The sun hung high in the cloudless sky, casting its golden rays over the vast forest where Eryndor Darkfire roamed. The seventeen-year-old moved with confidence and precision, his bow slung across his back and his quiver filled with arrows. Despite his turbulent past and the mysterious powers he possessed, Eryndor had crafted a simpler, quieter life for himself in this distant land, a life he preferred over the chaos of magic.
It was a peaceful existence. He spent his days hunting for wild game or tending to his modest farmstead, and his nights were often filled with laughter and warmth, thanks to Lyana, the girl who had unknowingly stolen his heart. Lyana was everything he wasn't—kind, carefree, and blissfully unaware of the darkness that lurked within him. She knew little of his past, and he intended to keep it that way.
Today, Eryndor was tracking a wild boar through the dense forest. The beast had been elusive, its tracks leading him deeper and deeper into the woods. The thrill of the hunt quickened his pulse, a feeling he relished far more than the burden of training his magical abilities. Magic, he often thought, was a curse. Hunting was freedom.
He crouched low, his sharp eyes spotting the faint outline of the boar in a clearing up ahead. It grazed, oblivious to his presence. Slowly, he nocked an arrow and drew his bowstring, the tension tingling in his fingertips. Just as he was about to release, a rustling noise behind him made him freeze.
Eryndor spun around, his arrow still poised, to find a hooded figure standing mere feet away. The man's cloak was tattered and gray, blending seamlessly with the shadows of the forest. His face was partially hidden, but the glint of sharp, piercing eyes beneath the hood sent a chill down Eryndor's spine.
"Who are you?" Eryndor demanded, his voice steady despite the unease creeping over him.
The figure tilted his head, his voice a low rasp. "It is not who I am that matters, but what I have come to say."
Eryndor's grip on his bow tightened. "I don't have time for riddles, old man. State your purpose or leave."
The stranger stepped closer, his presence unsettling yet oddly commanding. "You've grown comfortable, boy. Too comfortable. You think you can ignore what you are? Ignore what lies ahead?"
Eryndor's jaw clenched. "I don't know what you're talking about."
The man chuckled, a sound devoid of humour. "Oh, but you do. You've been running from it for years, haven't you? Hiding in the woods, playing farmer, pretending to be ordinary."
Eryndor lowered his bow slightly, his irritation mounting. "What do you want from me?"
"To remind you of who you are," the stranger said, his tone sharp. "You are no mere boy, Eryndor Darkfire. You carry within you a power that can shape the world—or destroy it. Yet here you are, squandering it on hunts and crops, while the forces gathering against you grow stronger by the day."
Eryndor's chest tightened at the mention of his name. "How do you know me?"
The man ignored the question. "You have a choice to make, and it is one you cannot avoid. Either embrace your destiny or be crushed by it. With great power comes great responsibility, and if you continue to deny it, you will regret it more than you can imagine."
Eryndor's frustration boiled over. "I didn't ask for this power!" he snapped. "I didn't ask for any of it! I just want to live my life in peace."
The stranger's eyes flashed with something akin to pity. "Peace is not a luxury afforded to those like you. You are a force of nature, Eryndor. Forces of nature cannot hide. They cannot run. They are seen, felt, and reckoned with."
The words struck a nerve, and Eryndor felt his anger surge. He dropped his bow and raised his hand, the air around him crackling faintly as his magic stirred against his will. "Get out of here before I make you regret coming," he warned, his voice laced with fury.
The man remained unfazed. "Threats are meaningless when spoken from fear."
With a roar of frustration, Eryndor unleashed a blast of energy toward the stranger, the force tearing through the underbrush. But before the magic could reach its target, the hooded figure vanished, leaving only the faintest whisper of wind in his wake.
Eryndor stood frozen, his heart pounding. The clearing was empty, the stranger gone as though he had never been there.
"Who… who was that?" Eryndor muttered to himself, his anger now mingled with confusion and unease.
Shaking his head, he turned back toward where the boar had been grazing, but it was gone. His hunt was ruined, his mind clouded with the stranger's cryptic words.
When Eryndor returned to the farmstead later that evening, Lyana greeted him with her usual radiant smile, her golden hair catching the fading sunlight. "You're back late," she said, playfully crossing her arms. "Let me guess—another hunt that got away?"
Eryndor forced a smile, though his thoughts were elsewhere. "Something like that."
As Lyana began chattering about her day, Eryndor couldn't help but replay the encounter in his mind. Who was the hooded man? How did he know so much about Eryndor? And what did he mean about forces gathering against him?
That night, as Eryndor lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the man's words echoed in his mind: *With great power comes great responsibility. Deny it, and you will regret it.*
Eryndor clenched his fists, a storm of emotions brewing within him. He had tried so hard to bury the past, to avoid the weight of his powers, but it seemed the world wouldn't let him escape so easily.
For the first time in years, doubt crept into Eryndor's heart. He had built a life of simplicity and peace, but now he couldn't shake the feeling that the stranger's warning was a harbinger of something far greater and far more dangerous than he could imagine.
And for the first time, he wondered if hiding from his destiny was truly the right choice.