The battlefield was silent, but the world was not.
Far beyond the broken temple, across the mountains and deep into the abyssal folds of forgotten lands, something ancient stirred.A presence older than the gods themselves.A slumbering nightmare, awakening because of him.
Alan Grey.
The one who had broken the ordained path.
*****
Alan leaned against a crumbling wall, eyes closed, breathing slowly.
The last threads of the forbidden rune's magic coiled inside him like a sleeping serpent. He could feel it, whispering promises of even greater strength… if only he would let it take root.
Seris sat nearby, sharpening her daggers absently but watching him out of the corner of her eye.
Kraevok was fixing his armor with rough patches and curses.
No one spoke.
The air was too thick with change.
Finally, Seris broke the silence.
"You heard it too, didn't you?" she asked quietly.
Alan opened his eyes, meeting her gaze.
Those blue eyes were not the same as before.They shimmered faintly, not just with magic, but with something deeper—something dangerous.
"The voice?" he said. "Yes."
Kraevok grunted. "Great. More cryptic nonsense."
Alan stood slowly, his black hair falling across his forehead. His medieval clothing—once neat—was now torn and bloodstained, but he wore it like a king wears armor.
"It wasn't just a voice," Alan said. "It was a summons."
Seris frowned. "From who?"
Alan looked toward the distant horizon where dark clouds still swirled unnaturally.
"Not from a god. Not from anything that simple.""Something older. Forgotten. Imprisoned long before the gods ruled."
Kraevok shifted uncomfortably. "Why would it summon you?"
Alan smiled faintly—a grim, knowing smile.
"Because I broke a law older than existence itself."
*****
That night, they made camp at the edge of a dead forest.
The trees were skeletal, their branches clawing at the sky.
The fire crackled weakly, barely able to pierce the oppressive darkness around them.
Alan sat apart from the others, katana resting across his knees, eyes half-lidded as he listened.
And he heard them.
Whispers.
Soft at first.
Then louder.
Voices not meant for mortal ears.
They spoke in tongues Alan shouldn't have understood—but he did.
"The gate weakens...""The chains break...""Come to us, Heir of Ruin...""Claim what is yours..."
Alan tightened his grip on the katana.
Each word made his blood sing.
A part of him—small, but growing—wanted to listen.Wanted to answer.
He could already imagine it.
Power beyond comprehension.Freedom beyond destiny.A world his to remake.
But he also knew the price.
The more he listened, the less human he would become.
Would he still be Alan Grey?
Or something else entirely?
He closed his eyes, centering himself.
He wasn't ready.Not yet.
*****
The next morning, the whispers faded.
But something had changed.
The marks of forbidden magic on his body had deepened, becoming more intricate, more beautiful—and infinitely more dangerous.
When Seris saw him, she flinched before catching herself.
Kraevok just grunted and muttered something about "damn magic users."
Alan simply adjusted the strap of his sword.
He had made a choice—for now.
He would master this power.
Use it.
Control it.
But never be ruled by it.
Not yet.
As they set out toward their next destination, Alan couldn't shake the feeling.
The gods were watching.
The ancient darkness was waiting.
And soon, he would have to decide:
Would he be a slayer of gods... or their replacement?