Riven's mind was a storm. The unsettling encounter from the previous evening replayed in his thoughts like an echo that wouldn't fade. The figure beneath the ancient tree, those cryptic words—"You cannot escape it, but you can choose how it shapes you." The voice had felt oddly familiar, as though it had been waiting, always, for him.
He worked through the morning in silence, the usual village sounds feeling distant and hollow. Around him, his father and the other farmers went about their tasks, but to Riven, the world felt muted. The whispers of curses, the unease in the villagers' eyes—they suddenly held a new weight. For the first time, he wondered if there was something truly dark, something festering and unseen, lurking in his family's past.
By midday, he slipped away from the fields, making his way through the narrow village paths. The houses of Eldralon were clustered closely together, thatched roofs bowed under the weight of age, with faded charms and small iron symbols hanging by the doorways—a silent plea against the misfortunes that had begun to plague them. He kept his head down, avoiding eye contact with anyone he passed. He could feel the stares, the way people paused their conversations as he walked by. It was as if the village itself had turned against him.
But Riven had somewhere he needed to go.
At the edge of the village, nestled against a cluster of twisted yew trees, was a small hut. Its roof sagged under the weight of moss, and its windows were veiled by the shadow of thick ivy. This was Old Maura's place, the village healer, and the only one who might understand what he had seen.
Riven hesitated at the door, his hand hovering in mid-air. He could hear the faint clinking of glass and the soft murmur of Maura's voice from within, a rhythmic hum that sounded like some kind of incantation. Before he could knock, the door creaked open.
"Come in, Riven," came Maura's rasping voice.
He stepped inside, his eyes adjusting to the dimness. The air was thick with the scent of herbs—lavender, sage, and something sharper, metallic. Maura sat at a low wooden table, her gnarled hands moving with surprising grace as she ground dried leaves into a small bowl. Her face was lined with age, her eyes sharp and bright, like twin embers burning within the folds of her wrinkled skin.
"So," she said, without looking up, "you've come with questions."
Riven swallowed, unsure where to start. He shifted his weight, feeling the sudden enormity of his curiosity, and his fear.
"I… saw someone," he began slowly. "In the forest, by the old tree. They… they spoke of a curse. Something about the Kaelthar bloodline."
Maura's hands paused, her gaze snapping up to meet his. For a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of fear in her eyes, but she quickly hid it.
"The shadows have finally found you, then," she murmured, more to herself than to him.
"What does that mean?" he demanded, taking a step closer. "Is there truly a curse? Am I… are we bound to it?"
She held his gaze, her expression unreadable. "The Kaelthar line is older than Eldralon itself. Your ancestors wielded power, Riven. A power so potent it came with a price. For generations, your family has paid it, whether they wanted to or not."
Riven clenched his fists, a surge of anger rising within him. "That's just a tale. Old stories meant to scare children. Power? We're farmers, Maura. We can barely get by."
Maura's expression softened, and for the first time, she seemed to look at him not as the village boy she had known, but as someone capable of holding the weight of truth.
"Power takes many forms, Riven. Some wear it like armor; others carry it like a shackle. The Kaelthars… they were bound to it, twisted by it. It is in your blood, no matter how deeply buried. And sometimes, blood demands payment."
Her words sent a chill through him, but still, he refused to believe it fully. He wanted to resist, to shake off the curse like a cloak he could discard.
"What am I supposed to do then?" he whispered, the anger giving way to a raw vulnerability. "Am I supposed to just… accept it?"
A strange smile played on Maura's lips. "Acceptance is only one path, child. The choice, however, is yours. You can ignore it, run from it, or—"
"Or what?"
"Or learn to wield it."
Riven stared at her, a thousand questions bubbling up. But before he could voice them, she turned away, moving deeper into the shadows of her hut.
"Go home, Riven. The answers you seek will not come from me. Not yet."
He opened his mouth to protest, but something in her tone silenced him. He left the hut, feeling a mixture of confusion and anger boiling inside him. The words she had spoken echoed in his mind, like stones dropped into a still pond, sending ripples of unease through him.
---
That evening, Riven sat alone at the edge of his family's fields, his thoughts churning. The landscape stretched before him, quiet and peaceful, but the world felt different now—darker, as though a shadow had settled over it. He picked up a small stone, turning it over in his hands, and stared out at the setting sun.
His father approached, casting a long shadow over the fields as he joined Riven in silence. They sat together for a while, neither of them speaking. Eventually, his father broke the silence.
"Riven," he began, his voice low and steady, "I know things have been… difficult lately. I know you hear the whispers."
Riven looked down, a knot forming in his stomach.
"I want you to understand something," his father continued, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Whatever they say, whatever they believe about us… it doesn't define who you are. You're not bound by their fears."
Riven wanted to believe him, but the memory of the figure in the forest, of Maura's words, lingered. "But what if they're right? What if… what if there really is a curse?"
His father turned to him, his expression somber. "If there is, then it's ours to bear. But a curse is only as powerful as you allow it to be. Fear can shape you, or you can shape yourself despite it."
Riven's gaze drifted back to the horizon, the dying light casting everything in shades of gray. He didn't feel ready to carry such a burden, but he knew he couldn't escape it either. Whatever fate awaited him, he felt its pull, like a current drawing him toward an unknown shore.
They sat in silence until the last light faded, and only shadows remained.