As the third lunar month cast its somber shadow over the ravaged landscape, the northern realm of the Synax kingdom lay in ruins.
The once-thriving middle-sized country named thalorion was now a ghastly tapestry of blood, body parts, and debris, woven together by the unrelenting winds and heavy rains. The air reeked of death, a noxious odor that clung to every surface like a malignant entity.
Amidst the devastation, fragments of homes and buildings stood as testaments to the transience of power and the unyielding passage of time.
Glinting blocks, adorned with the emblem of the royal family, lay scattered, a poignant reminder that even the mightiest dynasties are not immune to the corrosive forces of fate. Like autumn leaves, they withered and fell, making way for new regimes to rise and take their place.
Under the vast, cerulean sky, scavengers feasted on the carnage, their raucous calls and savage tearing of flesh a stark contrast to the eerie silence that shrouded the land. They were the opportunistic harbingers of death, indifferent to the surroundings, and driven solely by their primal instincts.
In the shadows, a pair of piercing black eyes watched and waited. They belonged to a 16-year-old boy, his slender frame and pale complexion a testament to the hardships he had endured.
His raven-black hair cascaded down his shoulders, framing a face etched with the scars of a harsh summer.
The hot air had left its mark on his skin, a topography of burns and blisters that told the tale of a life lived on the margins.
The boy's eyes, like two deep wells, seemed to bore into the earth, as if searching for glimmer of hope or a chance to escape the desolate landscape.
His hunger was palpable, a gnawing ache that had been his constant companion for days. He waited, motionless and silent, for something – anything – to break the cycle of despair that had consumed him.
As the rain continued to fall, drumming a mournful beat on the ravaged earth, the boy's eyes remained fixed on the horizon, his heart a battleground of hope and desperation. Would he find a way to rise above the devastation, or would he succumb to the all-consuming darkness that threatened to engulf him? Only time would tell.
The battlefield lay scarred and silent, the only sound the scavenging vultures ripping apart the flesh of the fallen. Their raucous cries echoed through the desolate landscape, a haunting reminder of the devastation that had ravaged the land. But amidst the chaos, a voice boomed out, shattering the stillness.
The vultures, oblivious to the danger lurking nearby, continued to feast, their beady eyes fixed on the carrion.
Suddenly, a behemoth emerged from the shadows. A monstrous bear, its fur matted and twisted, its eyes blazing with a fierce inner light, charged into the fray. Its claws, razor-sharp and gleaming with a murderous intent, swiped through the air, striking fear into the hearts of the scavengers.
The vultures, realizing too late that they were no match for the bear, took to the skies, their wings beating wildly as they fled in terror.
One young man, however, remained unmoved. His eyes, cold and calculating, watched the scene unfold with an air of detachment. He stood tall, his bow at the ready, his fingers moving with a swift precision as he notched an arrow into place.
The scavenger that had lingered, torn between its hunger and its fear, became his target. The arrow flew straight and true, piercing the vulture's wing and sending it tumbling to the ground.
Without hesitation, the young man drew two more arrows, firing them in quick succession at the struggling bird. His movements were a blur, his speed and agility belied by his calm demeanor.
As the vulture lay lifeless on the ground, the young man strode forward, his footsteps light and deliberate. He grasped the dead bird's body and took to the skies, disappearing into the horizon.
The bear, witness to the entire scene, remained still, its eyes fixed on the young man. Yet, surprisingly, it did not react, as if it did not consider him a worthy opponent. The few vultures that had escaped, flying to the safety of the horizon, watched in awe as the young man vanished into the distance.
In a nearby cave, a figure sat huddled, feasting on the fresh meat of a vulture. The young man, his hunger finally sated, felt his veins and nerves stir, as if infused with new life. He savored each bite, the warmth of the meat spreading through his body, reviving his strength and vitality.
Noah's eyes fluttered open, but his mind drew a blank. The name "Noah" seemed out of place, a relic from a bygone era. He recalled the original owner of his body, a warrior who had perished in battle. In his final moments, the warrior had attempted to defy fate by performing a mysterious ritual.
But fate had other plans. The warrior's body had been overwhelmed by the sudden presence of Noah's soul, resulting in his demise.
As Noah struggled to make sense of his surroundings, he couldn't shake off the feeling of disorientation. His memories were hazy, his origins unknown. Which era did he belong to? Was this reality or just a dream?
One thing, however, felt certain: his soul was that of a dragon, stirring to life without his consent. The awakening was unsettling, yet it filled him with a sense of belonging to this world.
Noah's gaze drifted upward, his eyes searching for answers in the sky. "Who am I?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
"I think the original possessor of this body died because of me... 'Damn...' 'Poor boy, don't worry, I'll take care of your body'"
Noah's gaze fell upon the battlefield, a canvas of unrelenting carnage. The earth was drunk with the crimson blood of the dying, as if the very land itself had been saturated with the lives of the fallen.
The air was heavy with the stench of death, the scent of sweat and steel hanging like a miasma over the ravaged landscape.
The cries of the despairing soldiers still lingered, echoing through the desolate expanse like the mournful whispers of the damned. It was as if the very fabric of reality had been torn asunder, allowing the anguished pleas of the dying to be swept away by an unseen deity, leaving behind only an unsettling silence.
Noah's eyes, witnesses to the unspeakable horrors of the battlefield, seemed to hold a deep sorrow, a sense of loss that threatened to consume him whole. Yet, even amidst the devastation, a spark of determination flickered to life within him, a flame that would drive him forward, into the unknown.
The ravaged landscape lay before him, a haunting testament to the heaven-defying battle that had ravaged the land.
The once-thriving country, now a mere shadow of its former self, was reduced to an eerie silence, as if the very soul of the nation had been extinguished.
Noah's mind reeled as he struggled to comprehend the scale of the devastation. The original owner of his body, a warrior who had fought and died on this very battlefield, had left behind no memories, no clues as to what had sparked this cataclysmic conflict.
The only remnants of the past were the whispers of the wind, which carried the faint echoes of a long-forgotten war cry. The earth itself seemed to hold its breath, as if waiting for the truth to be unearthed.