The night was quiet, the air heavy with anticipation. Alaric stood at the edge of the village, the faint glow of the golden lines on his arms illuminating the darkness around him. The voice had been silent since their last conversation, but its final words lingered in his mind: "The third seal awaits. But it will demand more than you have ever given."
He exhaled, his breath misting in the cold air. "Whatever it takes," he murmured to himself, gripping the hatchet tightly. The forest stretched before him like a living shadow, its depths shrouded in uncertainty. But there was no room for hesitation.
The master was moving, and Alaric had to stay ahead.
The journey to the location of the third seal was grueling. The Blackwood seemed to twist around him, its paths shifting like a maze. The trees whispered faintly, their voices low and mournful, as though they sensed the burden he carried.
The system's map guided him, a faint pulse of light marking his destination. It led him deeper into the forest than he had ever gone before, to a place where the air grew colder and the shadows thicker. The golden lines on his arms pulsed faintly, their warmth a comforting presence against the chill.
After hours of walking, he reached a clearing. At its center stood a massive stone pillar, covered in ancient glyphs that glowed faintly in the darkness. The air around it was heavy, charged with a strange energy that made his skin prickle.
"This is it," Alaric muttered, stepping closer.
As he approached, the voice returned, its tone measured and calm. "The third seal is bound to your soul, Alaric. To break it, you must face the truth of who you are—and who you will become."
He frowned. "What does that mean?"
"Step forward, and you will see."
The moment Alaric touched the pillar, the world shifted.
The forest disappeared, replaced by a vast, empty void. The ground beneath him was smooth and reflective, like polished obsidian, and the sky above was an endless expanse of darkness. He turned, his reflection staring back at him from the surface of the ground.
"Where am I?" he asked, his voice echoing in the emptiness.
"Inside yourself," the voice replied. "This is your trial."
A figure emerged from the shadows—a perfect mirror of Alaric, down to the faint golden lines on his arms. But there was something different about this version of him. Its eyes burned with a cold, golden light, and its expression was one of quiet malice.
"This is who you could become," the voice said. "If you allow your power to control you. If you forget why you fight."
The mirror Alaric stepped forward, its movements fluid and deliberate. It raised a weapon identical to his hatchet, its edge glowing with the same golden energy.
"Prove your worth," it said, its voice a twisted echo of his own. "Or fall."
The fight was unlike anything Alaric had ever faced. The mirror version of himself moved with precision and speed, each strike calculated and devastating. Alaric dodged and countered, his own movements guided by the instincts the system had honed. But every strike he landed was met with equal force, as though he were fighting his reflection in a perfect, deadly dance.
"You're strong," the mirror said, its voice calm. "But strength isn't enough."
Alaric gritted his teeth, channeling his energy into a powerful pulse. The golden light surged outward, forcing the mirror back. But it recovered quickly, its movements sharper and more aggressive than before.
"Why do you fight?" it asked, circling him. "For the villagers who scorn you? For a cause you barely understand? What will you become when the master is gone?"
"I fight because I have to," Alaric said, his voice steady. "Because no one else will."
The mirror laughed, a cold, hollow sound. "You fight because you're afraid. Afraid of what will happen if you fail. Afraid of what you'll become if you succeed."
Its words struck a nerve, but Alaric pushed the doubt aside. He focused on his movements, his strikes becoming faster, more precise. The golden lines on his arms flared brighter, their light cutting through the darkness.
The battle raged on, each clash of weapons sending shockwaves through the void. Alaric could feel his energy waning, the strain of the fight pushing him to his limits. But he refused to give in. This wasn't just a test of strength—it was a test of will.
"You are not your power," the voice said, its tone sharp. "You are your choices. Remember that."
Alaric's gaze hardened. He dodged the mirror's next strike, channeling all his energy into a single, decisive blow. The hatchet glowed like molten gold as it cleaved through the mirror's weapon, shattering it into fragments of light.
The mirror staggered, its form flickering. It looked at him, its expression unreadable. "You have passed," it said, its voice softer now. "But remember: the greatest battle is the one within."
With that, it dissolved into light, leaving Alaric alone in the void.
The world shifted again, and Alaric found himself back in the clearing. The stone pillar was gone, replaced by a faint, glowing sigil etched into the ground. The golden lines on his arms burned brighter, their patterns more intricate than ever before.
The text appeared before him:
Third Seal Broken.
Bloodline Awakening Stage 3.
Abilities Gained: Advanced Energy Manipulation, Resilience Boost.
The warmth in his chest surged, spreading through his entire body. He felt stronger, more connected to the power within him. But there was also a sense of clarity, a deeper understanding of what it meant to wield this power.
The voice returned, its tone softer than before. "You have grown, Alaric. But the journey is far from over. The master knows of your progress, and he will not wait. Be ready."
Alaric nodded, his grip tightening on the hatchet. "I will be."
As he turned to leave the clearing, the faint light of dawn began to break through the trees. The storm was closer than ever, but so was his resolve.