The air in the village of Elist was thick with the weight of impending change. The kind of change that you felt in your bones before it ever arrived, like the calm before a storm. Zaryx stood by the well, his gaze fixed on the rippling water beneath him. The last vestiges of daylight shimmered across the surface, a muted orange glow cutting through the dense trees that surrounded the village. His reflection wavered in the water as a breeze stirred the leaves above, and for a brief moment, it looked like someone else was standing there.

  "Zaryx."

  He straightened at the sound of his name, but his body remained unmoving. It was a voice that belonged to no one in particular, yet it felt as if it was calling him from everywhere at once. His heartbeat quickened, the hairs on the back of his neck rising, but when he turned around, the village was as quiet as ever. No one was near.

  "You're losing focus," a voice spoke, this time sharper, more real. It was his master, Eshka, a man who had taught him the ways of martial arts from the day he could walk.

  Zaryx didn’t reply. His fingers brushed against the handle of his wooden training spear, the weight of it familiar in his hand. He wasn’t sure if the voice was in his mind or if it was something more—something he’d never told Eshka about. But he wasn’t willing to ask questions, not now, not when the world around him felt as though it were watching, waiting for him to make the wrong move.

  Zaryx forced himself to turn away from the well, to ignore the nagging whisper in his thoughts. His eyes landed on Eshka, who was standing at the edge of the clearing, his arms crossed, his posture unwavering like a mountain. His master's expression was unreadable, but Zaryx could sense the unspoken expectation hanging between them.

  "You’re still not focused," Eshka repeated, his tone no less harsh. "Your movements are sluggish, hesitant. Are you distracted by something?"

  Zaryx hesitated, his hand tightening around the spear's shaft. "I’m fine," he muttered.

  "Fine," Eshka echoed. He uncrossed his arms and took a few steps forward, his sandals scraping the dirt. "I’ve heard that one before. Fine isn’t enough, Zaryx. Do you understand the difference between those who live and those who die in this world? Focus. Strength. Resolve."

  Zaryx met his master's gaze. Eshka's eyes were as sharp as his voice, piercing through any fa?ade. Zaryx knew the weight of his words—he’d been training under this man for most of his life. Yet, for the first time in years, Zaryx felt a pull in his chest—a nagging sense of something beyond the village, something calling to him.

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  "You say that, Master," Zaryx replied slowly, "but do you ever wonder if we’re just—" he stopped himself, realizing how foolish it sounded. "Do you ever wonder if this is all there is? This village, these exercises? This life?"

  Eshka raised an eyebrow. "That’s the spirit of someone who has grown too comfortable. Too safe. You think there’s more out there?"

  Zaryx opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the sound of distant shouting. Both of them turned their heads in unison, their eyes narrowing instinctively.

  "Is something wrong?" Zaryx asked, his pulse picking up as he instinctively gripped the spear tighter.

  Eshka’s lips tightened into a thin line. "Stay here."

  Zaryx had trained long enough to know that the command wasn’t one that could be ignored. But he could also tell from the way Eshka’s eyes darted that something was wrong—something deeper than a simple disturbance.

  The shouting grew louder, now accompanied by the unmistakable clang of metal on metal.

  "Stay, Zaryx," Eshka repeated, his voice firm, though there was something else hidden in his tone. Something urgent. "Do not move until I return."

  Without another word, Eshka turned and sprinted toward the edge of the village, leaving Zaryx alone in the clearing, his breath shallow, eyes scanning the horizon. The quiet seemed to stretch unnervingly long, like the calm before a tempest.

  Seconds turned into minutes, and still, Zaryx stayed rooted in place, torn between obeying his master’s order and his own instincts. His feet itched to move, to act, to see what had caused the disturbance. He could hear the echo of metal clashing, the sharp cries of battle.

  Finally, he could bear it no longer. Against his better judgment, he dropped his spear and moved toward the edge of the clearing, the shadows of the forest closing in around him as he darted toward the village.

  The scene that unfolded before him was nothing like the usual petty brawls or training accidents that plagued Elist. A group of men in dark armor stood in the village square, their faces hidden behind metal masks. They were armed with jagged swords, and their presence seemed out of place, like phantoms emerging from the dark. At the center of the chaos was a figure clad in robes, her face hidden beneath the hood.

  Zaryx’s heart stopped.

  It was Kaelira.

  But why was she here?

  The last time Zaryx had seen her, she had been a member of the Cindros family—one of the most powerful martial families in the entire region. Their power came from the control of the "Tide of Flame," a force capable of both destruction and creation. He had no idea what she was doing here, but the intensity in her eyes told him that this was no simple visit.

  Before he could react, the group of armored men turned their attention to him, their dark eyes gleaming with recognition. A chill ran down Zaryx’s spine. Something about their presence was… wrong. He could feel the weight of an ancient energy in the air, and it wasn’t from any of the weapons they wielded.

  One of the armored men stepped forward, his voice harsh and grating. "You are the one, aren't you?" He didn’t wait for Zaryx to respond. "You are the one the Void has chosen."

  The world seemed to freeze for a heartbeat.

  Void?

  Zaryx’s blood ran cold. He had heard the rumors, the old tales from his master—tales about the Void, a mysterious and forbidden power that could destroy everything.

  Kaelira’s hood turned ever so slightly, and in that brief moment, their eyes met. There was a flicker of recognition in her gaze, but it quickly turned to one of warning.

  "Run," she mouthed.

  Before Zaryx could react, the armored men raised their weapons. The air itself seemed to crackle with malice. He could hear the distant whisper of something ancient, something that resonated deep within his soul.

  And then, without thinking, his body moved.

  ---

  To be continued…