The soft light of dawn filtered through the cracks in the wooden walls of the inn, casting long shadows on the floor. Kain woke, his body aching from the night's travels. He had barely slept, his mind too busy turning over the events of the past days. The Luck of Gods, the power that had chosen him, had changed everything. But the more he tried to understand it, the more questions piled up.
What was it? Why him? And what price would he have to pay for wielding such power?
As Kain stretched, the faint glow of the sword beside him caught his eye. It rested on the small table by the window, still and silent. It was just a sword—but then again, it wasn't. It had a life of its own, and Kain had barely begun to understand how to use it.
He stood and grabbed the blade, feeling the warmth that radiated from it, the hum of energy that seemed to pulse with every beat of his heart. It was as if the sword had become an extension of himself, a part of him he couldn't control—but perhaps, he thought, it was something he needed to learn to trust.
"Ready to go?" Orin's voice broke through his thoughts. The older man stood in the doorway, already dressed in his traveling clothes, his expression as stern as ever.
Kain nodded, slipping the sword into its sheath. "As ready as I'll ever be."
Orin didn't respond immediately, instead taking a moment to study him. "We head out tonight. We can't afford to stay here too long. The more attention you draw, the worse it'll get."
Kain nodded again. "I know. But I can't help feeling like something's closing in on us."
"Not 'something'," Orin said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. "Someone."
Kain raised an eyebrow, but before he could ask, there was a loud knock on the door.
"Stay back," Orin whispered, his hand immediately going to the hilt of his sword. He moved swiftly, positioning himself between Kain and the door, his eyes narrowing.
Kain felt a surge of panic, but he forced himself to remain calm. The last time someone knocked on the door like that, they were attacked by those strange shadowy figures. He couldn't afford to be caught off guard again.
"Who is it?" Orin asked, his voice cold, but loud enough for the person on the other side to hear.
"It's me," a voice called back, soft and almost apologetic.
Orin glanced at Kain, who shook his head. It wasn't one of the villagers.
"I don't trust it," Orin said, his hand tightening on his blade.
Kain stood slowly, his muscles tensing in anticipation. "What should we do?" he whispered.
Orin studied the door for a moment, then gestured for Kain to stay back. "If it's trouble, we'll deal with it. Stay behind me."
Without another word, Orin yanked the door open with swift, practiced motion.
Standing in the doorway was a woman—young, with dark hair, pale skin, and wide, startlingly blue eyes. She was dressed in a simple, tattered cloak, her hands folded nervously in front of her.
At the sight of Orin's sword, the woman flinched, but she didn't back away.
"I—I need to speak to you," she said, her voice shaky but urgent. "Please."
Orin hesitated, eyes scanning the woman for any signs of deception. But after a tense moment, he lowered his blade. "You've got five minutes."
The woman's eyes darted quickly to Kain, then back to Orin. She swallowed nervously. "It's not safe here. You've attracted attention. The gods know you're close."
Kain's heart raced. "The gods? You mean... you know about the Luck of Gods?"
She nodded quickly, stepping inside the room when Orin didn't stop her. "I know exactly what it is. What you've done." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You've awakened it, haven't you?"
Kain's breath caught in his throat. He took a cautious step forward. "How do you know? Who are you?"
The woman looked at him, her gaze sharp yet tinged with pity. "I'm someone who has seen the gods up close. I know their ways."
Orin stepped forward, keeping a close eye on her. "And what do you want from us?"
The woman swallowed again, clearly struggling with the words. "I want to help you. But I'm not the only one who knows. There are others. The gods—" She paused, glancing nervously out the window as though someone might be watching. "They won't stop until they get what you have. And the cost... the cost is too high."
Kain's mind raced. The gods—again, the gods. His encounter with Eira, the creatures, the attacks—they all seemed connected to the Luck of Gods. But the more he tried to make sense of it, the more confused he became. "Who are 'they'? Who's hunting me?"
The woman hesitated before answering, her voice low. "The Weaver. And the ones who follow her."
Kain's pulse quickened. "The Weaver? I've heard that name before... but I don't understand. What does she want with me?"
The woman looked up, meeting his gaze with a somber look. "She controls fate. She weaves the threads of time, and you've just broken the pattern. You've altered fate itself. She wants to set things right—and that means your death."
The words hit Kain like a physical blow. "My death?" he repeated, disbelief mingling with a surge of anger. "Is that the price? Is that what I have to pay for this power?"
The woman shook her head slowly. "It's worse than that. The price isn't just your life. It's everything you are. If you don't do something soon, you won't just lose your memories—you'll lose yourself. Your very soul will be consumed by the Luck of Gods."
Kain staggered back, feeling as if the ground beneath him had just crumbled away. His mind flashed back to his encounter with Eira—the moment she took his memories. But this... this was different. The very essence of who he was, the core of his being, could be consumed. The realization hit him harder than anything else.
"What can I do?" Kain asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He was starting to feel trapped, cornered by forces beyond his understanding.
The woman stepped forward, her eyes pleading. "You have to find the Weave of Fate. Only then can you rewrite your future—before the Weaver finds you first."
"But how do I do that?" Kain asked, his voice shaking with a mix of fear and frustration.
The woman's gaze softened, but the urgency in her eyes never faded. "I can't tell you. Not yet. But there's a place—an ancient temple deep in the mountains. You'll find what you need there." She turned toward the door, eyes flicking nervously over her shoulder. "But hurry. They're already looking for you. And if they find you first, it will be too late."
With those final words, she turned and fled from the room, disappearing into the shadows outside.
Kain stared at the door, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Who was she?" Kain whispered, as if speaking the question aloud would make sense of it all.
Orin's face was set in grim determination. "Someone who knows what we're up against. And someone who's trying to stop it."
Kain's fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. The road ahead had never seemed darker, but there was no turning back now.
"Let's go," Orin said, his voice low but steady. "We don't have much time."
And so, with nothing but the uncertain path ahead of them, Kain and Orin prepared for the next stage of their journey. The Weaver was coming—and Kain was determined to face whatever lay ahead.
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End of Chapter Seven.