The rain drummed against the rooftops of Varthas, a forgotten village nestled in the rolling western hills. The flickering torches barely held back the encroaching shadows, their golden light distorted by the relentless downpour. The streets, once firm and well-trodden, had become treacherous paths of mud and water, each step sinking into the earth as if the land itself wished to swallow the village whole.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, a deep growl that reverberated through the night. A storm was coming, but the villagers did not stir from their homes. Doors were barred, windows tightly shut, and only the occasional figure darted from one house to another, always moving quickly, always looking over their shoulder.
Something was wrong in Varthas.
Niko pulled his cloak tighter around himself, shivering as the cold rain seeped into his bones. He had lived in this village his entire life, but it had never felt more suffocating than it did now. The air was thick with unease, with whispers of unseen dangers lurking just beyond the tree line.
The villagers spoke in hushed voices of disappearances, of strange lights in the forest, of something watching them from the darkness.
And yet, despite their fear, no one dared investigate.
Niko was not like them.
He had never feared the unknown. He had longed for it.
While the other children had spent their youth learning trades, practicing swordplay, or tending to livestock, Niko had found solace in books, in knowledge, in secrets whispered from dusty tomes hidden in the village elder's study.
He had read of forgotten gods and cursed bloodlines. He had traced the history of long-dead kingdoms and the mages who had shaped them. He had memorized every legend and myth the village had to offer.
But it was never enough.
Every answer led to another question, every story hinted at something deeper, something hidden beneath the surface of the world.
And for weeks now, something had been calling to him.
It had started subtly—a feeling at first, like a presence just beyond his field of vision. Then, the dreams had come.
He had seen a forest bathed in moonlight, the trees twisting unnaturally as if they were alive. He had heard a voice, soft and distant, speaking words he could not understand yet felt deep within his soul.
And each time he awoke, he found himself staring north, toward the edge of the village, toward the woods.
Something was there.
Something was waiting for him.
That evening, as the storm raged overhead, his father had grabbed him by the arm, his grip firm but desperate.
"You will not go near those woods, Niko."
There had been no anger in his voice—only fear.
"People are disappearing. We do not know why. Do not make yourself another lost name on our lips."
But Niko could not resist.
As the night deepened and the village fell silent, he slipped out of his home, the chill biting at his skin as he moved like a shadow through the streets.
The woods were waiting for him.
The trees loomed before him, their branches stretching toward the sky like skeletal fingers. The rain had lessened to a soft drizzle, and the air smelled of wet earth and decaying leaves.
A path, barely visible, wound deeper into the forest, its edges lined with strange symbols carved into the bark of trees. Niko ran his fingers over one of them—it was rough, ancient, filled with a power that made his skin tingle.
He should have turned back.
Every instinct told him he was stepping into something beyond his understanding.
But he pressed on.
The deeper he ventured, the quieter the world became. The wind stopped. The rain no longer reached him. Even his own footsteps muffled as if the forest was swallowing the sound.
Then he saw it.
A flat stone, surrounded by a circle of withered grass. Atop it rested an ancient tome, its cover wrapped in rusted chains.
His breath caught in his throat.
It was impossible.
Books did not belong in the wild. Who had placed it here? And why?
As he approached, the symbols on the surrounding trees seemed to pulse, as if reacting to his presence.
A single thought entered his mind.
"It as been waiting for me."
With hesitant fingers, Niko reached out and touched the cover of the book.
Cold.
Not the natural cold of the storm, but something deeper, unnatural—a chill that sank beneath the skin, into the very soul.
The world around him vanished.
No wind. No rain. No sounds.
Only silence.
Then, a heartbeat.
Not his own.
Another, distant but strong, steady, ancient. It pulsed through his fingers, up his arm, filling his mind with a rhythm that was not his own.
The chains unraveled on their own.
The pages turned as if touched by an invisible hand. The letters, black and twisted, shifted as he stared at them, forming words he had never seen before but understood perfectly.
"Do you wish to know?"
The voice was neither male nor female, neither kind nor cruel. It was simply there, speaking directly into his mind.
Niko's breath came in short gasps. His instincts screamed at him to flee, but something stronger held him in place.
A hunger.
A desire.
A question that had burned within him for as long as he could remember.
"Yes."
The moment the word left his lips, the book shuddered.
The pages flared with light, symbols burning themselves into his vision. The forest seemed to collapse around him, shadows twisting and stretching, whispering in languages he did not know.
Then, the pain came.
A searing heat rushed through his veins, his body convulsing as if something ancient and powerful was forcing its way inside him.
He screamed.
But no sound came.
The last thing he saw before the world went dark was the book's pages turning one last time—and a single name appearing in glowing ink.
A name he would soon learn to fear.
~
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