The ravine twisted and turned like a serpent, its walls narrowing as they trudged deeper into its heart. Each step echoed ominously; the sound swallowed by the oppressive silence that lingered after the storm. Cassian's breath misted in the chilled air, and the weight of his battered armor tugged at his shoulders. Yet, his curiosity gnawed at him more than his wounds.
"You know my name," Cassian began cautiously, eyes fixed on the stranger's back. "But I don't know yours."
The man offered a chuckle without breaking stride. "Names have power, boy. And power, in the wrong hands, becomes a curse."
Cassian clenched his jaw. "Then what should I call you?"
The stranger glanced over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming beneath the hood. "Call me what you will. It won't change the reality you face."
Annoyance flared in Cassian's chest, but he swallowed it down. "Why were you there? How did you find me?"
The man paused, turning to face Cassian fully. The shadows clung to him like a second skin, obscuring everything but his piercing gaze. "I was exactly where I needed to be. As for how—let's just say the storm isn't the only thing that can sense a shift in power."
Cassian frowned, his fingers twitching with residual sparks of the storm's magic. "Power? What power?"
The stranger's lips curled into a knowing smirk. "The kind that turns kings into corpses and heirs into fugitives."
Cassian's chest tightened. Memories of the demons' snarling faces and his own broken body flashed in his mind. "Who were those creatures?"
The man's eyes darkened. "Hunters from the Abyss. They feast on divine power, and the blood of the Bronteskýlos is a feast like no other."
Cassian's stomach churned. "So, they're after me?"
"They were," the man corrected, his tone eerily calm. "But now they hunt something else."
Cassian's eyes narrowed. "What could be more valuable than a Storm-King's heir?"
The man hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face before the mask of indifference returned. "You've awakened something ancient—something they fear even more than your father's wrath."
Cassian swallowed hard. "And what is that?"
The stranger's silence was suffocating, each second dragging like an eternity. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "You."
The revelation settled over Cassian like a storm cloud. His hands trembled, the latent power within him sparking erratically. "Why would they fear me?"
The man resumed walking, motioning for Cassian to follow. "Because you're no longer just the heir to the Storm-King. Whatever brought you back—it's changed you. They can sense it, as can I."
Cassian's mind raced. He wasn't just Cassian Bronteskýlos anymore. He was something else—someone else. Loukas. A soul from another world, inhabiting a fallen prince's body. But why? How?
"So, if they're after me," Cassian began, his voice unsteady, "what do we do?"
The man's smirk returned, sharper this time. "We don't wait for death to find us. We hunt it down first."
As they pressed onward, the ravine began to widen, revealing a dense forest shrouded in mist. Cassian's unease grew with each step, the stranger's cryptic words lingering in his mind.
"They're coming," the man said suddenly, halting in his tracks. His gaze pierced through the fog, searching the shadows. "And they won't stop until they've devoured every last drop of your power."
Cassian's pulse quickened. "Then why help me? What's in it for you?"
The man chuckled; the sound devoid of warmth. "I have my reasons. Perhaps I seek redemption. Or perhaps I simply enjoy defying the fates."
Cassian eyed him warily. "I don't trust you."
The man's grin widened. "Good. Trust will only get you killed."
Thunder rumbled faintly in the distance; a reminder of the power Cassian could no longer wield. The reality of his new existence settled heavily on his shoulders, and he realized that he stood at the edge of a precipice—one that would either lead to salvation or destruction.
The stranger turned, his cloak billowing like a wraith. "Come, boy. Let us see if the storm within you can still roar."
As they vanished into the mist, Cassian couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking into a trap. But with demons on his trail and power coursing through his veins, he knew that standing still was not an option.
And so, Cassian Bronteskýlos—no longer a mere prince but a soul reborn—stepped into the unknown, guided by a man whose motives were as shrouded as the path ahead.
The deeper they ventured into the mist, the thicker it became—an unnatural fog that coiled around them like a living thing. Cassian's boots squelched against damp earth, his breath visible in the cold air. The silence was absolute, broken only by the occasional rustle of unseen movement.
Then, the ground trembled.
Cassian froze as a massive silhouette emerged from the fog. First came the tusks—dark blood-red, curved like jagged scythes. Then, the hulking form of the beast solidified. It was an ox-like creature, but grotesquely warped—standing upright on two tree-trunk legs, its muscles bulging with raw, unnatural power. Its thick hide was marked with pulsating scars, glowing like molten veins.
And in its massive hands, it wielded an iron axe as tall as a man.
Cassian felt his heart lurch in his chest. The sheer presence of the beast made the air feel heavier, pressing down on his shoulders.
The stranger, however, showed no hesitation. With a swift motion, he reached behind him and pulled out a weapon—a monstrous silver spear, nearly three meters long, its wicked blade adorned with coiled serpentine heads. The moment it left its sheath, golden energy crackled to life around it, spiraling violently like a raging storm.
The stranger exhaled sharply and turned his gaze to Cassian. His expression was unreadable, but there was something unmistakable in his tone—expectation.
"Ready yourself."
Cassian swallowed hard, nodding despite the weight of uncertainty gripping him.
Then, without warning, the man surged forward.
Lightning ignited around him as he crossed the distance in a blink, spear poised for a devastating strike. The golden energy wreathed his weapon, forming a violent arc as he brought it down toward the beast's chest.
But before it could land, the monstrous ox roared and swung its axe in response.
A thunderous clang echoed through the mist as metal met metal. The sheer force of the impact sent shockwaves through the ground, rattling Cassian's bones. The man skidded back slightly, but his stance remained firm, his spear thrumming with raw power.
The beast snarled, its crimson eyes locking onto him with primal fury. It lunged forward, bringing its axe down in a bone-crushing swing. The stranger twisted, narrowly avoiding the attack, and retaliated with a vicious thrust toward its exposed flank.
Cassian could only watch, transfixed by the deadly exchange. The stranger moved like a phantom—every strike fluid yet merciless, his spear a streak of silver and gold against the darkness. And yet, the beast held its ground, countering each attack with monstrous strength.
Cassian clenched his fists. He had to do something.
His mind raced back to the stranger's words. The storm within you.
What did that mean?
He glanced at his fingertips, trying to summon anything—lightning, wind, anything that resembled power. He focused, willing the storm to answer him.
Nothing happened.
His hands remained empty, powerless.
Frustration burned in his chest. He was Cassian Bronteskýlos—heir to the Storm-Kings. If the bloodline carried divine energy, why couldn't he summon it?
A pained grunt snapped him out of his thoughts.
The stranger had been forced back, his boots digging into the mud. A fresh gash bled across his arm where the beast's axe had barely grazed him. Despite the wound, his grip on the spear tightened, his golden energy only flaring brighter.
Cassian's pulse pounded. If he didn't figure this out now, they wouldn't survive this fight.
He had to awaken the storm.
But how?