The night arrived slowly, enveloping the city that had been bustling since morning. The gas lamps along the streets began to light up, though their glow was insufficient to pierce the thick fog hanging low in the air. The sky seemed unusual that night—the stars, which usually shone brightly, were dim, as if afraid to pierce the dark curtain covering the city.
In a corner of the city, a small workshop stood quietly. The wooden door was slightly ajar, allowing hurried footsteps to occasionally be heard from outside. Inside, the atmosphere was calm. The only sound was the faint crackling of the oil lamp hanging from the ceiling, accompanying a young man who was absorbed in his work.
Ethan sat on the floor, leaning against a workbench covered with heavy tools and old metal components. His brown hair was messy, and his hands, covered in oil and scars from machines, gripped a wrench tightly. In front of him lay an old steam engine, most of its parts rusted, resembling an unsolved puzzle. The machine was a relic from the past, a remnant of an era now almost forgotten.
Ethan sighed softly, his shoulders drooping with exhaustion. He placed the wrench on the floor and wiped his dusty face. "It's almost midnight," he muttered, his voice hoarse after working nonstop all day. Yet, despite knowing it was time to go home, something kept him from leaving the workshop. The atmosphere tonight felt different, as if something was lurking in the shadows.
A chill ran down his spine without any clear reason. He glanced toward the workshop window, but the fog outside was too thick to see anything. The usual noise of the city had faded, leaving an eerie silence that felt unnatural.
As Ethan began tidying up his tools, a soft but cold voice suddenly slipped into his ears.
"Ethan..."
He froze. The voice sounded so close, yet it did not come from outside. It seemed to echo directly within his mind. His heart began to race. He looked around, his eyes sweeping the dark corners of the workshop. "Who's there?!" he asked, his voice hoarse, trying to sound firm despite the fear he couldn't hide.
No answer. Only the soft sound of wind from outside the window, sliding through the cracks of the slightly open wooden door. But in the corner of the room, something caught Ethan's attention. An old wooden chest. It shouldn't have been there.
The chest looked worn, with strange carvings forming intricate patterns on its surface. The wood was cracked in several places, but its aura was odd, as if something was waiting inside. Ethan felt his body move on its own, as if a force was compelling him to approach. He knelt in front of the chest, his hand outstretched to touch its surface. The wood felt cold, almost like ice, and that sensation spread through his body, making him shiver.
He swallowed hard, hesitating for a moment. But his curiosity was too great to ignore. Slowly, he opened the lid of the chest. The creaking of the old wood filled the room, and before he could look inside, a blinding silver light suddenly burst forth from within the chest. Ethan closed his eyes, startled by the intensity of the light.
When he finally opened his eyes, he saw it—a sword.
The sword appeared freshly forged, yet the carvings on the blade suggested it was an ancient artifact. Its hilt was adorned with a large red gemstone that glowed softly, emitting light that made the air around it feel heavy. Ethan stared at it, his eyes wide as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
His hand instinctively reached for the sword, his fingers gripping the cold hilt tightly. The moment he touched it, a strange sensation spread through his body—cold that pierced through, accompanied by flashes of light and the sound of a roar that shook the room. The sword glowed brighter, until the light completely enveloped his vision. In an instant, the world around him disappeared into white.
---
When Ethan opened his eyes, he was no longer in his workshop.
He now stood in the middle of a seemingly endless meadow. Wildflowers bloomed around him, glowing softly in golden hues. A warm breeze blew, carrying a fresh scent he had never experienced before. The sky above him was different from what he knew—it was a deep purple, with three small suns glowing faintly in the distance.
"What is this?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. His eyes swept around, searching for something familiar, but everything looked foreign.
The sword was still in his hand. This time, it felt heavier, as though it had become a part of him. He looked at the blade, seeing his confused reflection bouncing off its surface.
"How did I get here?" he thought. Questions filled his mind. Was this a dream? Was this another world? Or... have I died?
The sound of footsteps suddenly shattered the silence. Ethan turned quickly, his eyes widening as an old man in a white robe appeared from the thin mist that was slowly enveloping the meadow.
"Ethan," the man called, his voice ringing like distant bells.
"Who are you?!" Ethan took half a step back, gripping the sword even tighter.
The old man smiled faintly, his gaze full of wisdom, yet holding a mystery. "I am the Guardian of Fate. And you, Ethan, have been chosen by that sword."
"Chosen? For what?" Ethan asked, his voice full of disbelief.
"To be the protector of this world," the old man answered calmly. "A darkness is rising, and only that sword has the power to stop it. But the sword does not act on its own—it needs you, its true wielder."
Ethan shook his head, trying to reject what he was hearing. "I'm just a regular workshop worker! I don't know anything about this!"
The old man did not respond. Instead, he slowly faded away, like mist carried by the wind. Once again, Ethan was left alone, surrounded by an oppressive silence.
He looked at the sword in his hand, trying to convince himself that this was real. "This isn't a dream," he whispered, although part of him hoped it was just an illusion. "I can feel it... the weight of this sword... the cold... It's real."
A rumble suddenly came from the distance. Ethan turned toward the horizon, seeing dark clouds gathering quickly. From within the darkness, a massive shadow emerged, moving toward him with terrifying speed.
Ethan's heart raced. He knew that whatever was coming, it did not bring peace. Gripping the sword with both hands, he stood firm, though his legs trembled. The wind picked up, carrying the scent of metal and destruction.
The rumble grew louder, a flash of red light flickering within the dark clouds. The massive shadow became clearer, revealing a shape that took Ethan's breath away.