Chapter 1: The Awakening
The world was veiled in eternal dusk, a crimson glow spreading across the heavens like the fading embers of a dying fire. In the heart of the desolate plains, where ancient ruins whispered of forgotten kingdoms, a lone figure trudged through the ashen ground.
Arlen Kain, a wanderer marked by fate, clutched the hilt of his sword tightly as his piercing gaze scanned the horizon. His eyes, unusual and haunting, shimmered with a deep, unearthly glow—a trait that marked him as a Blood Soul. Few possessed the Eyes of Legends, a gift—or curse—said to connect the bearer to a long-lost lineage of warriors and prophets.
For as long as he could remember, Arlen's eyes had been a source of fear and fascination. Villagers whispered tales of his kind—warriors who could glimpse the memories of fallen souls, wielding their strength and wisdom in battle. Yet this power came at a cost. The more memories one absorbed, the more their own soul fractured, their identity fading into the abyss.
Tonight, as the air thickened with the scent of rain and something far more sinister, Arlen felt the weight of those legends. His dreams had been plagued by visions of a forgotten war—a clash of gods and mortals, with eyes like his blazing across the battlefield.
The sound of rustling leaves snapped him out of his thoughts. He spun around, his sword already drawn. From the shadows, a figure emerged—a girl, no older than fifteen, her eyes wide with terror.
"Help me," she gasped, collapsing to her knees. Her clothes were torn, stained with blood that wasn't hers.
Arlen knelt beside her, his voice low but firm. "What happened?"
"They're coming," she whispered, clutching his arm with surprising strength. "The Wraithbound—they've awakened. They're hunting the Eyes."
Before Arlen could ask more, a bone-chilling howl echoed through the night. He stood, positioning himself between the girl and the approaching threat. The ground trembled as the shadows ahead shifted and twisted, forming grotesque shapes with glowing, malevolent eyes.
The Wraithbound—a cursed army of spirits bound by dark sorcery—emerged, their distorted forms clawing their way toward him.
Arlen's eyes flared with a fiery intensity, memories of countless warriors flooding his mind. His grip on the sword tightened as the ancient voices guided him.
"Stay behind me," he ordered the girl, his voice steady despite the chaos.
With a roar, the Wraithbound charged. Arlen met them head-on, his blade igniting with an otherworldly glow as he tapped into the power of the Blood Soul. Every strike resonated with the strength of those who had come before him, their collective will driving him forward.
But with each swing, he felt the pull—the faint unraveling of his own soul.
As the last of the Wraithbound dissolved into ash, Arlen dropped to one knee, his breathing ragged. The girl approached cautiously, her fear giving way to awe.
"You're one of them," she whispered. "A Legend."
Arlen looked up, his glowing eyes dimming slightly. "Legends don't live long," he said grimly, wiping the blood from his blade.
"But they might be the only ones who can stop what's coming."
As the first drops of rain began to fall, Arlen rose, the weight of destiny pressing heavier on his shoulders. Somewhere in the distance, a storm was brewing—a storm that would test the strength of the Eyes of Legends and the fragile soul that bound them.