The symbol on his forearm pulsed with a dull glow, an ember of something long lost. He clenched his fist, feeling the warmth of the mark seep into his skin, deeper than flesh, reaching his very bones. This was no ordinary symbol—it was a key, a testament to something buried within him.
The robed figure, still and silent, watched with unreadable eyes. Then, without warning, it moved. A flick of its hand, and the mist around them twisted, forming shapes—warriors clad in spectral armor, their faces obscured, their weapons gleaming like phantoms in the dim light.
"The blood of warriors is not merely inherited. It is proven." The figure's voice was a whisper against the wind. "Fight, or be forgotten once more."
The first warrior lunged.
His body reacted before his mind caught up. He sidestepped the strike, the whisper of a blade slicing the air beside him. His instincts screamed—move! Without thinking, he twisted his body, narrowly dodging another attack. The warrior's strikes were precise, relentless, yet something about their rhythm felt… familiar.
A memory stirred. A faint recollection of training in the dead of night, of sweat dripping onto cold stone, of a voice instructing him, correcting his stance. His grip tightened.
The next attack came faster, a downward slash aimed for his shoulder. This time, he didn't evade—he caught the wrist mid-air. The warrior jolted, momentarily thrown off balance. With a sharp breath, he drove his knee into its chest, sending the figure staggering backward.
But there was no time to celebrate. Another warrior advanced, followed by another.
Blades clashed in the ghostly arena, his breath coming in short bursts as he weaved through their coordinated strikes. Each parry, each counter, felt less like a battle and more like a memory unfolding—his body knew these techniques, these movements. They weren't foreign. They were his.
Yet, something was missing.
He dodged another swing, but a sudden impact crashed against his ribs, sending him tumbling to the ground. The taste of iron filled his mouth. He pushed himself up, panting, his vision swimming. The warriors did not relent. Their forms shifted, their figures merging into a single colossal being, its eyes burning with the same glow as the mark on his arm.
The ground trembled beneath its presence.
He struggled to his feet, heart pounding. His body was reaching its limit, but deep within, beneath the exhaustion, something stirred. A whisper, faint yet undeniable.
"Remember."
The symbol on his arm flared to life.
Heat surged through his veins, spreading through his limbs like wildfire. His senses sharpened—the weight of the air, the shift in the mist, the faintest tremor in the ground. The giant warrior swung its blade, a strike powerful enough to cleave the earth itself. But this time, he didn't run.
He stepped forward.
With newfound clarity, he raised his palm, meeting the descending blade head-on. A force erupted from within him, colliding with the attack. The shockwave sent dust and mist spiraling outward. The warrior staggered, its form flickering as cracks spread across its body.
He exhaled slowly, lowering his hand. The giant warrior let out a final, hollow cry before shattering into fragments of light, fading into the abyss.
Silence followed.
The robed figure stepped forward, observing him. Its glowing eyes held something different this time—not mere curiosity, but recognition.
"You begin to awaken."
He looked down at his arm. The symbol had dimmed, but he could still feel its presence, a lingering heat beneath his skin.
His journey was far from over. But for the first time, he had taken back a piece of himself.
And he would not stop until he claimed it all.