THE SHATTERED REALM: FORGOTTEN ECHOES

As Hordin walked back, his mind wandered. He knew he was being followed, but he had no clue. Was it a follower from the Bone Kingdom, or someone from the Vermillion Kingdom? His instincts nudged him toward the latter. He'd been in the Bone Kingdom long enough to recognize their followers—they carried a different aura altogether. This felt like something more personal.

The King had shown an unusual interest in him, and Hordin couldn't help but feel like this was all part of a bigger plan. It didn't surprise him that someone was tailing him. But when he returned to his room, he found no trace of the figure that had been following him. It unsettled him. Where had the old man gone?

Ignoring the strange sense of unease, Hordin shut the door and windows behind him. He pressed his back to the wooden door for a moment, closing his eyes to center himself. He had no physical power, no apparent attribute to speak of. The only thing he had inherited from his mother was extraordinary hearing and eyesight.

He never got to know his mother as he wished. She died of disease, they told him. But he wasn't an idiot. She was killed by his own father for giving him a useless son. That was the only thing that burned the fire within him, keeping him alive. He lost all will to live earlier on, but the hatred, fear, and thirst for revenge within him had twisted into something ugly. One day he would get back at his father and that was all he thought of

But it wasn't just the sharpness of his vision and hearing—there was something else, something that made him both a valuable asset and a potential target. He had hidden this from everyone he knew, scared it would draw unnecessary attention to himself.

He moved to the center of his room, sitting down in a lotus position. His focus sharpened as he began to listen. Slowly, his senses expanded. He could hear the rhythmic breathing of the guards stationed outside, but then, something else—faint but distinct—pulled his attention downward. He focused, trying to discern the source. His eyes opened wide as he realized it was just an insect crawling across the floor.

Shaking his head, he redirected his attention, continuing his silent exploration. As he ventured beyond his room, he heard more breathing. The guards below. But then something shifted. One breath stood out among the rest—it was familiar, the same raspy wheeze of the old man.

Hordin froze, the blood in his veins running cold. The old man had found his way into the building's underground. How did he quickly build a place under here in foreign lands? His senses buzzed with tension, but Hordin kept his thoughts focused. He had no power to confront the man directly, so he did the only thing he could—he listened.

The voices below were soft at first, murmuring between the three men. The conversation was about the discovery Hordin had stumbled upon the night before. But as he listened further, the words turned darker, more detailed. The more he heard, the more disgusted and enraged he became. It felt as if the world itself was plotting against him, closing in on him from all sides. Fear gripped him, but there was nothing he could do about it. He had no power to act.

Suddenly, something in his room shifted—a presence, something watching him. He opened his eyes, only to freeze in terror. Before him stood a doll, one foot tall, staring at him with lifelike, blood-red eyes. Its slender limbs and pointed chin gave it a strangely feminine appearance, but there was no mistaking the danger it exuded.

Hordin's heart pounded in his chest. He used his ability to peer deeper, to see the doll's aura, to understand its nature. But nothing—nothing—showed up. The doll was a blank slate, a void in his sight.

"What… who are you?" he stammered, his voice betraying his fear. Dolls didn't speak. His words felt hollow as he asked again, "What do you need from me?"

The doll remained silent, tilting its head in an unsettling gesture. It took a step forward, and Hordin's breath caught. Panic surged within him. He scrambled backward, stumbling against the door. The sound of his movement drew the attention of the guards outside, but he quickly composed himself.

"It's nothing," he muttered, his voice strained with fear. Sweat dotted his brow, but he dared not make another sound.

The doll took another step toward him, its movements eerily smooth. Hordin found himself pressed against the door, cornered. Then, in the blink of an eye, the doll disappeared and reappeared beside him. Papers scattered from the desk in the air as the doll snatched a parchment with unsettling speed.

His mind raced. How fast was it? What kind of creature was this?

The doll knelt before him, the parchment placed gently in front of him. As it moved its fingers across the paper, Hordin watched in disbelief. An image began to form, slow at first, but then faster and faster. IT didn't use ink, blood flowed freely from its finger onto the sheet.

The image was a face—he didn't recognize it yet, but something about it felt familiar. He leaned in closer, but fear held him back. As the image became clearer, his heart skipped a beat. There, staring back at him, was the old man—the very one who had been the subject of his nightmares.

The doll, without a word, shoved the sheet into Hordin's face. The stench of blood hit him like a physical blow, and for a moment, he could only look at the image before him, transfixed.

"What is this?" he whispered, recoiling slightly, but his gaze locked onto the blood-soaked drawing of the old man's face. His heart raced as the doll drew again, this time making the image more grotesque—decapitated, blood dripping from the eyes.

Hordin's mind spun, panic clawing at his insides. He knew, without a doubt, that the doll was not just a messenger.

But what unnerved him more than the image was the realization that it understood him. Somehow, it knew the depth of his hatred for the old man.

The doll's eyes met his once more, and a thought flashed through Hordin's mind. He smirked uncomfortably, despite the fear gripping his chest.

"Do you... want to work with me?" he asked.

The doll nodded.

Hordin's smirk widened into something far darker. It seemed his options were growing limited. Maybe he could work with the devil itself, even if it meant his own downfall. For a child, fate had cruelly made his mind mature faster that normally would.