The Krenvar Forest loomed beneath the pale moon, its trees like ancient giants frozen in silent prayer. Twisted roots jutted from the earth like clawing fingers scraping at the air, wrapped in moss that glowed with a sickly pale green light, as if harboring secrets from ages long buried. Mist crept between the black and wet trunks, carrying the scent of rotting earth, decomposing leaves, and something darker—the smell of ancient blood, like memories of battles never told. The wind whispered, not with nature's voice, but with a tone far older, like a lullaby from a dead world, full of temptation and threat. Kael Varnis, whose small body was only two years old, stepped carefully over the dried leaves, his tiny feet nearly soundless. His eyes, too intelligent for a toddler, swept the darkness with cold calculation. Within him, the soul of Nargil, the God of Manipulation, pulsed, his arrogance still burning like embers refusing to die, driving him toward the forest that all the people of Krenvar Village feared.
Kael knew he shouldn't be here. Mira, his mother, would faint if she knew her child had snuck into a place the villagers considered a nest of death. Legends whispered of creatures—monsters that dwelled within this forest, beings that could tear apart the village in a single night. But Kael was no ordinary child. His mind was a labyrinth of strategy, every step calculated like moves on an invisible chessboard. The night before, when he had stood at the forest's edge and seen the glint of scales in the darkness, he had heard a calling—a heartbeat that belonged to no human, summoning him like a victory song from his past life as Nargil. He had once commanded creatures more terrifying than any forest monster, controlling them with threads of thought he wove with the arrogance of a god. If he wanted to protect Mira and Gavern, his family, from the clutches of the Dravholt Kingdom, he had to begin building his power. This forest was his first step, and Nargil's pride—though it had destroyed him once—urged him to believe he could conquer anything here.
The air grew heavier, as if the world held its breath, and Kael felt vibrations in his chest, a mixture of human fear and Nargil's arrogant confidence. He stopped in a small clearing in the middle of the forest, surrounded by trees whose trunks were smeared with black fluid like dried blood. Moonlight slipped through gaps in the canopy, creating dancing shadow patterns like lost souls. Before him, between two ancient trees whose roots coiled like serpents, something moved. Kael held his breath, his eyes catching a shadow that had no fixed form—its body swayed like smoke, sometimes resembling a human, sometimes an animal, with red eyes that glowed like coals in hell's furnace. This creature was no mere monster; it was an embodiment of the forest's darkness, something older than the village, perhaps older than the gods themselves. Kael felt his heart pounding rapidly, but his mind remained sharp, calculating every detail: the smoke's movement patterns, the gleam in the creature's eyes, and the faint but real aura of fear.
"You called me," said Kael, his voice small but full of power, like a blade hidden beneath silk cloth. "Show yourself, or I will make you regret it." The words were chosen carefully, reflecting Nargil's arrogance that still flowed in his veins. He knew this creature could sense the remnants of divine power within him, and he would use that as a weapon. With intelligence terrifying for a child his age, Kael began searching for invisible threads, threads of thought he had once mastered as Nargil. They were there, faint and fragile like spider webs beneath a storm, wrapped around the shadow creature. He pulled at those threads with his mind, trying to force the creature to submit, imagining himself as Nargil in the Crystal Tower, controlling gods with a single finger's movement.
For a moment, the creature's red eyes flickered, its smoky body trembling as if ready to kneel. Kael smiled, Nargil's arrogance surging within him—he was still a god, despite this small body. He could feel the creature's mind beginning to surrender, like a door cracking under pressure. But then, the creature roared, its voice shaking the trees until leaves fell like black rain. The threads of thought snapped, and Kael stumbled backward, his small feet dragging on the ground. His body trembled, his breathing labored, and his head throbbed from exhaustion. His power wasn't enough yet, and the arrogance that drove him to try—the trait that had destroyed Nargil in his previous life—nearly killed him again.
The shadow creature stepped closer, its smoke forming claws that gleamed like obsidian. "You are weak, little god," it hissed, its voice like wind passing through empty caves, full of mockery. "You think you can control me with threads you can't even hold?" Kael gritted his teeth, anger mixing with shame. But his mind, sharp as a blade, didn't give up. He observed the creature carefully: its unstable smoke patterns, the gleam in its eyes that flickered faster when it said "little god," and the faint scent of fear hidden beneath its arrogance. This creature was afraid—not of Kael, but of something greater, something lurking in the forest's depths.
With unnatural intelligence, Kael changed his strategy. Nargil's manipulation power might be weak, but lies were weapons that required no physical strength. "If you kill me," he said, his voice calm despite his pounding heart, "you will remain trapped in this forest, hunted by stronger creatures. I know what stalks you—Zorath, the ancient wyrm that destroys everything." He was lying, of course, having only heard Zorath's name from village stories, but he spoke it with a god's conviction, every word carved to pierce doubt. "Follow me, and I will give you the power to fight Zorath. Refuse me, and you will perish."
The creature stopped, its eyes narrowing, its smoke swaying more slowly. Kael knew he hadn't won yet, but he had planted the seeds of doubt—the first step in manipulation. His mind was already planning the next move: he would study this creature, find its weaknesses, and make it a pawn in his game against Dravholt. But before he could speak again, a familiar voice shattered the forest's silence.
"Kael!" Mira ran through the mist, her face pale as death, her jet-black hair flowing like a night cloak. Her green eyes were full of fear, tears streaming down her cheeks as she saw her child standing in the middle of the forbidden forest. The shadow creature vanished into the mist, leaving only the echo of its hiss in the air. Mira fell to her knees, hugging Kael tightly until his small body nearly disappeared in her embrace. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice breaking like glass. "This forest will kill you! You... you are everything to me!"
Kael looked at his mother, his childlike eyes hiding thoughts too old. He could manipulate Mira now, make her believe he was just lost, but something within him—remnants of humanity beginning to grow—made him hesitate. Mira's embrace was warm, full of genuine love, and for a moment, Kael felt like an ordinary child, not a god thirsting for revenge. But his intelligence quickly took over. He had to maintain Mira's trust, at least until he was strong enough to protect her. "I wanted to see the moon, Mother," he said, a small lie spoken in an innocent tone, his eyes widening to reinforce the illusion. Mira sighed in relief and carried him home, unaware that her child had just challenged a monster and nearly conquered it.
In their small hut, Gavern waited at the threshold, his face full of worry and anger. "You frightened your mother, Kael," he said, his voice rough but full of affection, his calloused hands ruffling his child's hair. Kael only nodded, his mind busy analyzing. He observed how Gavern held Mira's shoulder, the tone of their voices when mentioning Dravholt, and the tension in the air growing thicker. That kingdom was a real threat, and Kael knew, with his terrifying intelligence, that Lord Vren's emissaries would return with more cruel demands. He had to prepare, not just to protect his family, but to turn the game against Dravholt.
That night, when Mira and Gavern slept, Kael sat in the corner of the hut, staring at the candle shadows dancing on the cracked wooden walls. Nargil's memories haunted him: his arrogance in the Crystal Tower, when he played with other gods' minds without caring about consequences, until betrayal destroyed him. "I will not fall again," he murmured, his voice small but full of venom. But in his heart, he felt a new conflict: Mira and Gavern's love was a shackle that weakened him, yet also a strength that made him want to survive. He wanted to protect them, but Nargil's arrogance drove him to destroy everything—Dravholt, the gods who betrayed him, even the world if necessary.
Outside, the wind carried faint howls from the Krenvar Forest, like an unfinished call. In his dreams that night, Kael heard the shadow creature's whispers, a voice like poison seeping into his soul. "You can become a god again," it said. "But you must pay the price: release your humanity, or you will lose everything." Kael woke, his eyes blazing in the darkness, his breathing heavy. He smiled, not a child's smile, but the smile of a god who knew the manipulation game had begun—and this time, he would play it more cleverly, or the world would pay the price.
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