The days blurred together after his encounter with the cloaked figure. Dorin found himself lost in a haze of questions that seemed to echo from some distant place, growing louder every time he tried to silence them. He had always sensed something different about himself, a quiet dissonance within that he'd never understood. But now that difference felt like a chasm, splitting him from the life he had known and thrusting him toward something far darker and infinitely more dangerous.
The forge, once a sanctuary, had become a prison. The clang of hammer on steel, a rhythm that had once soothed him, now pounded with a ceaseless reminder of his own turmoil. Dorin worked mechanically, his hands moving of their own accord while his mind grappled with the truth that had been thrust upon him. He was not just the blacksmith's son. He was the heir to a bloodline that held a terrible power, a legacy that seemed poised to drag him down into an abyss he wasn't sure he'd ever escape.
Everywhere he went, he felt eyes on him. Though the soldiers had vanished, their presence lingered in his mind, a warning that he was no longer safe. Each glance from the villagers felt weighted, as if they, too, sensed that something was amiss. It was irrational, he knew—no one in the village knew of his bloodline, his lineage, his power. But the thought that they might someday look at him with fear, with mistrust, was enough to make his skin crawl.
One evening, as the sun dipped low over the horizon, casting long shadows over the village, Dorin found himself drawn to the woods. His feet moved without thought, leading him along a familiar path to the clearing where the cloaked figure had revealed the truth. He didn't know what he was hoping to find—answers, perhaps, or the reassurance that he wasn't as alone as he felt. The trees loomed around him, their branches casting dark fingers across the ground as if they, too, were trying to hold him back.
When he reached the clearing, the air was heavy with an unnatural stillness, as if the world itself was waiting, holding its breath in anticipation. Dorin's heart hammered in his chest as he stepped into the center, his gaze scanning the shadows. The silence pressed down on him, thick and oppressive, filling his ears until he could barely hear his own breathing.
And then, as if answering some silent summons, the cloaked figure emerged from the shadows.
Dorin tensed, his hand going instinctively to the hilt of the dagger at his side. The man's presence was as unsettling as before, a dark and enigmatic force that seemed to bend the very air around him. But this time, the figure seemed more real, more present—as if he had come with purpose.
"You came," the man said, his voice low and laced with a strange satisfaction, as though this meeting was not only expected but long overdue.
Dorin didn't bother to hide his frustration. "Why are you following me?" he demanded, his voice rough with anger and confusion. "I didn't ask for this power. I don't want it, and I don't want you meddling in my life."
The cloaked figure let out a small, almost pitying sigh. "This was never about what you wanted, Dorin. You are bound by forces far older than you or I. The power within you is not something you can reject or ignore. It is a part of you, and it will shape you, whether you accept it or not."
Dorin shook his head, the weight of those words pressing down on him. "You talk about power like it's some gift. But all it's done is turn my life upside down. I was happy before all this. I had a life—a simple, quiet life."
The figure's expression softened, though his gaze remained intense. "Do you think you are the first to feel this way? Every ruler, every person with the weight of destiny upon them, has wanted to turn away at one point or another. But fate cares little for the desires of mortals."
Dorin clenched his fists, the frustration bubbling up within him. "You don't understand. I'm not some hero. I'm not even… worthy of this. I'm just a blacksmith's son. I have no place in this world you keep speaking of."
The man stepped closer, his voice growing softer, almost sympathetic. "You have always known there was more to you, Dorin. The power that you feel is not just a gift—it is a burden, yes, but one that is rightfully yours. Others would use it, twist it for their own ends. They know what you are, even if you do not. And they will come for you, whether you are ready or not."
Dorin felt a chill run down his spine at the words. "What do you mean… they will come for me?"
The cloaked figure's gaze darkened, a flicker of something ancient and terrible passing across his face. "There are forces in this world who hunger for power, who have waited for centuries to claim the strength of your bloodline. They believe they can control you, that they can bend your will to theirs. If you do not accept what you are, they will find a way to take that choice from you."
The weight of those words settled over Dorin like a shroud. The thought of being hunted, of being used as a pawn in a game he didn't understand, filled him with a sense of dread he could hardly bear. "So what am I supposed to do?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper, his heart pounding in his chest. "What do you want from me?"
The cloaked figure's expression softened, but his eyes held a steely resolve. "I want you to understand, Dorin. To accept who you are before it is too late. You have a choice—a chance to take control of your fate. But if you turn your back on your birthright, the world will suffer. Everything you know, everything you love, will fall into ruin."
Dorin swallowed, feeling the weight of the man's words pressing down on him. A choice. The word felt like a blade, cutting through the last remnants of his simple life and leaving him exposed, vulnerable. "And if I accept… if I try to wield this power, what happens then?"
The cloaked figure's gaze held his, unwavering. "Then you will become the ruler your bloodline intended. You will learn to control the power within you, to use it for something greater than yourself. But the path will not be easy. There will be sacrifices. There will be those who will try to stop you—some out of fear, others out of hatred. And yes, there will be blood."
Dorin's heart raced at the mention of blood. His whole life, he had avoided conflict, sought peace. And yet here he stood, on the brink of a destiny that seemed filled with nothing but pain and loss. "Is it worth it?" he asked, his voice barely audible, as if speaking the words out loud would make them real.
The cloaked figure's expression softened, and for the first time, there was something almost human in his eyes. "That is a question only you can answer. Power comes at a price, and the cost may be higher than you ever imagined. But if you turn away now, you will live with the knowledge that you had a chance to change the course of history—and you let it slip through your fingers."
Dorin felt a shiver run down his spine. The enormity of his choice loomed before him, a chasm that stretched into darkness. He had always known, deep down, that he was different. But this… this was beyond anything he had ever imagined.
The cloaked figure stepped back, his form beginning to fade into the shadows once more. "Remember this, Dorin: the world will not wait for you to be ready. The choice is yours, but time is not on your side."
And with that, the man vanished into the darkness, leaving Dorin alone in the clearing.
Dorin stood there, the weight of his choice pressing down on him. He wasn't just the blacksmith's son anymore. He was something more—something dangerous. And for the first time, he felt the stirrings of resolve, a fierce and burning determination that kindled within him like a flame.
The world would soon know his name.