A thunderous roar tore through Kayn Delacroix's skull as he regained consciousness. Coughing, he tasted blood and dirt on his tongue. When he opened his eyes, he saw the faint glow of dusk bleeding across a storm-lashed sky. The air smelled of charred wood and wet earth, heavy with the aftermath of destruction.
He lay in the muddy courtyard of a dilapidated courtyard house, its roof half-collapsed from the recent downpour. Broken beams jutted at ragged angles. If not for his throbbing head, he might have thought himself in a nightmare. As Kayn tried to push himself upright, shards of memory flickered behind his eyelids—flashes of a distant life, a different world entirely. It felt like glimpsing a foreign movie reel that had somehow spliced itself into his consciousness.
"What…happened to me?" he mumbled, words slurring. He pressed a hand to his forehead. Beneath his fingertips, he found a gash crusted with dried blood. The wound stung, but it wasn't lethal. Gingerly, he attempted to stand, only to wobble on uncertain legs.
Lightning cracked overhead, illuminating the courtyard. The brief flash revealed the battered state of his surroundings: shattered clay pots strewn about, thick puddles reflecting the flickering remnants of a lantern's flame. A heavy sense of foreboding clung to the air. He needed answers.
As he took an unsteady step forward, a prickling sensation washed over him. Instinctively, he clutched at his chest. That was when he felt it—the Arc Seed. A living warmth pulsed under his sternum, almost like a second heartbeat. Kayn's eyes widened in shock. He had knowledge of this phenomenon, but from where?
He sifted through his jumbled thoughts. Visions of a scholarly man hunched over ancient tomes danced through his mind. A memory of reading about mystic seeds that fused with a cultivator's soul, granting them the power to manipulate the elements or shape illusions. Each seed was unique, but few were as rare as the "Obsidian Seed," rumored to grant mastery over darkness itself.
"Obsidian…" Kayn whispered, though he had no proof his seed was indeed that. All he understood was that a living spark of power, alien and vibrant, now resided within him. He wondered if it had anything to do with how he ended up here, half-dead and alone.
A sudden rustle nearby made him spin around. His pulse quickened, heart hammering. Squinting through the gloom, Kayn caught sight of a figure lurking at the edge of the collapsed courtyard gate. The figure stepped forward, rain-soaked robes clinging to a lean frame. Sharp, dark eyes fixed on Kayn—eyes that flickered with equal parts curiosity and suspicion.
"You're awake," the stranger said in a flat tone. He held a half-broken spear in one hand. Water trickled from his hood, running down a scar that cut across the left side of his jaw.
Kayn's hands clenched at his sides. "Who…are you?"
The stranger's gaze swept across the debris-laden yard. "Name's Damon. I came here to scavenge for supplies—didn't think I'd find a body still breathing. Seems you're not as dead as I thought."
Kayn frowned, ignoring the ache in his limbs. "Where is this place?"
"You're in the outskirts of Erath Province. This old estate got smashed to bits two nights ago when the Ironbone Clan raided the city." Damon paused, taking in Kayn's confusion. "Most folks fled—or died. Guess you weren't so lucky."
Ironbone Clan. The name triggered a flicker of recognition in Kayn's borrowed memories. They were a fierce local power, known for extorting smaller villages in Erath Province. But that still didn't explain how he had come here.
Damon exhaled sharply. "Look, I don't know your story. But if you can walk, we should move out. The Ironbone thugs might still be roaming."
Kayn eyed the half-broken spear. Judging from Damon's stance, he was no rank novice. Yet Kayn felt an unsteady shift within himself—a subtle awakening of some innate power that made him bold. He gave a curt nod. "Fine. Let's go."
They trudged through the courtyard gate and into a narrow alley. Rainwater rushed down muddy channels, soaking Kayn's tattered clothes. Dark clouds continued their relentless downpour, offering little visibility. Damon led, spear angled at the gloom ahead.
"Keep quiet," Damon said. "We don't know who's left."
Kayn pressed his lips together, each footstep a splash of water that threatened to betray their presence. He glanced at his reflection in a puddle—a stranger's face: high cheekbones, bloodstains on a youthful visage, and intense gray eyes. Despite the confusion swirling in his head, he felt a whisper of exhilaration. He was alive, in a body thrumming with potential.
They reached a collapsed section of the outer wall. Damon halted, peering at the silhouette of a manor beyond. Dim torchlight flickered through a hole in one of the walls, revealing two men rummaging about. One was tall and broad-shouldered; the other short and wiry, face partially obscured by a scarf. They rifled through crates scattered in a half-submerged storage shed.
Damon motioned for Kayn to crouch low behind a fragment of fallen stone. "Ironbone scouts," he breathed. "We can't fight them both, not in our state."
Kayn felt the pulse of the Arc Seed again. A rebellious thought crept into his mind: But what if I can fight them?
He shook his head. Recklessness could be fatal, especially when he didn't know the limits of his newfound power. Besides, I don't even have a weapon.
Then, Damon sucked in a breath. "They're heading this way."
Sure enough, the two men turned in their direction. Sharp voices carried over the rain:"—told us to check for survivors."
"Hah, as if any are left. That last batch of loot was worthless."
Kayn's muscles tensed. If the scouts found them, it would mean a swift death or capture. He had no desire to become a prisoner—or worse. A swirl of conflicting instincts seized him: an urge to run, but also a surge of primal daring to confront them head-on.
Damon shot him a glare. "Don't even think about it," he hissed. "Let's slip away."
As the scouts drew closer, the downpour intensified, thunder booming again. In that rattling cacophony, Damon tugged Kayn's arm, guiding him deeper into the collapsed courtyard. They pressed their backs against the ruins, trying to blend into the shadows.
Thud. Thud. Footsteps neared.
Kayn's breath caught in his throat. Are we hidden enough?
One of the scouts paused just on the other side of the crumbled wall. Kayn could almost hear the man's heartbeat. The Ironbone scout spat on the ground, then mumbled something about "the worthless scraps in this place."
Seconds stretched like hours. A wave of relief washed over Kayn when the scout finally moved on. It took nearly a minute before the footsteps faded entirely into the rain-drenched distance.
Damon exhaled. "Looks like we got lucky."
Kayn pulled himself free from the rubble, mud clinging to his torso. His pulse was still racing. So this is the reality of this world—danger at every corner. But beyond the fear, he felt an odd thrill. The Arc Seed within him burned just a little brighter.
"Come on," Damon urged, "I know a safer place. The city's basically destroyed, but there's an old shrine to the east. If it's still standing, we might find shelter and maybe something to eat."
Without further words, they slipped through the labyrinth of debris and shattered buildings. Kayn's mind buzzed with questions, but one thought dominated: I must learn to harness this Seed.
*
*
*
Half an hour later, they reached the outskirts of the ruined city. The destruction lessened, giving way to overgrown yards and abandoned huts. At last, they spotted a small shrine perched atop a rocky outcrop. The building itself was old and moss-covered, yet a faint glow emanated from within, suggesting it might still hold power—or at least dryness.
Damon nudged the heavy wooden door. It creaked loudly, but did not break. Inside, the shrine was dimly lit by a single lantern hung from a wall sconce. Carvings of long-forgotten deities decorated the walls, though time and neglect had eroded their features.
"Better than being out in the rain," Damon said, propping his broken spear against the wall.
Kayn slumped onto a stone bench that ran along the shrine's interior. His wounds throbbed, exhaustion settling in. Yet his eyes kept flicking down to his chest, where he imagined the Arc Seed might be pulsing in concert with his heart.
Damon rummaged around until he found a small brazier and some flint. Within minutes, he had coaxed a meager fire to life, the flames casting dancing shadows against the carved walls.
Sitting by the fire, Kayn stared into its glow, brow furrowed. He had scattered fragments of knowledge about Arc Seeds—enough to suspect that if he didn't properly integrate his, it could kill him. Or worse, it could end up wasting its energy, leaving him powerless.
He clenched his fists. "I need to cultivate," he murmured, half to himself.
Damon shot him a puzzled look. "Cultivate? You've been taught the basics?"
"Not exactly," Kayn replied, mind swirling with memories not entirely his own. "But I have…an idea."
His companion offered a half-shrug. "Better do it soon. In Erath Province, only the strong survive. Those Ironbone bastards won't rest until they've rounded up every survivor to exploit or enslave."
Kayn nodded, gaze darkening. There was a time in a distant memory—some other world, some other life—where he believed in second chances. But this wasn't a second chance given; it was a chance taken. If he wanted to live, thrive, and maybe exact some form of vengeance for whatever had befallen him, he had to become strong. No, more than strong—he had to become someone unstoppable.
Lightning flared outside, momentarily illuminating Kayn's face. Determination blazed in his gray eyes, a spark mirrored by the Arc Seed simmering in his chest. The path ahead would be littered with enemies, betrayals, and sacrifices. But for Kayn Delacroix, there was no turning back.