The Echo of a False Hero

Ah... this dream.

No... a dream would be an overstatement. It was more of a nightmare than a dream. Reliving the same nightmare he had endured for the past four years. Every night, the same.

No matter how he tried to change it, he could do nothing. Could not save his father, could not save the village. He could only watch himself die, again and again.

He started at the edge of the village. A small hut where he had spent most of his days with his father. This was his favourite part of the dream. He watched his dad forge away for hours at a time, creating different pieces of equipment made out of scraps for the villagers. They were recluses by societal standards, but they never shunned either of them. This village, away from the Void.

He remembers it clearly. Like a god morphing the shape of the world at will, an embodiment of the Void descended. Even as some country bumpkin, he did not need the knowledge to know what that was.

It was all the world's evil condensed into one singular being. He feels the sensation of his blood turning cold as he takes one final look at his dad before his life ends.

And then he awakes.

Elias shot up, sweat soaking his skin as he breathed in and out. He tried to compose himself, but his breath came in ragged gasps.

Elias heard the crackling of the fire behind him as he slowly walked to the pond nearby and looked at himself. His body was physically scarred, with marks running from his arms all the way to his neck. He had woken up in the middle of the forest, after having lost his memory. The only things he remembered were the nightmares, the dreams of death. The memories of his father were dulled, but the curse of remembering and forgetting plagued him, making it impossible to piece his past together.

The sun had started to rise. But Elias was put on high alert as he stood up, looking around.

The forest... the forest is too quiet.

He had lived as a vagabond for more than four years since he had awoken. Struggling to survive, he danced around creatures beyond human comprehension.

Elias screamed as he looked down at the sigil on his hand. It depicted a half-formed circle with jagged, incomplete lines emanating from it, like cracks in the earth. It was faint, almost fading, as if it were never truly finished. At the centre of the circle was an eye, which remained closed at all times.

He let out a scream as the sigil burned his skin without leaving a wound, just as Elias heard a commotion behind him. The pond started to ripple, and something shot out at him. Elias barely managed to avoid the attack by falling over. A shadow-like dagger had nearly pierced his temple.

Quickly scrambling to his feet, Elias managed to get a glance at the figure that had almost killed him.

The creature, barely able to maintain its form, flickered like a faulty projection. Its body was a distorted mimicry of Elias's own silhouette, as if the pond had given life to his reflection. The Voidborne's limbs were elongated and shadow-like, shifting erratically as it struggled to hold its shape. In its elongated arm, a small dagger formed—a weapon impossibly thin, appearing less like forged metal and more like a sliver of condensed shadow. The edges flickered and shifted, refusing to be fully perceived. Even in the morning light, it cast no reflection.

Elias felt his sigil burn even more as memories began to pour into his mind. The image of his father became clearer, and anger filled his heart. He knew that in order to remember, he had to kill whatever the hell this thing was.

He grabbed the only weapon he had, a rusty dagger he had scavenged in his travels.

The shadow darted forward with unnatural speed, leaping from tree branch to tree branch before attempting to stab Elias in the same place as before. A slash was made, but the blade went straight through the shadowy figure. The area he had slashed turned into shadows, which swiftly converged behind him and reformed.

Physical attacks have no effect? How?

Elias made a split-second decision as the shadow landed on the edge of the pond. Instead of falling in, it silently observed him before brandishing its dagger again.

He couldn't hesitate. The next strike would be death.

Elias turned and sprinted back to the campfire, the shadow close on his heels. As it lunged for his eye, it jumped backward when it came close to the fire. The heat and light caused it to scream—a horrid, unnatural sound that made Elias's blood boil. Blood poured from his ears, and his vision blurred as something tried to invade his mind. The sigil burned fiercely, but Elias managed to compose himself, clutching his head as the pain began to subside.

"Elias." A voice, a man's voice, echoed in his mind as the shadow vanished into the trees, leaving only an after-image bouncing from branch to branch.

"Elias."

The shadow materialised behind Elias, in his blind spot. Horror gripped him as the dagger was aimed directly at his head. There was no time to dodge. He had to block it.

With no time to think, Elias used his left hand to block the shadow dagger before bringing the rusted dagger down in a swift strike.

This time, the blade didn't pass through. The rusty dagger connected with the shadow's form, cutting through it cleanly, causing purple blood to spill out. The shadow let out a deafening scream. But the sigil on Elias's hand flared, and its scream had no effect on the Elias. The shadow leapt back, its wound starting to heal.

Elias looked at the wound on his hand. A shadowy corruption spread from the blade into his skin, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't pull it out. It was as if the blade was part of him now.

"Elias."

His body was overcome by a cold sensation as the voice filled his mind again. The sigil's eye opened, the pupils dilating. The corruption seemed to recede slightly as his hand moved involuntarily toward the dagger.

Find the shape. Hear the echo. The words echoed in his mind, more powerful than ever.

Power surged through Elias as white light flickered around his right hand. He locked eyes with the shadow dagger, remembering every detail about it: the shape, the flickering edges, the feel of it in his hand.

"Trace."

The light surrounding his hand shifted, condensing into a new form. It became a shadow-like dagger, but it was fractured, unstable. The light from the sigil flickered weakly around it, but Elias felt a determination growing inside him. His fingers tightened around the hilt.

The shadow shot forward again, seemingly provoked by the dagger in Elias's hand. With a flash of movement, it collided with Elias's blade. The force sent him stumbling back, his own dagger crumbling to pieces. But without hesitation, he regenerated the blade and pressed on, repeatedly blocking the relentless attacks.

He knew now—he had to strike when the shadow materialised.

Each time the blade recreated itself, it grew weaker, the light around it dimming. Elias had no time to think. He had to finish this fight quickly.

With a final, desperate push, Elias forced the shadow back. The two blades clashed, and his cracked dagger shattered. The shadow's dagger pierced his chest, but Elias gripped its head and stared into the reflection of his own eyes.

"Let's see who dies first." Elias muttered coldly.

With a final effort, he slammed the shadow against the firepit. The flames surged as the shadow's form began to disintegrate, screaming in agony. Elias felt the corruption from the dagger spread, seeping through his chest, but his resolve didn't waver. His eyes burned with a madness that wasn't his own as he pressed the shadow down.

He didn't know how long it lasted—seconds, minutes, or hours—but eventually, all that remained was a puddle of black goo, the shadow completely consumed.

Elias collapsed to the ground, his scorched hand throbbing as he breathed heavily. He had done it. He had killed whatever the hell that thing was.

He looked at the wound on his chest. The corruption was still spreading, but the shadow had missed any vital organs. His sigil burned again, and the eye in the centre of his palm began to close. The corruption receded, the wound slowly healing.

Breathing out, Elias looked at his hand, now charred and unusable. He wouldn't be able to use it for a long time, but that was better than being dead.

That voice... it was his father. His father's voice had guided him, even in this hellish moment.

So many questions, so few answers. What were those things? What was this power? Why had he heard his father?

He needed answers. And he was going to find them.