Nachtan sat alone in the dimly lit room, the silence pressing down on him like a weight. His thoughts drifted, restless and brooding, replaying moments he could hardly make sense of. Elora's dismissive tone from earlier still echoed in his mind, a reminder of the chasm between how he saw himself and how everyone else seemed to see him—a chasm filled with doubt and frustration. To them, he was little more than the black sheep, the quiet one, maybe even the odd one. But he knew he was more than that. He had to be.
He clenched his fists, feeling the dull ache of his own nails digging into his palms. They all thought he was weak, didn't they? Useless. He heard the whispers, the dismissive looks. Even his own mother seemed to believe it. He let out a shaky breath, the anger simmering, pushing him to the edge.
---
A Few Weeks Ago
Nachtan had gone farther than he should have, wandering out of the usual training grounds and deep into the shadowed part of the forest. It was quieter here, isolated. The air grew colder as he moved further away, the trees thicker, the light more strained. But he didn't care. Here, there was no one to mock him, no one to dismiss him as insignificant.
He stopped at a lone, sturdy tree, its trunk thick and old, and faced it, his jaw set. "I'm not weak," he muttered, his voice low and defiant. "I'm not useless. I'm… I'm strong." His fists clenched, and he swung them at the tree, landing punch after punch, the bark scraping his knuckles raw. "They don't know me. They don't understand. I'm not... I'm not worthless," he whispered to himself, the words spilling out in a frenzy as he continued hitting the tree.
Eventually, the pain shot through his fists, sharp and unignorable, forcing him to stop. He shook his hands, his knuckles red and raw, his breathing heavy as he sank to the ground, resting his back against the tree. "I'll prove them wrong," he muttered to himself, his eyes glassy. "I'll show them. I'll show everyone..."
The words hung in the still air, broken only by his uneven breathing.
Then, suddenly, the air grew colder—almost frigid. A heavy, suffocating presence settled around him, so dense it felt like he could choke on it. Nachtan's heart began to race, thudding painfully against his ribs, and a dark shadow began to take form a few steps in front of him. The figure emerged from the trees as if peeling itself out of the darkness, tall and terrifyingly graceful.
Nachtan's breath hitched as he took in the figure. She was something otherworldly—a woman with eyes like deep voids, cloaked in dark, flowing robes that seemed to merge with the surrounding shadows. Her presence was cold, a kind of cold that settled deep in the bones, a chill that felt alive. Her face was sharp and unnaturally pale, her expression unreadable, with a slight smirk that spoke of amusement or disdain—or maybe both.
"W-who…" Nachtan tried to speak, but the words came out as a dry, strangled whisper.
The woman tilted her head, her gaze piercing through him as though she could see right into his soul. She was from a bloodline he'd only heard of in passing whispers—the Abyssal Lineage, those descended from the Void itself, beings of nothingness and shadows, known for consuming anything that dared challenge them. Her name, spoken only in fragments and warnings, was Melantha.
Nachtan tried to scream, but the air wouldn't come. His throat was dry, his mouth open in a silent, terrified gasp. The darkness surrounding Melantha pulsed as she took a step closer. He could feel her power pressing down on him, making his chest feel like it was about to collapse.
Desperate, he grabbed a rock from the ground and threw it at her, hoping for anything, any small victory. But she raised a hand, catching the rock effortlessly. As her fingers closed around it, the stone began to decay, disintegrating into nothing but dust that slipped through her fingers.
Nachtan's stomach churned as he watched, the life in the surrounding plants and leaves seeming to wither and fade in her presence. The vibrant greens of the forest dulled, as though Melantha herself was leeching the life from everything around her.
Then, before he could blink, she was standing right in front of him, her face mere inches from his own. He could see every detail—the dark void of her eyes, the way her breath seemed to chill the air. His heartbeat grew frantic, erratic, as if his own body was trying to escape her presence.
She leaned close, her voice a cold whisper. "I heard you wanted to be strong," she murmured, her words brushing against his ear like shards of ice.
Nachtan swallowed hard, his voice barely a whimper. "Y-yes... I do."
Her lips curved into a faint smile, one that was both cruel and amused. "Then let's see if you're worthy of that strength," she said, her voice dripping with dark promise. "In six months, you will meet me on the peak of Mount Vesper, where the shadows fall thickest. And if you don't… well," she trailed off, letting the silence hang heavy in the air.
He opened his mouth to respond, but in an instant, she was gone, vanishing into thin air as if she'd never been there. The surrounding air warmed slightly, but it took several moments for his heart to slow, for the dread to ease. He slumped against the tree, gasping, trying to catch his breath, his lungs burning as though he'd run for miles.
---
Back in the present, Nachtan blinked, the memory still sharp, the fear it had left in him gnawing at the edges of his mind. He shivered, as if her presence lingered, an echo that refused to fade. He was scared of her, of the feeling she'd left behind—the suffocating pressure, the strange sense of being consumed.
But as the memory of Melantha faded, another thought crossed his mind: his birthday was soon. He smirked a little, the faintest bit of excitement bubbling up to the surface. Maybe, he thought, just maybe, this year he'd get something worthwhile—something that could make up for the creeping fear and uncertainty that had settled over him like a second skin.
Nachtan was still lost in his thoughts when the front door creaked open, and Silas stepped in, carrying a small bag of snacks and humming to himself. The sound pulled Nachtan out of his reverie, and he glanced up, managing a faint smile as Silas spotted him sitting alone.
Silas raised an eyebrow, his expression softening as he took in Nachtan's slumped shoulders and distant gaze. "Well, look at you, moping all by yourself," he said lightly, setting the bag down and pulling out a handful of snacks. "Can't have that, now can we?"
He took a seat next to Nachtan, offering him a snack. "Go on, have some. Nothing like a little food to make the world seem a bit better, right?"
Nachtan accepted the snack, though his smile was still faint. Silas chewed thoughtfully, watching him for a moment before speaking again. "Listen, I know it seems like we're all hard on you, kid. And you're probably wondering if there's something wrong with you, thinking we don't care."
Nachtan's gaze dropped to the floor, his hands fidgeting with the edges of the wrapper.
Silas nudged him lightly with his elbow. "But here's the truth: we're hard on you because we know you're tougher than you think. You've got potential, Nachtan—more than you realize. It's just that sometimes, we have to push a bit to make sure you can handle what's coming. And trust me, harder days are coming."
"Harder days?" Nachtan echoed, his voice quiet.
Silas nodded, his face thoughtful. "This world's not an easy place. And you… you're going to need to be strong. Stronger than you might think possible."
They ate in comfortable silence for a while, the snacks slowly disappearing. Silas leaned back, a nostalgic look in his eyes. "You know, your mom would probably scold me for saying this, but… let's play a game, just you and me. It's been a while, hasn't it?"
Nachtan's eyes brightened slightly, a flicker of warmth easing some of the heaviness in his chest. "Alright."
The two of them played a familiar board game, laughing as Silas made overly dramatic moves and narrated each turn like it was an epic story. Slowly, Nachtan began to relax, letting the small bubble of family warmth ease his earlier feelings. It was rare for him to have these moments with Silas, and he savored every second.
After they finished, Silas leaned back with a sigh, a reflective look in his eyes. "There's a story I haven't told you, Nachtan. One I think you'll appreciate."
Nachtan leaned forward, intrigued, as Silas spoke.
"There was once a young girl, a prodigy, just like some of your siblings. She was brilliant, talented, and determined. But there was something she wanted more than anything in the world—her lost brother. He'd vanished when she was just a child, and she never let go of the hope that one day, she'd find him."
Silas's voice grew softer, a shadow passing over his expression. "She searched far and wide, crossing mountains and seas, defying odds that most would have thought impossible. But… the further she went, the more she realized that he wasn't just lost. Something far darker had claimed him—a darkness beyond understanding. And in the end… she never did find him. All that was left was a memory of who he once was."
Silas sighed, shaking his head. "Sometimes, the hardest journey is knowing when to let go."
Nachtan felt a chill run down his spine, but he kept silent, his mind lingering on the story. Silas ruffled his hair, giving him a warm smile. "Remember, Nachtan, strength isn't always about what you can do. Sometimes, it's about facing things that seem impossible."
As Silas got up and gathered the snack wrappers, Nachtan sat quietly, the story weighing on him in a way he couldn't quite place. It felt as if there was something hidden within it, something deeper, though he couldn't understand what.