The winds howl as the storm rages around me, a force of nature that echoes the violence within me. The world trembles. It always does when I remember.

I was born into this storm—into this curse. It tore through the sky the moment I took my first breath, splitting the heavens wide open. Lightning cleaved the sky, thunder rumbled like the roar of gods, and the earth itself seemed to groan beneath the weight of my arrival. I wasn't meant to be a peaceful child. I was born for something else. Something terrible.

They called me the Shattered One—a name that meant nothing to me then, but everything to the world around me. It was a title thrust upon me by the gods, by fate, by the storm that heralded my birth. No one could ever tell me what it meant to be the Shattered One. They only whispered in fear when my name was spoken, as if the very mention of it could bring about destruction.

The wind is still howling around me, as if the storm never truly left.

But that's the way it's always been. The storm never left. Not since that day.

My mother was a warrior. Fierce, proud, and strong. She was the kind of woman whose beauty was as dangerous as her blade. And yet, she died giving birth to me.

I can never remember her face—only the pain in her eyes as she whispered my name with her last breath. I was never given the chance to know her love. My life was her sacrifice.

And my father? He was a legend in his own right. A warlord whose name was spoken in fear across the lands. He died before I could even learn what it meant to have a father. I never grew up with his stories or the warmth of his embrace. Just whispers. Just a shadow of a man who was too far gone to matter to me.

But there was one person who did matter. One person who kept me from losing everything to the darkness inside me.

Aria.

My sister.

She was my light. My reason for anything good. Her smile was the only thing that kept the storm inside me at bay. She was the piece of me that still felt whole. She was the only one who loved me despite the storm that ran through my veins.

I remember that day. It started like any other. The sun was setting, casting an orange glow over the valley as we ran through the fields, laughing like children should. We were free. But I didn't know that freedom would be so fleeting.

I saw it before she did. The darkness. A presence that felt wrong.

I turned to her, about to say something, but her face was already pale, her body frozen with fear. She knew before I did.

And then, I saw him.

The Shadow King.

He stepped into the clearing, his cloak of black flames swirling around him like a living thing, and in his eyes burned the same red fire that lit the sky at my birth. I tried to call to her. I tried to run to her, but the moment I reached for her, he was faster. His hand, dark as the void, snatched her from me.

Her scream cut through the air, but it was swallowed by the winds.

And just like that, Aria was gone.

The Shadow King took her from me. His voice, cold and cruel, echoed in my mind as he spoke.

"She belongs to me now."

I could do nothing. Nothing but stand there, my heart shattering as my sister vanished into the shadows. The world seemed to fall away from me, leaving only the storm—fury and rage coursing through my veins, burning me from the inside out.

That day, I became something else. Something broken.

I became the Shattered One.

The pain of losing her tore through me like a thousand daggers, each one deeper than the last. I searched for her. I searched for years, through mountains, forests, and abandoned cities, but the Shadow King kept her hidden in the dark places of the world. The world that had already taken everything from me.

And all I had left was this rage. This hunger for vengeance.

I crafted my weapon in the fire of that rage. The Ashen Blade.

The steel of the blade was forged in the heart of a volcano, tempered by my pain and sharpened by the agony of my loss. The hilt was wrapped in dark leather, the same shade as the shadows that consumed my sister. It is cold to the touch, just like the darkness I fight against, but it is mine. I wield it with all the fury of a storm.

But the Ashen Blade is not my only weapon. My staff, a long rod of obsidian, hums with power. Dark energy crackles along the crystal at its tip, drawn from the ancient forces I barely understand but must wield. The staff is my link to something older, something primal, something that tells me what I must do to end this madness.

And I will end it.

But not without her.

I will find her.

The gods have cursed me with this path, but I do not fear them. I walk this road alone now, and I will bring the storm to them.

The Shattered One will be whole again, and nothing, not even the gods themselves, will stand in my way.

I glance down at the reflection in the water, watching the ripples distort the image of my face. My hair, white as the cold winds that scream across the land, falls over my face like the broken threads of a forgotten tapestry. My eyes—eyes the color of glaciers—are unyielding, cold, and full of the storm that lives within me.

I am no hero.

I am the storm.

And I will not rest until she is by my side once more.