The days after his encounter with the cloaked figure passed in a haze. Dorin tried to return to the rhythm of his work at the forge, but each hammer strike felt like a reminder of the unknown power lurking inside him. The man's words haunted him, tugging at his mind with a weight he couldn't ignore.
Even the warmth of the hearth couldn't ward off the chill that had settled over him. He felt watched, almost as if the very earth beneath the forge thrummed with an awareness he couldn't understand. His mind kept returning to the figure's warning and the growing, strange energy he felt within himself.
He tried to shake off the feeling, returning to his work with forced focus, but an urge, like a silent call, grew within him. Each day, the pull toward the forest, toward the secrets it held, grew harder to resist.
As dusk fell one evening, Dorin finally gave in. With his thoughts weighed down and his heart racing, he made his way toward the clearing where he'd last seen the cloaked man. Each step felt heavier than the last, yet he pressed forward, driven by a mix of fear and curiosity.
In the clearing, the air was thick with silence. The trees loomed, their shadows long and watchful, and he felt as if he'd stepped into another world. Then, a figure emerged from the darkness, the same cloaked man, his face hidden but his presence undeniable.
"I knew you would return," the man said, his voice calm, almost welcoming.
Dorin's fists clenched, his mind filled with questions he had barely allowed himself to consider. "Why are you haunting me?" he demanded, a surge of frustration cutting through his fear.
The man smiled faintly. "Haunting you? No, Dorin. You've simply chosen to follow the call of your own destiny."
"Destiny?" Dorin echoed, feeling the word settle uneasily in his mind. He wasn't ready to consider what that might mean. "I don't want anything to do with whatever you're selling."
"Want?" The man's gaze sharpened. "This isn't about desire. It's about what's inside you, about a legacy that goes back generations. You are the last of a line of kings who once ruled these lands. It's in your blood."
Dorin felt a surge of disbelief. "A king? I'm just a blacksmith's son. I don't have any special powers."
The man's expression softened, though his eyes held a dark glimmer. "That's only because you haven't awakened them yet. But the soldiers—the ones hunting you—they know who you are. They can feel the power, even if you can't."
Dorin's breath caught. He thought of the soldiers, their relentless pursuit, their eyes flickering with recognition. A chill settled over him as he realized that maybe, just maybe, there was truth to the man's words. "Why would they be after me?" he asked, his voice low.
"Because they want to control you. If they can bend the last of the old bloodline to their will, they will hold dominion over the entire realm. But if you embrace your legacy on your own terms, you might be the only one who can stop them."
Dorin's mind whirled. He had always sensed there was something different about him, but this? This was beyond anything he could have imagined. "So, I'm just supposed to trust you? To believe I have some... ancient power?"
The man's gaze held steady. "I'm not asking you to trust me, Dorin. But I am asking you to accept that you are part of something much greater than yourself."
The weight of his words pressed on Dorin, filling him with both fear and a strange sense of clarity. He thought of the strange pulses he'd felt in his veins, the unnatural strength that had surfaced in fleeting moments. He couldn't deny it any longer; there was something inside him, a force he didn't understand, a force that was growing stronger.
He looked away, his voice softer now. "And if I choose to ignore it?"
The man's face darkened. "You can't escape what you are. You can try to bury it, but it will only come back stronger, fiercer. And when it does, it will be beyond your control."
Dorin felt the weight of that choice, heavy and suffocating. Deep down, he knew he had crossed a threshold he could never return from.
Without another word, the man turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Dorin alone in the clearing, the realization of his identity pressing on him like a shackle and a key at once.
---
Back in the Village
Returning to the village felt like stepping into a different world. The forge, the familiar streets, even the faces he had known his whole life—they all felt distant now, shadows of a life he could never fully reclaim.
As he walked, lost in thought, he nearly collided with Selene. Her eyes held a hint of worry as she studied his face. "You look like you've seen a ghost," she said quietly.
Dorin managed a strained smile. "In a way, I have."
Selene's gaze softened, as if she understood more than he was willing to say. "The soldiers won't stop, you know," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "They're looking for someone who isn't just... anyone."
Dorin felt a shiver run down his spine. "What do you mean?"
"There are rumors," Selene replied, glancing around to make sure no one could overhear. "Rumors of a power, of an heir to the throne who was thought lost."
Dorin swallowed, the weight of her words hitting him hard. So even the villagers knew—knew of the ancient legacy that was woven into the very fabric of his life, a legacy he had never asked for, a burden he had never wanted to carry.
In the days that followed, Dorin could feel the change in himself, the slow, undeniable pull of something ancient. His dreams were filled with visions of battles and shadows, of kings and lost crowns. The whispers grew louder, more insistent, like a pulse in the earth calling him toward something he could no longer deny.
One evening, as he sat alone in his small room, he found himself gripping the hilt of his father's sword. The blade felt alive in his hands, the metal cool and reassuring, as if it held its own secrets, its own history. He had always thought of it as just a weapon, but now he could feel it pulsing with a strange energy, a reminder of the bloodline he bore.
As he stared at the blade, a sense of purpose began to settle in him. The fear, the uncertainty—it was all still there, but now it was joined by something else: determination. He didn't yet know what lay ahead, but he knew he couldn't run from it any longer.
Dorin rose, the weight of his decision filling him with a strange calm. He was no longer just a blacksmith's son. He was something more, something he would have to come to understand, to embrace. And for the first time, he felt ready to face whatever lay ahead, whatever shadows still lingered in his past.