The rain poured down in unrelenting torrents, soaking the ragged figure crouched beneath a crooked stone arch. The village had all but emptied as the storm surged through, wind rattling loose shutters, turning the streets to rivers of mud. Raze Drakan remained where he was, unbothered by the rain. It washed over him, pooling around his feet, like a purging force meant to cleanse what remained of his past.
But no rain could wash away the scars he carried.
Ahead, through the storm's haze, he saw them: two men in noble garb, their voices muffled but their intentions clear. He knew those faces. He'd dreamed of them, hunted their likeness in the depths of his mind, clawing for some way to bring them down. They were his betrayers, the ones who'd cast him out, discarded him like refuse because he was "unfit" to carry the mark of their bloodline.
But he'd found his way back. Or rather, the mark had found him.
Raze glanced at the inside of his forearm, at the faint glow now pulsing beneath his skin, barely visible in the storm. His Vein mark. His bloodline's ancient inheritance had finally awakened in him. The Iron Vein, a raw force rooted in strength and resilience, a power he had once been denied. It thrummed within him now, answering his rage, feeding his desire for vengeance.
He pushed back against the urge to reveal himself, to storm forward and shatter them where they stood. No, he thought. Not yet. His time would come, but he'd waited too long, suffered too much, to waste his chance on recklessness. He was here to learn, to test his power, to watch them as they lived, oblivious to the storm that had been reborn in him.
The voices grew louder, and Raze caught fragments of their conversation.
"—the estate will be rid of him soon enough," sneered the taller of the two, his voice dripping with the entitlement that only the powerful wore so brazenly. "One less mouth to feed. The Drakan bloodline deserves better than that… that tainted whelp."
The other man laughed, a low, hollow sound. "Well, they say every bloodline has its dead weight. Better it was him."
Raze clenched his fists, feeling the Vein mark flare beneath his skin, responding to his anger. It ached, a fierce, raw sensation, as if it were awakening in stages, hungering to be unleashed. He could feel the strength flooding through him, urging him to act, to crush these men where they stood.
But he forced himself to hold back. This was a test—not just of his strength, but of his control. The Iron Vein was powerful, yes, but it was also dangerous. His father had warned him once, long ago, that the Iron Vein required discipline. It demanded restraint. Without control, it would consume him, turning his strength into a prison, his power into chains.
Tonight, he would prove that he was not just some "tainted whelp." He would prove that he was worthy of the Drakan name, even if it meant tearing down the very bloodline that had spurned him.
Silently, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, his form blending seamlessly into the storm, leaving his enemies unaware that their death had watched them from mere paces away.
The village was silent by the time he returned to his hiding place, his mind racing with the possibilities his power now afforded him. He clenched his hand, watching as the Vein mark pulsed with a faint, silver glow. The Iron Vein had awakened—far too late to earn him his family's approval, but just in time for something far greater.
Far more satisfying.
As dawn began to break, he made his way out of the village and into the forest that bordered its outskirts. He would not stay here. Not with the taste of his family's disdain still lingering in his mouth. No, he would venture further, into the territories where Veinborn masters held sway. There were techniques to learn, Arcanas that only the most skilled Iron Veinborn could wield.
But he wouldn't learn from them like a student. No. He would take what they knew, twist it to his own needs, and discard the rest.
From now on, Raze Drakan would forge his own path. Not as an exile, not as a rejected heir. He would become a master of his own destiny, a wielder of the Veins who bowed to no family, no order.
And the world would learn his name.
With a final glance back at the village, Raze turned and strode into the forest, his heart pounding with the thrill of the hunt, of the promise of power that awaited him. His journey had begun, and he would stop at nothing to see it through. No matter the cost, no matter the enemies he would make.
He would rise, or he would destroy everything trying.