A World in Ruins
The air was heavy with the smell of smoke and blood. The serene village of Eldrin had become a graveyard. Houses that had echoed with laughter were reduced to smoldering skeletons, their wooden structures mere ash. Bodies littered the streets—men, women, children—dead, their eyes locked in horror. The flames roared greedily, painting the sky with orange and black stripes, and the cries of the dying far away mixed with the screaming wind.
And at the heart of it all—a boy knelt in silence.
Asher's hands were shaking as he clutched the body of an old man. His teacher. The person who had treated him with great kindness. His fingers clutched the cloak of the man as if grasping could pull him back out of the void. But the warmth had already left his body.
Everything around him seemed far away, empty. The madness, the shouting, the flames—it was all muted, as if he was underwater, buried deep.
This was not to be.
It was not designed to work this way.
His breathing was rough gasps, his heart thudding against his ribcage as if it was trying to break free of his chest. He had to scream, but there was nothing. His throat was burning, his vision was a blur, but then—
There was a scream through the night.
A voice. Her voice.
"Asher!!"
His body jolted.
His head jerked upright.
And then he spotted her.
The Moment That Broke Him
Liora.
His little sister. His only family.
She fought and kicked, as two men-at-arms dragged her towards a standing black-robed figure. Her sun-bright hair was yanked back in tangles, streaked with blood and dirt. Her violet eyes, always warm and laughing, were wide with fear.
"Asher, help me!!" she yelled, her arms flailing.
Something within him snapped.
He pushed himself off the floor, his burning legs propelling him towards her. His heart thudded in his ears, drowning out everything else. He did not hesitate. He did not think.
I will not let them have her.
He leaned forward, fingers brushing against hers, inches separating them
And something cold and unmerciful clamped around his neck.
Crushed Like an Insect
Before Asher could fight back, he was lifted off the ground, his body hanging in mid-air against the crushing pressure at his throat. His vision faded. Air wouldn't enter his lungs. He clutched at the iron grip, his nails scraping against hard flesh.
"Pathetic."
It was smooth, relaxed—almost bored.
Through the haze of pain, Asher saw him—Varis.
A giant of a man wearing armor the color of obsidian-black, his silver hair streaming behind him like a ghost of death. His red eyes burned with otherworldly ferocity, gazing down at Asher as if he were nothing but a nuisance.
"You actually thought you could keep me back?" Varis laughed, his fist clenched. "You don't even deserve to share the same air as me."
Asher struggled, his body flailing. But to no avail. His arms—too feeble. His body—too weak.
No.
Not again.
Liora's cries rang in his ears, raw and desperate fear.
"Asher! Please!"
He leaned toward her.
But then—Varis drove him into the ground.
The Death of Hope
The punch landed in his body like a shockwave of pain. His head hit the ground, stars bursting in his head. The metallic flavor of blood flooded his mouth. He was gasping for air, his body twisting, but he was frozen.
With his vision blurred, he spotted her.
Liora. Being pulled away. Her arms stretched out. Her cries receding into the distance.
His fingers twitched.
No.
Not her.
Not again.
But his body wouldn't move. His vision dulled, his heart slowed.
And as he was consumed by the flames, the world darkened.
---
A Voice in the Darkness
Silence.
Infinite. Hollow.
A vacuum in which there was no time.
In that void, a voice was heard.
"Why are you struggling?"
Asher's fingers stirred.
"You are weak. You always have."
A flash of recollection—him, battered on the ground. His mother's icy, revolted stare. The jeering of tougher men as they stamped on him.
"You must remain down. Accept your destiny."
The voice was right. He was always in a state of weakness. Helplessness. Nobody ever came to save him.
And then—
He saw her face.
Liora. Crying. Screaming his name.
A spark of something deeper ignited in him. It was not just anger. It was not just grief.
It was ancient. Something hidden deep in his own soul.
His fingers formed a fist.
"Take it then."
A crack—such as the world opening up. And then, suddenly—he could breathe again.