A Year Later
A year had passed since my arrival in this world. Strangely, time here flowed just as it did on Earth—months, seasons, years. Yet everything else about this place, from its very air to its strange dual moons, reminded me that I was far from the world I once knew.
Today was different. Today, I would step outside the vast cavern I had called home for the first time. My claws scraped against the stone floor as I paced, nervous yet eager to see what lay beyond.
"Today, he undergoes the First Trial of Life: The Ritual of the Dual Moons," my father said to my mother, his tone calm but commanding. She glanced at me with evident worry, her fiery eyes softening.
I had learned much in this past year—about my people, the Ixorym, and the cruel fate we endured. We were a proud race, descendants of beings far greater than the so-called gods who now reigned. Those gods, fearing the power of our forebears, betrayed and sealed us on this island ages ago. Unable to destroy us entirely, they cursed us to isolation, encircled by vast, unending seas. But this once-barren land had become a haven of life, shaped and transformed by the might of the Ixorym.
Yet even in this sanctuary, survival was not guaranteed. Resources were limited, and the Ixorym refused to allow weakness to flourish. Thus, the Three Trials of Life were created to determine who among the young was strong enough to live.
The Ritual of the Dual Moons was the first trial. At the age of one, a child of the Ixorym would leave the safety of the caves to face the oppressive gaze of the two corrupted moons, known as Thyrax and Velka. These celestial bodies, placed in orbit by the gods' loyal hounds, exuded an unrelenting madness meant to cull us. Only by enduring their influence could we prove ourselves worthy to survive.
By the age of three, our people naturally developed immunity to the moons' power, but the first exposure was a crucible—a battle between mind and spirit. Many faltered, their wills shattered, their lives claimed by the darkness.
As I prepared for the trial, my father stood tall before me. His towering form radiated power, his crimson eyes piercing into my own. "Remember, you are an Ixorym," he said. "The blood of the great flows through you. Resist. Endure. Prove yourself."
My mother nuzzled me gently, her warmth comforting yet tinged with sorrow. "Be strong, my son," she whispered.
It was time.
I stepped out of the cave, and the sight before me stole my breath. The island stretched endlessly, vibrant and alive, its landscape shaped by my ancestors' will. Lush forests glimmered with bioluminescent plants, rivers snaked across jagged cliffs, and strange creatures roamed freely. For a moment, I forgot the trial. I was mesmerized.
Then, everything changed.
Light vanished. A darkness deeper than any night engulfed the world, and with it came an unnatural chill that sank into my bones. The air grew heavy, crushing, and I stumbled as the ground seemed to give way beneath me.
Suddenly, I felt it—the pull of the moons. Thyrax and Velka loomed in the void above, their twin gazes piercing into my soul. My vision swirled, and a sharp, searing pain erupted in my mind. It was as if they were tearing my consciousness apart, piece by piece.
I roared in agony, a guttural, primal sound that echoed across the silence. My thoughts fractured, memories of my old life blending with the present. Faces I had loved—my human family—flashed before me, distorted and unrecognizable. The pull grew stronger, urging me to give in, to lose myself to the madness.
But I couldn't.
A voice, faint yet resolute, called out within me. It wasn't my human family, nor was it my new parents. It was something deeper, something ancient—an unyielding will that refused to break.
"I am an Ixorym," I growled through gritted teeth. My claws dug into the ground as I forced myself to stand, trembling but defiant.
Minutes passed like hours. The moons' power lashed at me, unrelenting. My vision blurred, my body weakened, but I held firm. My mind, though battered, remained intact.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it ended.
The first rays of sunlight pierced through the darkness, illuminating the land once more. The moons faded into the sky, their influence receding.
I let out a roar—not of pain, but of triumph. The sound reverberated through the air, shaking the ground and sending flocks of creatures scattering. It was a declaration, a warning, a promise: I had survived. I had endured.
From this moment on, I was no longer a mere child of the Ixorym. I was one step closer to reclaiming the destiny stolen from us. One step closer to avenging my ancestors.
Somewhere, across the vast oceans of Tulmyria, the gods must have felt it.
Their oppressors would fall.
And I would be the one to bring them down.