The rhythmic pounding of his heartbeat echoed in his ears as he took in his surroundings. The mist had begun to settle, revealing the twisted remains of ancient trees and broken stones etched with symbols he could not recognize. The mark on his arm continued to glow, pulsing in sync with his breath.
He clenched his fist, feeling the warmth of the energy coursing through his veins. Something within him had changed. No—it had been there all along, merely waiting to be awakened. The battle with the armored specter had unlocked a fragment of his past, but the rest remained shrouded in shadows.
A rustling sound to his left made him snap into a defensive stance. His reflexes were sharper, his senses heightened. Emerging from the mist was an elderly man, his long silver hair tied back, his piercing gaze scanning the young warrior with scrutiny. He wore robes of deep blue, adorned with sigils resembling the ones on the broken stones.
"So, the blood remembers at last," the old man murmured, his voice carrying the weight of time itself.
He remained silent, his instincts warning him that this was no ordinary wanderer.
"Who are you?" he finally asked.
The elder let out a dry chuckle. "You ask the wrong question, child. The real question is—who are you?"
The young warrior frowned. He had been asking himself the same thing ever since he woke up in this cursed land.
"I don't remember."
The old man stepped closer, studying him with an almost knowing look. "Your body remembers. Your blood remembers. But your mind… is still lost."
A sudden gust of wind swept through the clearing, carrying with it the scent of something unnatural. The old man's expression darkened. "They are coming."
Before he could ask who they were, the ground trembled. From the fog, dark silhouettes emerged—figures draped in tattered cloaks, their hollow eyes glowing with eerie light. They moved in unison, surrounding them in an unbroken circle.
The young warrior took a deep breath. He had barely recovered from his last battle, but something inside him burned with defiance. His fingers flexed, readying for combat.
The elder placed a hand on his shoulder. "No need for reckless bravery. Let me see how much you remember."
Without another word, the old man raised his staff and struck the ground. The sigils on the broken stones flared to life, sending a wave of energy rippling outward. The approaching figures hesitated, their movements becoming sluggish.
"Now," the elder urged, "Show me the power of your lineage."
The young warrior didn't hesitate. He surged forward, his body moving with an instinctive grace. He weaved through the enemy lines, his strikes precise and devastating. The mark on his arm ignited, feeding him power he didn't fully understand.
One by one, the shadowy figures fell, dissipating into wisps of darkness. The last one let out an unearthly screech before crumbling into nothingness.
Silence returned.
The young warrior exhaled heavily, his muscles tense, his heart still racing. He turned to the elder, seeking answers.
The old man smiled, the first genuine expression he had shown.
"Yes," he said. "You truly are his heir."
The warrior's breath caught in his throat. "Whose heir?"
The elder's eyes gleamed. "The one who defied fate. The one who was erased from history."
The mist thickened once more, but this time, it carried the whispers of a name.
His name.