The early morning sun filtered through the dense canopy of trees surrounding the village of Eldoria, casting golden rays across the cobblestone streets. The air was alive with activity. The gentle rustle of leaves accompanied the sound of villagers honing their abilities—fire crackling, gusts of wind whooshing, and faint echoes of water splashing against stone. Eldoria was no ordinary village. It was a place where ancient powers flourished, passed down through generations. Each inhabitant was born with a connection to these powers, their abilities an intrinsic part of their identity.
Everyone except Arion.
He stood precariously atop the slanted roof of Old Man Garret's cottage, hammering a loose wooden plank into place. The morning's labor had already left his arms aching, but there was still much to do. From his vantage point, Arion could see the village square bustling with energy. Groups of peers were sparring and practicing their powers, their laughter and shouts mingling with the occasional flash of light or burst of flame.
Below, villagers passed by without sparing him a second glance. Arion was used to being overlooked. After all, he was just the handyman—a boy with no powers, doing the jobs no one else wanted.
"Hey, Arion! Still playing the village mule, huh?"
The voice came from below, sharp and mocking. Arion looked down to see Kael, one of the village's most gifted young warriors, leaning lazily against a fence post. Kael's jet-black hair glinted in the sunlight, his piercing green eyes full of amusement. Draped across his broad shoulders was a crimson cloak embroidered with his family's crest—a serpent coiled around a blade. Beside him, a group of his followers chuckled, their expressions matching his derisive smirk.
"Some of us actually work, Kael," Arion replied, focusing on the plank in front of him.
Kael let out a hearty laugh. "Work? You call that work? While we're out here training to defend the village, you're patching up roofs and hauling water. Real heroic."
Arion's grip on the hammer tightened. He wanted to snap back, but he knew it would only encourage Kael further.
"Not everyone's born with powers, Kael," he muttered under his breath.
"What was that?" Kael called out, cupping his hand to his ear in mock confusion. "Speak up, Arion! Or has your lack of power stolen your voice too?"
The group erupted into laughter, their jeers echoing across the square. Arion forced himself to remain silent, hammering the last nail into place before descending the rickety ladder.
"Face it, Arion," Kael said, stepping forward as Arion set his tools aside. "You'll never be more than an errand boy. The rest of us are destined for greatness, but you? You're just...ordinary."
The word hit harder than it should have, though Arion tried not to show it. Without a word, he slung his tool bag over his shoulder and walked away.
---
Arion's home sat on the outskirts of Eldoria, perched on a hill that overlooked the Shadowed Forest. The forest was a place of mystery and unease, its towering trees stretching high into the heavens. Legends surrounded the Shadowed Forest—some claimed it was the birthplace of the ancient powers, while others whispered of curses and creatures lurking in its depths.
For Arion, it was a place of solace.
As the sun began its slow descent, casting the forest in hues of amber and gold, Arion sat on a fallen log at the edge of the woods. The faint chirping of insects and the rustle of leaves filled the air, offering a reprieve from the chaos of the village.
"Why am I even here?" he muttered, his voice barely audible above the breeze. "What's the point of living in a place where I don't belong?"
The forest, as always, remained silent.
Arion leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He thought back to his childhood, to the days when he had believed—truly believed—that his powers would awaken like everyone else's. He had waited with bated breath, watching as his friends discovered their abilities one by one. Kael had summoned his first flame at eight years old. Lyra, Arion's childhood friend, had tamed the winds by ten. But as the years passed, Arion remained unchanged.
By the time he turned sixteen, hope had withered into resignation.
"Maybe Kael's right," he murmured. "Maybe I'll always be ordinary."
The sound of soft footsteps broke his train of thought. Turning, he saw Lyra approaching, her golden hair catching the last rays of sunlight. She wore a simple white tunic, her hands clasped behind her back.
"I thought I'd find you here," she said, smiling gently.
"Hey, Lyra," Arion replied, managing a faint smile of his own.
She sat beside him on the log, her gaze fixed on the darkening forest. "Avoiding the square again?"
Arion shrugged. "Not much point in being there. It's just a reminder of what I can't do."
Lyra frowned, her expression softening. "You don't have to prove anything to them, Arion. You're more than what they see."
"Am I?" Arion sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be anything more than...this."
Before Lyra could respond, the distant chime of a bell echoed across the village. The Festival of Light was beginning.
---
By the time Arion and Lyra reached the village square, it was alive with energy. Lanterns hung between rooftops, their soft glow illuminating the cobblestone streets. Stalls lined the square, offering roasted meats, fragrant spices, and intricate trinkets. Children darted through the crowd, their laughter blending with the hum of power that crackled in the air.
Arion wandered aimlessly, feeling more out of place with each passing moment. Everywhere he looked, villagers were showcasing their abilities. Flames danced above open palms, water wove itself into elegant shapes, and shimmering illusions cast fantastical displays across the walls.
"Arion!"
Lyra's voice pulled him from his thoughts. She was standing near a stall where glass orbs filled with glowing light were displayed.
"Look at these," she said, holding one up. "Aren't they beautiful?"
Arion nodded absently. "Yeah, they're nice."
Lyra studied him, her smile fading. "You're thinking about it again, aren't you?"
"About what?"
"About not fitting in."
Arion hesitated, then shrugged. "Can you blame me?"
Lyra reached out and placed a hand on his arm. "You don't need powers to matter. You're brave, resourceful, and kind. That's more important than any ability."
He wanted to believe her. But before he could respond, a sudden hush fell over the crowd.
The lanterns flickered and dimmed as a cold wind swept through the square. The vibrant colors of the festival were swallowed by shadows, and an eerie silence descended.
"What's happening?" Lyra whispered, her voice trembling.
Arion looked up. The once-clear sky was now blanketed in swirling black clouds, and a strange, oppressive energy filled the air. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before—cold, suffocating, and pulsing with raw power.
The villagers began to murmur nervously, their expressions shifting from confusion to fear. Then, from the heart of the storm, a massive figure descended.
The Abyssal King had arrived.
He was a towering figure, his body seemingly composed of smoke and shadow. Crimson eyes burned like embers in the darkness, and his voice reverberated like distant thunder.
"Mortals of Eldoria," he intoned, his deep voice silencing the murmurs. "Your time of complacency is over. The weak shall perish, and the strong shall inherit this world."
The villagers froze in stunned silence. Then, one by one, they began to step forward, their powers flaring to life. Flames roared, winds howled, and water surged as Eldoria's most powerful prepared to defend their home.
Arion stood frozen at the edge of the square, his heart pounding. He watched as the warriors charged toward the Abyssal King, their attacks colliding with his shadowy form.
But the Abyssal King barely flinched.
With a wave of his hand, he unleashed a surge of dark energy that sent the villagers flying. Their bodies crumpled to the ground, motionless.
Arion's breath caught in his throat. He had always known he was powerless, but in this moment, he felt utterly insignificant. The Abyssal King's presence was overwhelming, his power beyond comprehension.
As the chaos unfolded, Arion felt a strange stirring deep within him. It was faint, like a whisper in the back of his mind, but it was there—a spark of something unfamiliar, something alive.
He didn't understand it, but for the first time in his life, he felt a glimmer of hope.
---
End of Chapter 1