There was no wind in the Valley of Hollow Eyes.
Only silence—and the distant sound of something breathing beneath the earth.
The mountain air should have been sharp, cold, biting. But here, everything was still. No birds. No insects. Even the trees looked petrified, their bark scorched black, their branches curling inward like twisted fingers mourning the sky.
He stood alone at the valley's center.
A boy. No—a young man, barely past seventeen. He wore the remnants of a school uniform under a long coat smeared with dirt, dried blood, and the ash of bones that hadn't belonged to him.
His right hand trembled—not from fear, but from something worse: restraint.
Around him, thirteen shrines formed a loose circle, each one cracked or half-collapsed. Cursed symbols flickered across them in red and violet, then vanished like breath on glass. Burnt talismans fluttered in the air like forgotten prayers.
He didn't look at the shrines.
He stared at the body on the altar.
It wasn't recent. The decay had long set in—skin shrunken, eyes hollow, chest caved in as though the heart had tried to escape long after death.
Still, the body pulsed faintly with cursed energy. Residual. Ancient. Wrong.
He knelt beside it, unrolling the cloth bundle he had carried on his back for three days without rest.
Inside:
A dagger carved from obsidian and white bone.
A vial of his own blood.
Three fingernails from the corpse's hand.
A scroll written in a dead language only the damned could read.
And a contract.
His fingers paused over the scroll. For a moment, doubt surfaced—small, human.
Then he looked at the scar across his left shoulder. A mark from another ritual, another mistake. He traced it with his thumb before clenching his fist.
No turning back. Not anymore.
He began to chant—not in words, but in meaning. His voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. The valley listened.
The ground shook. Wind returned, but it screamed instead of whispering. The altar glowed, the corpse twitched, and the air grew heavy with Essence—not just cursed energy, but true Essence, the kind that demanded payment before it listened.
His eyes bled. Not tears. Not blood. Something in between.
Still, he continued.
"What you sacrifice is what you become."
The first law of Binding echoed in his mind. The scroll burst into black flame. The dagger hummed. The corpse exhaled.
He sliced his palm and let the blood drip onto the altar.
Something answered.
It came not with words but weight—like a god pressing a single finger to the space between his eyes.
Images flashed across his vision. Memories that weren't his. A woman with antlers weeping beside a lake of fire. A city that bled curses from every window. A boy with no face, whispering names that were never born.
Then silence.
And in the silence: a question.
What do you offer, mortal?
He swallowed.
Then spoke.
"My breath. Until I learn to deserve it."
"My name. Until someone says it without fear."
"My soul. If I ever seek power for power's sake."
The shrines ignited—violet flames that burned without heat. The ground cracked open beneath the altar, revealing an abyss of spiraling runes and skeletal hands.
The pact was accepted.
And with it, a mark appeared on his chest—a burning glyph shaped like a closed eye.
He gasped, collapsed to his knees. His vision blurred, and for a moment he thought he had died.
Then the world returned—sharper than before. The trees breathed. The earth murmured. He felt everything.
The Essence of the valley flowed into him—not as a gift, but as a debt.
And somewhere inside his mind, a system awoke.
[Binding Contract Initiated]
Access Granted: Domain Potential – "Oblivion Vein"
Innate Technique Latent
Cursed Essence Level: Undefined
Warning: Cost Unpaid
Penalty Active
The boy—still unnamed—stood slowly. His bones ached. His shadow moved without him for a heartbeat.
He looked at his hand. It no longer trembled.
The price of breathing had been paid—for now.
But in the distance, beyond the dead mountains, something had noticed the ritual.
It smiled.
And began to move.
🌀 End of Prologue