could already feel the heavy weight of responsibility pressing down on him.
The village was a modest collection of homes, each one a testament to its inhabitants' resilience. Small gardens flourished in front of most homes, vibrant with color and life, a stark contrast to the darkness that loomed over them like a shadow. As Kael wandered down the main path, he felt the familiar pang of nostalgia twist in his gut. This was home—yet it felt so far removed from who he was becoming.
He spotted Maren, the innkeeper, tending to her garden, her hands digging into the earth as she hummed softly to herself. She glanced up and smiled warmly, her face crinkling with age yet alive with kindness. "Good morning, Kael! You're up early. Planning to train again?"
"Just getting a head start," he replied, forcing a smile in return. Maren had always treated him like a son, a comforting presence amidst the chaos of his life. "How's Amelia?"
Maren's smile faltered for just a moment, a flicker of something crossing her face—was it worry? "She's still sleeping, I believe. She had a long day yesterday, helping me with the inn."
Kael nodded, feeling a pang of guilt twist within him. Amelia had always been there for him, yet he found himself drifting further away from the people he once cared about. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was becoming something they wouldn't recognize, something that frightened him.
"I'll check on her later," he said, turning to continue down the path. As he walked, he tried to shake off the weight of guilt, reminding himself of his purpose. He had to train, to grow stronger—to protect them all.
His thoughts drifted back to the crystal, the so-called Voice that had become both a guide and a tormentor. It had whispered secrets to him, tantalizing glimpses of power and potential that both excited and terrified him. But with each revelation, he felt an equal measure of fear, a sense of foreboding that he was delving into something far deeper than he understood.
Suddenly, a figure caught his eye at the edge of the village—a silhouette standing at the tree line, the sun casting a halo around them. Kael squinted, narrowing his eyes to make out the details, and his heart skipped a beat as recognition washed over him.
Elara.
She stood poised and graceful, her hair catching the light like spun gold. She appeared lost in thought, her brow furrowed as she gazed into the distance. Something about her presence sent a rush of warmth flooding through him, but along with it came a familiar ache—a reminder of the distance that had grown between them.
Taking a deep breath, Kael approached her, trying to suppress the swirl of emotions that churned within him. As he got closer, Elara turned slightly, her gaze piercing as she studied him, as if searching for answers in his expression. For a moment, the world around them faded, the chaos of the village silencing in the background.
"Kael," she said, her voice soft but steady. "You're back."
"Yeah," he replied, the word feeling inadequate. "I—"
Before he could finish, she turned her attention back to the forest, her expression distant, contemplative. "Have you been training?"
He hesitated, unsure of how to respond. "I'm trying to get stronger… for everyone."
Her lips pursed, and a shadow of uncertainty crossed her features. "You know that strength isn't everything, right? There are other ways to protect people."
"I know," he said, frustration lacing his tone. "But if I'm not strong, I can't protect anyone. I have to be able to fight back."
Elara shook her head, her expression growing distant again. "Fighting doesn't solve everything, Kael. Sometimes it creates more problems than it solves. You can't just—"
"Do you think I want this?" he interjected, his voice sharper than he intended. "Do you think I enjoy feeling powerless?"
Kael could feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating. Elara stepped back slightly, her eyes narrowing, and for a moment, Kael feared he had pushed too far.
"You're not the only one struggling," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't have the same strength you do. All I have are my healing abilities, and even those seem inadequate when everyone looks to you to save them."
Kael's heart sank. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words eluded him. He could see the hurt in her eyes, the weight of expectation resting heavily on her shoulders. He wanted to comfort her, to assure her that she was strong in her own right, but the words felt stuck in his throat.
"I'm sorry," he said finally, the words escaping like a confession. "I never wanted to put that burden on you."
Elara looked away, the tension hanging thick between them. "Sometimes it feels like I'm just here to support you, to watch you grow stronger while I remain stagnant. I don't want to feel that way. I want to be more, to be someone who can stand beside you and fight."
Kael took a step closer, searching her gaze for some semblance of understanding. "You are more, Elara. You have skills that I don't. You can heal. You can bring people back from the brink. That's not weak; that's powerful in its own way."
She shook her head again, frustration flickering across her features. "But what if that's not enough? What if one day my healing can't save anyone?"
"I promise you, it's enough," he said, reaching out to touch her arm gently. "And I won't let anything happen to you. I swear it."
Her gaze met his, a mixture of uncertainty and determination swirling in her eyes. "You can't promise that. None of us know what's coming."
Kael opened his mouth to respond, but the words felt insufficient. He wanted to convince her, to reassure her that they could overcome anything together. But the weight of the unknown loomed large, and he felt the familiar pang of helplessness returning, gnawing at the edges of his resolve.
"Maybe you're right," he said finally, his voice heavy with resignation. "But I have to try. I have to become stronger for everyone."
Elara studied him for a long moment, her expression shifting from frustration to something softer, more vulnerable. "Just… promise me you won't forget that you're not alone in this. You don't have to carry everything on your shoulders."
Kael swallowed hard, her words sinking deep within him. "I won't forget," he said, his voice resolute. "I promise."
With that, the tension between them began to dissipate, replaced by a fragile understanding. As they stood together at the edge of the village, Kael felt a flicker of hope ignite within him. They were not just allies; they were friends, bound together by shared burdens and aspirations.
But the lingering sense of foreboding gnawed at him, a reminder of the darkness that threatened to engulf them all. And as he turned to continue on his path, Kael could not shake the feeling that the old man's warning echoed in the corners of his mind.
"You're not ready."
As the day wore on, Kael immersed himself in training, pushing himself to the limits of his endurance. The sun rose high, casting a golden glow over the forest as he honed his skills, channeling the energies of the crystal that had become both a blessing and a curse.
With each passing hour, Kael felt a shift within himself. The crystal, with its insatiable hunger for strength, urged him forward, promising untold power if he would only give in to its temptations. But the more he trained, the more he began to understand the importance of balance.
He realized that strength was not merely physical; it was mental, emotional, and rooted in the connections he had forged. Every time he channeled the crystal's energy, he felt its consciousness swirling around him, guiding him and taunting him in equal measure.
"You have such potential, Kael," it purred, its voice echoing in his mind. "But remember, power comes with a price."
Kael gritted his teeth, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "What do you want from me?"
"Only what you're willing to give," the crystal replied smoothly, its tone laced with amusement. "The choice is yours—embrace your destiny or cower in fear."
With each interaction, the tension between him and the crystal intensified. Kael wrestled with the seductive allure of its power, but deep down, he felt a growing unease. There was something about the crystal that felt…off, as if it were playing a game with him, one where the stakes were higher than he could fathom.
He trained until the sun began to set, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink, a beautiful contrast to the turmoil in his heart. But with the fading light came the creeping shadows, the foreboding reminder of the darkness that lingered beyond the village.
As he returned home, exhaustion weighed heavily on his limbs, yet his mind remained sharp, buzzing with thoughts of the battlefield and the ominous warnings that echoed in his head. The dream had been too vivid, too real to ignore. He felt as if he were standing at the precipice of something monumental, a confrontation with forces he barely understood.
Back in his hut, he sank onto the rough-hewn bench, staring out into the darkness that enveloped the village. The stars began to twinkle above, distant and cold, each one a reminder of the vastness of the universe and the trials that lay ahead. Kael took a deep breath, grounding himself in the moment, seeking clarity amidst the storm.
But the peace he craved was elusive, fading like smoke in the wind, and he found himself battling against the tide of uncertainty.
That night, as he settled down to sleep, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was waiting just beyond the horizon, lurking in the shadows, biding its time. And as the darkness enveloped him, he could almost hear the crystal's voice, a haunting whisper that lingered in the air.
"Your true test has yet to begin."
[Crystal of Creation]
+ Absolute Creation
Grants the ability to forge anything imaginable, constrained only by physical limits like size and complexity.
+Infinite Creation
Creations are permanent, but each one gradually depletes the crystal's power over time.
+Armor of Power
The strength of the wearer increases exponentially, with enhancements varying based on the weapon equipped. When wielding a weapon, strength can be amplified by up to XX. However, when unarmed, the armor boosts the wearer's power tenfold, granting 10x their normal strength.
+Muscle Creation
Generates enhanced muscles beyond the user's natural limits, creating strength and power where it never existed before.
New Abilities Locked – Awaiting Unlock