In the heart of a forgotten realm, nestled between barren hills and tangled forests, lay the third-rate village of Kasru. A modest settlement plagued by monsters and folklore, it was a place of whispered tales and silenced screams. The villagers, though hearty and resilient, often hurried through their days, ever watchful for the shadows that lurked at the edges of their lives.
Ralkel was born into this world of monsters, a child of inconceivable odds. His mother disappeared soon after his birth, leaving him swaddled in the cold grasp of night on the cobblestone path. It was there that a grizzled old man, known simply as Grandpa, discovered him. With kindness forged from years of labor and tragedy, he took Ralkel into his little cottage at the edge of the village, raising him with love amidst the darkness outside.
By the time he turned six, Ralkel had grown curious and spirited, with bright blue eyes that sparkled with mischief. He often roamed the village, playing with the children who dared to venture out. Among them was Kalka, a girl with hair as wild as the winds. Together, they chased dreams, ran through the fields, and shared secrets underneath the sprawling skies. Their laughter rang through the air, a sweet harmony that dulled the pain of their harsh reality.
Every afternoon, Ralkel helped Grandpa on the farm, toiling alongside him in the fields, plowing and planting while learning the hard-earned lessons of life. Grandpa would share stories of the supernatural and the races that inhabited their world—the Kultani with their elemental powers, the mighty giants of distant lands, and the Seraphim who could manipulate light. Ralkel listened eagerly, unaware and unknowing about his own incredible heritage.
As the sun set one evening, Grandpa prepared a feast like no other. The aroma of roasted fowl and herbal stews filled the air, and sweets drizzled with honey sat upon the table. Ralkel, eyes wide, watched his grandfather bustle about, accumulating plates of food.
"Why so much food today, Grandpa?" he asked, hardly able to contain his excitement.
Grandpa turned, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. "Today, we celebrate your seventh birthday, Ralkel! A day of joy, a day for you!"
The realization struck Ralkel like a bolt of lightning. Joy filled his heart, and tears welled up in his eyes. "I—I forgot!" he exclaimed, as a smile broke through his previously serious face. He had grown another year older, another year braver. Yet, hidden beneath the happiness was an inkling of dread. In a world abundant with power, he was still unknown—a mystery waiting to be unraveled.
The years sped by, and Ralkel's ninth birthday arrived with the promise of discovery. At the village square, a hubbub enveloped the air as children gathered around, showcasing their newfound gifts—lithe fingers burned with flame, while others conjured frost from thin air.
"Look, Ralkel! I can breathe ice!" one child boasted, releasing shimmering crystals into the air. Ralkel stood at the fringes, heart racing with yearning.
Why was he different? Why was there no spark?
Days turned into weeks, and while his friends played, Ralkel felt an awakening within him—a powerful surge coursing through his veins… but what was it? The villagers neglected to speak of the Rukalen race, those born with astounding physical strength. They feared the unknown, and so Ralkel remained untouched by the words of the wise, only left feeling more isolated.
Then came the night that twisted fate. The village was plunged into chaos as they were ambushed by monstrous marauders. Reddish beasts, towering near nine feet, burst through the sturdy cottages, tearing apart both home and heart. The dreadful cries of lost souls reached the sky, and Ralkel's world shattered. He ran, panic-laced screams echoing in his ears as he pushed through desperation.
"Ralkel, run!" Grandpa's voice snapped him back as he tried to rush toward Kalka, who had been seized by a particularly twisted creature.
Ralkel stumbled, helpless against the horror as Grandpa grabbed him. The fear in the old man's eyes was a mirror to Ralkel's own terror. "We must go! Through the woods! Never look back!"
The world blurred in a swirling haze. Ralkel watched, frozen in time, as a seven-foot monster loomed and with a ghastly howl, snatched Grandpa from his grasp, devouring him in a blink.
In that moment, the boy felt his heart fracture. Fear ignited within him, but so did something else—an ember of fury, a thirst for retribution. With tears streaming down his face and shouts of watchful widows echoing in his ears, he ran through the woods, his soul screaming against the night, desperate for survival.
Armed with fury and grief, his journey had only just begun. A boy who must uncover the legacy of his blood and the strength he had yet to discover would rise from the ashes of his shattered childhood.
This was not the end; it was merely the beginning.
To Be Continued...