The Forsaken Seal

The night was still.

The only sound was the faint rustling of leaves outside Layron's window, their shadows stretching across the wooden walls of his small room. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the weight of the voice still pressing against his mind.

"You seek power. And I can grant it."

His breathing was slow, controlled—yet his heart pounded. The words had not faded. If anything, they had dug deeper, embedding themselves into his very soul like an unshakable curse.

"It's nothing… Just my imagination."

He repeated the thought like a mantra, but a creeping doubt gnawed at him. His entire life, he had never been special. Never been strong. Yet now, something—someone—had spoken to him.

And he wanted to hear it again.

Layron squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to focus on the silence.

But then—

"Layron."

His body jerked.

He shot upright, pulse racing. That voice—again.

But this time, it was closer.

His room was empty. His door was still closed. His window barely open.

Yet he felt something. A presence. It was not of this world.

"Who… who are you?" he whispered.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then—

"I am the answer to everything you desire."

The words slithered into his mind like silk, wrapping around his thoughts, suffocating reason.

Layron's throat tightened. He wanted to scream, to fight against the unnatural sensation.

But something held him still.

A presence. An unseen force that coiled around him, unseen fingers brushing against the edges of his very soul.

"You fear weakness."

His breath hitched.

"You hate how they look down on you."

His hands trembled.

"You despise being powerless."

His heart pounded harder.

"I can change that."

No. He shook his head violently, forcing his thoughts to clear. This wasn't real. It But the moment he thought that, a sensation erupted from deep within his body.

A burning heat—right on his chest.

Layron gasped, clutching his shirt. Beneath the fabric, something was reacting—a strange warmth pulsating beneath his skin. His fingers brushed against it, and he felt it—the mark.

A birthmark, that's what Gramps had always told him. But right now, it wasn't normal.

It burned.

It throbbed.

And as Layron touched it, a sudden wave of foreign memories crashed into his mind.

Flashes of a war-torn battlefield, bodies piled high, the sky dark with unnatural storms.

A name.

Zorthaal.

Layron jerked away from the visions, gasping for breath.

"W-what is this…?"

But there was no answer.

The room was quiet again. The burning faded.

And Layron was left alone.

---

The Weight of Fear

The next morning, Layron barely touched his breakfast.

Gramps watched him carefully. His sharp, warrior's gaze missed nothing.

"You look like you saw a ghost," the old man muttered.

Layron stiffened. "Close enough."

Anya barely glanced up from her plate. "He's been weird since yesterday."

Layron flinched. "Did she know? Could she sense something?"

"Maybe he's finally realizing how useless he is," Rael's voice cut in from across the room.

Layron froze.

Slowly, he turned.

Rael leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirking like always.

He didn't live here. But of course, he felt entitled to walk in like he owned the place.

His father was part of the village council—one of the people who had long since decided that Layron was worthless.

"Still sulking about yesterday?" Rael sneered. "Or did you actually grow a spine overnight?"

Layron's fingers curled around his fork.

Something inside him stirred.

A cold, low whisper in the back of his mind.

"He thinks he is above you."

"Prove him wrong."

Layron's grip tightened.

He wanted to. He wanted to wipe that smirk off Rael's face, to make him afraid.

For once, he wanted to be stronger.

The whisper deepened.

"Say the words."

Layron's breathing grew heavy. The world around him blurred.

Rael's voice, Gramps' presence, Anya's gaze—none of it mattered.

Only the voice.

"Say it."

The words formed on his lips—words he didn't understand, yet somehow knew.

But then—

Anya moved.

Her spoon clattered against her plate as she suddenly stood up. "I'm going to the academy."

Layron snapped out of it.

The tension in his muscles vanished. The whispers faded.

And for the first time, he realized—his hands were shaking.

Rael scoffed. "Whatever. Stay weak, then." He turned and walked out.

Gramps said nothing, but his sharp gaze lingered on Layron for a moment longer before he, too, stood up.

Layron swallowed hard.

He needed air.

---

The Truth in the Shadows

Layron wandered through the village aimlessly, mind still reeling from the morning's events. The whisper had almost made him say something.

Something dangerous.

Something… forbidden.

The mark on his chest still pulsed.

He couldn't ignore this anymore.

If he didn't get answers, he would lose himself.

So, instead of going to the academy, Layron made his way back to the Ruined Shrine.

The air was still as he stepped through the crumbling archway, vines curling over the worn stones. Sunlight barely reached inside, leaving the area cloaked in a soft, eerie twilight.

He exhaled shakily. No voices. No whispers.

Maybe it really had just been in his head.

Maybe he was—

"You returned."

Layron's blood ran cold.

The voice was back.

And this time—it wasn't inside his head.

It came from the shadows.

A deep, reverberating presence, like something vast and ancient pressing against the edges of the world itself.

Layron's breath hitched as a shape emerged from the darkness.

A figure—not fully formed, not entirely real.

Its body flickered like smoke, yet its eyes burned with an unnatural glow.

And in that moment, Layron knew—

This was no hallucination.

This was real.

And whatever it was—

It had been waiting for him.

---

End of Chapter 2

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