In the dark void of her unconsciousness, faint whispers swirled like distant echoes, teasing the edges of her consciousness. Slowly, a faint light flickered into existence, drawing Dorothy out of the endless abyss. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she was no longer surrounded by darkness. Instead, she found herself in the familiar room with the Old Man. His worn velvet chair sat across from her, just as it always had, with the comforting scent of old wood and parchment filling the air. Yet, something felt different, like the world had shifted just beyond her reach.
"You came again, Dorothy," the Old Man's deep, gravelly voice resonated, warm but unsettling, as though he had been waiting for her for much longer than she realized.
Dorothy blinked, her mind still heavy with sleep, but she smiled brightly. "I promised to come if you would continue the story, didn't I?"
The Old Man chuckled softly, his tired eyes twinkling with an almost amused patience. "You did indeed. Sit down."
She settled into her seat eagerly, leaning forward with anticipation. As the Old Man's eyes studied her, his gaze seemed to weigh every thought, every unspoken question that lingered in the air. And then, he began again.
"After the man relocated into the forest, his life became a harsh struggle. With no money, no food, and no shelter, he had little more than the clothes on his back and a few simple tools. What was he thinking? Moving into the forest with so little…" The Old Man shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he paused. "The forest was no easy place to live. Dense, vast, and unyielding. It wasn't long before he got lost, unable to find his way back to the forest's edge."
Dorothy's brow furrowed as she imagined the man's plight, the isolation weighing heavily on her thoughts.
"Securing food was his first priority," the Old Man continued. "But he had no hunting experience. The thought of killing another creature filled him with dread. He was a kind man—too kind for a world like this." He paused, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "But kindness doesn't fill an empty stomach. He lived on bark and leaves for a while, but it wasn't enough. Hunger gnawed at him until he finally understood that his will to live outweighed his reluctance to take a life."
Dorothy listened intently, the man's struggle resonating deeply within her. His battle was as much with his own nature as with the world around him.
"Even then, he couldn't bring himself to kill," the Old Man said softly, his voice heavy with empathy. "Instead, he resigned himself to building a simple hut. With nothing but his frail hands and determination, he spent hours gathering sticks and more hours navigating the labyrinth of the forest to return to his camp. It was grueling work, but it gave him purpose."
Dorothy leaned back in her chair, her mind racing with images of the man toiling away in the unforgiving wilderness. "What happened next?"
The Old Man's voice grew softer, taking on a more mysterious tone as he shifted in his seat, leaning closer. "The next morning, he awoke from a strange dream. In it, he saw a woman unlike any he had ever seen before—beautiful, regal, with pointed ears like an elf. She spoke a language he couldn't understand, but when he replied, she kissed him softly and asked, 'Can you understand me now?'"
Dorothy's eyes widened in surprise. "A dream like that? It's too… real."
The Old Man nodded slowly. "Real indeed. When he awoke, everything felt different. His senses were sharper. The world around him seemed clearer, more vibrant. At first, he panicked, overwhelmed by the flood of new sensations. But then, a voice, soft yet soothing, whispered to him: 'Breathe. Concentrate on my voice.'"
Dorothy held her breath, unable to tear her eyes away from the Old Man. The suspense hung thick in the room.
"That voice wasn't his imagination," he said. "It was real. A small bird, perched nearby, spoke to him, asking, 'Can you hear me?'"
Dorothy gasped. "A talking bird?"
The Old Man chuckled quietly. "Indeed. But the bird wasn't just any creature. It explained to him that the forest itself was alive in ways most could never comprehend. The forest was ruled by a queen, an ancient being who granted her blessing only to those she deemed worthy. And the man? He had received that blessing."
Dorothy's heart raced with excitement, each new revelation pulling her deeper into the tale.
"The bird guided him to the queen's palace, a place deep within the heart of the forest," the Old Man said, his voice reverent, as though remembering something sacred. "Two elves, guardians of the queen, met him along the way. When they sensed his Aura, they bowed to him in respect. He didn't understand why at first, but it didn't matter. The queen had chosen him for something greater."
The Old Man fell silent for a moment, his eyes darkening with thought. Dorothy sat quietly, the weight of the story settling in her chest. She longed for more, for answers to questions that danced on the edge of her mind.
"And that," the Old Man said, his voice almost a whisper, "is where the story ends for now."
Dorothy crossed her arms, frustration flickering across her face. "You're stopping there? Come on, Old Man, you can't leave me hanging like this!"
The Old Man smiled knowingly, the amusement clear in his gaze. "Patience, child. Every story has its time, and yours is still unfolding."
Dorothy sighed dramatically but smiled back. "Fine. But one day, I'm going to figure out if this is really someone else's story… or yours."
The Old Man's eyes gleamed with a mixture of wisdom and mystery. "We'll see. Now, tell me, what do you know of the world's Rulers?"
Dorothy tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. "Not much. Only that they're powerful and rule vast domains."
The Old Man leaned back in his chair, his gaze intensifying. "Rulers are not simply kings or queens. They are beings born with vessels capable of holding immense Aura—greater than any ordinary mortal could imagine. They are chosen by fate, not made through effort. Their power defines their world, and their very existence shapes the fabric of it."
Dorothy listened closely, though the words felt unfamiliar, their meaning slipping through her like sand. Aura? Vessels? She didn't fully understand, but she didn't interrupt. The Old Man's words were part of the story, and she could sense that these details would make sense later. For now, they remained just beyond her grasp, like the tip of a dream she couldn't quite remember.
The Old Man's tone shifted again, darkening with a somber intensity. "But power is a dangerous thing, Dorothy. Once, there were kings—many of them, rulers of their domains. And there was one man who had lost everything. His family, his kingdom, his life—all stolen from him by the kings who ruled the world. Consumed by grief and vengeance, he rose. A man broken, yet filled with a single purpose: revenge."
Dorothy's breath caught in her throat. "Revenge? He killed the kings?"
The Old Man nodded grimly. "Yes. He killed them one by one, driven by his pain and anger. Each king he killed was a strike against the world that had wronged him. His grief turned to rage, and with each life he took, he grew stronger. He united the world, but not through peace or love—only through bloodshed and fear. He killed the kings who ruled, took their thrones, and declared himself the true ruler of all."
Dorothy's mind raced, struggling to keep up. "But then… what happened?"
The Old Man's eyes hardened, his voice quieter. "He disappeared."
"Disappeared?" Dorothy repeated, confused.
"Yes," the Old Man said softly. "After killing all the kings and uniting the world under his rule, he vanished. No one knows where he went or why he disappeared. His name was lost to history, his deeds remembered only in whispers. Some say he transcended mortality; others claim he fled in shame, realizing the true cost of his actions. But the world he left behind… the world he forced into unity through blood… was never the same."
The Old Man's voice softened as he spoke, almost reflective. "The man who killed the kings believed he was saving the world. But he was blinded by his grief and desire for revenge. Now, those who rule the realms today are merely the remnants of his legacy. Each one a ruler born with the potential for greatness—or destruction."
The Old Man's words hung in the air like the final note of a haunting melody. Dorothy sat in silence, feeling the weight of his story press upon her shoulders. The world she had known—so fragile, so full of conflict—was far more complex than she had ever imagined. And her journey was far from over. She had no answers
yet, but one thing was certain: she was now part of this world of rulers and power, and her path would be shaped by it.
"I have so much to learn," she whispered softly, more to herself than to the Old Man.
The Old Man's gaze softened. "Yes, you do, Dorothy. But remember, every story has its twists. Not everything is as it seems."
Dorothy sat in silence, the weight of the old man's words settling in. The world she had known—so fragile, so full of conflict—was far more complex than she had ever imagined. She had no answers yet, but one thing was clear: her path was tied to the rulers of this world, and her journey was only beginning.