The village was quiet now, save for the soft murmur of survivors tending to their wounded. Smoke curled from the burned remains of several homes, mingling with the crisp forest air. Raya stood at the edge of the village, staring into the distance where the soldiers had retreated. The mark on his wrist still glowed faintly, a constant reminder of the raw, untamed power within him.
The elder's words lingered in his mind: "The mark responds to your emotions—your anger, your hatred. If you let it control you, it will destroy not just your enemies, but yourself and everything around you."
For the first time in years, Raya felt something other than rage. He felt fear, not of his enemies, but of himself.
"You can't fight them like this."
Raya turned to see the hunter woman who had brought him to the village. Her leather armor was stained with blood, and her bow rested against her shoulder.
"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice sharper than intended.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "You're dangerous, Raya. That power of yours—it's too wild. If you don't learn to control it, you'll end up like the Fell Sovereign's soldiers. Corrupted. Lost."
"I don't need a lecture," Raya snapped. "I need to find out why I'm here. I need to end this Sovereign and his corruption."
"And you think you can do that by rushing into battle without a plan?" she shot back. "If you want to survive—if you want to save anyone—you'll need discipline. Come with me."
The hunter, who introduced herself as Kael, led Raya deep into the forest. The dense canopy above cast dappled shadows across the ground as they walked. Kael was silent, her movements swift and sure, while Raya struggled to keep pace. His new body, though young and strong, felt alien to him.
Eventually, they arrived at a clearing. In the center stood an ancient stone archway, overgrown with vines. Strange symbols were etched into the stones, glowing faintly with the same light as Raya's mark.
"What is this place?" he asked.
Kael gestured toward the archway. "The Forge of Discipline. It's an old site, a relic from before the Fell Sovereign's rise. The elders say it's where warriors would come to train—not their bodies, but their spirits. If you're serious about controlling that mark of yours, this is where you'll start."
Raya frowned. "And if I don't?"
Kael's gaze hardened. "Then you'll burn yourself out. Or worse, you'll become a weapon for the very thing you're trying to destroy."
Raya stood there for a moment, studying the archway, the flickering symbols that danced across its surface, and the mysterious aura that seemed to hum in the air. He didn't trust it. He didn't trust Kael. But there was no denying the gravity of the situation. He had no plan, no real direction—just the overwhelming, gnawing need to destroy the Fell Sovereign and everyone who had wronged him. The power inside him felt like an ever-present fire, waiting to be unleashed, but with each passing moment, he felt that the fire might consume him if he didn't gain control of it.
"Why should I trust this place?" Raya finally asked, his voice guarded. "How do I know it will help me?"
Kael's expression softened slightly, her eyes betraying a depth of understanding. "You've already been to the brink, haven't you?" she asked, as if she had seen this story before. "Rage, vengeance, it's all-consuming. The power you carry is not something to take lightly. You'll either control it... or it will control you."
Raya clenched his fists at his sides, his nails digging into the palms of his hands. He didn't want to admit it, but she was right. Every time he allowed the mark to flare, it felt like it was tearing him apart from the inside, threatening to swallow him whole. He couldn't keep going like this, not if he had any hope of achieving the revenge he craved.
"You've felt it, haven't you?" Kael continued, her voice almost a whisper, as if speaking aloud would summon the very force she warned him about. "The pull of the mark, the way it twists everything inside you. The rage becomes like a drug. You think you can control it, but it pulls at you, pulls you deeper into darkness until there's nothing left but the fire. If you're going to destroy the Sovereign and stop this war, you need more than just raw power. You need discipline."
Raya took a deep breath, trying to steady the tremor in his hands. He could feel the power within him, restless, like a caged beast eager to be unleashed. "I don't need some old ceremony to teach me control. I can fight. I've fought all my life."
Kael's gaze flickered to the sword on his back, then back to his face. "Fighting won't save you. You've spent your life reacting, letting your rage guide you. But there's more to war than fighting. This isn't just about winning battles, Raya. This is about surviving them. If you want to do that, you need to learn to master yourself. The Forge can show you how."
Raya looked at the archway again, uncertainty gnawing at his insides. He wasn't used to trusting people, let alone trusting some mythical site from an era he knew little about. But what was his alternative? To burn out from the inside, to let the power consume him like the Sovereign's soldiers? His enemies had already taken everything from him. What was left to lose?
He exhaled slowly and nodded. "Alright. Let's see if this Forge can do what you say it can."
Kael gave a small nod of approval. "Walk through, and let it show you who you really are."
Raya stepped toward the arch, his heart pounding in his chest. The mark on his wrist burned hotter, a reminder that everything was at stake. As he passed beneath the stone archway, the world around him seemed to blur and twist. The air thickened, and the ground beneath his feet shifted as though the earth itself was reacting to his presence.
For a moment, there was nothing but light, a blinding, searing brilliance that made him squint. But then it faded, and he found himself standing in a strange, alien landscape. The world before him was barren ,bleak, jagged mountains loomed in the distance, and the sky above was a heavy, oppressive gray. The ground beneath his feet was dry, cracked earth, and in the far distance, he saw faint flickers of movement, figures hunched over, dragging themselves along the dirt.
"What is this?" Raya murmured, confused. His hand instinctively reached for his sword, but his fingers only brushed against empty air. His blade was gone.
A voice spoke—low, ancient, yet full of authority—out of nowhere. "This is the reflection of your heart, Raya. It is a place shaped by your emotions, your desires. What you see before you is a vision of yourself, one shaped by the unchecked rage that courses through you."
Raya's eyes narrowed. "You think this is me? This wasteland? You're wrong. I'm not like this."
The voice echoed again, its tone both sad and knowing. "Look deeper. You are a product of your choices. You carry a great power, but it is a burden, a force that seeks to destroy. The question is: Will you let it break you? Or will you learn to use it? The forge of discipline lies not just in controlling the power, but in mastering the part of you that seeks to destroy everything around you."
Raya's hands clenched into fists, and for a moment, he felt the familiar rush of anger flooding his veins. But then, the vision around him shifted. The barren wasteland gave way to images of the past—memories of his village, the faces of those he had once loved, the family he had lost to the Sovereign's soldiers. He saw himself, younger, angrier, striking down those who had wronged him. The blood on his hands, the fire in his heart—it was all too familiar.
"No," he whispered, stepping backward. "This isn't who I am."
"But it is," the voice responded. "It's the path you've chosen for yourself."
Raya's breath quickened as the image of his past self began to swirl around him, each moment a reminder of the anger that had driven him all these years. The pain, the loss, the bitterness—it had consumed him, and in return, he had allowed the mark to grow stronger, more dangerous.
"Not anymore," he said, his voice firm as he clenched his hands together. "I choose my own path now."
The landscape began to shift again, this time into something more vibrant. The barren earth faded, replaced by lush fields, towering trees, and sparkling rivers. The oppressive sky cleared, and in its place was a dawn, the sun slowly rising above the horizon.
The voice spoke once more, this time softer. "You see, Raya, this is your true potential. It's not too late. The choice is always yours. The mark is powerful, yes, but it is also a reflection of your heart. What you become is shaped by what you choose to believe."
Raya stood silently for a moment, his chest rising and falling with deep, measured breaths. For the first time in years, the fire inside him did not consume him. It didn't burn—it simmered, steady and controlled. The power was still there, but now it felt like something he could shape, something he could wield rather than succumb to.
Finally, he nodded. "I understand."
The vision before him began to fade, and once again, he found himself standing beneath the ancient archway, the symbols glowing softly in the fading light of the clearing. Kael stood waiting, her eyes narrowed, as if she had seen the entire ordeal unfold.
"So, what did you learn?" she asked, her voice steady.
Raya glanced at his wrist, where the mark still pulsed faintly. He felt its presence, but it was no longer overwhelming. He felt in control for the first time in his life.
"I've learned that it's not the power that's the problem. It's what I do with it."
Kael gave a small, approving nod. "Then you're ready. The real fight begins now."