Chapter 6
Ashen gasped as pain tore through his head.
His hands flew to his skull, pressing hard as if he could hold the pain inside. The forest tilted. His vision spun. The rain on his skin blurred into nothing. The ground beneath his knees felt distant, soft, unreal. His breath grew shallow.
Then the visions came.
They did not creep in gently. They crashed into him like a storm.
They were not his memories.
The first image opened like a door. He stood in a small village. It was built of old wood and rough stone. The paths were uneven and filled with puddles. The roofs were patched with straw and moss. Smoke rose from crooked chimneys, carrying the scent of burning wood.
Children ran barefoot through the muddy road. Their laughter was light, but it carried a thinness, like a sound already fading. A wind swept through, cold and heavy, bending the trees at the edge of the village.
And there, in the corner near an old hut, was a boy.
His clothes were torn. His body thin and fragile. His hair clung to his forehead from the rain. His eyes were hollow, staring at a basket of bread sitting on a table near the market stalls. His lips trembled with hunger. His stomach clenched.
Whispers came from nearby.
People pointed at him. No one came near him.
The boy pulled his legs to his chest, curling up under the eaves of the hut. Rain ran down the roof in a steady rhythm, dripping on his hair. No one offered shelter. No one looked at him twice.
Ashen couldn't understand why but he felt the boy's pain as if it were his own. The cold hunger, the quiet, crushing loneliness. His breath seized. He did not know why his chest hurt so much, but it did.
The vision shifted.
Now the night had fallen. The village square burned bright with torches. A crowd gathered around a stone altar stained with something dark. The air was thick with the smell of wet earth, blood, and smoke. Men in dark robes stood in a circle, their faces painted with strange marks. Their voices rose together, chanting in low, heavy tones.
The villagers were praying, but it was not a prayer of love. It was a prayer of fear.
At the center of it all, the boy stood with his wrists tied. His head hung low. His eyes were empty. He did not cry. He did not resist.
A man stepped forward. He wore a long gray cloak and a carved mask marked with divine symbols. His presence silenced the crowd.
The Messenger of the Gods.
"This offering shall be given to the Divine," he said in a deep voice. "So that our lands remain safe."
The villagers lowered their heads. They were not thinking of the boy. They were thinking of themselves.
Ashen saw it through the boy's eyes. He felt the cold rope cutting into the boy's skin. He felt the weight of their stares.
The Messenger placed a hand on the boy's chest. He whispered an old chant, words that hummed through the air like a broken song. A weak light flickered around the boy, faint and small. Then it sputtered out.
The Messenger froze.
"The Divine rejects this one."
A wave of whispers spread through the crowd.
"His soul is tainted with destruction that will bring disaster to this village"
The Messenger looked at the boy as if he was dirt.
"Cast him out."
The boy was dragged through the mud, away from the torches, away from the village. The rain poured harder. No one looked at him. No one spoke his name.
They dragged him into the forest and threw him to the ground.
"Let the beasts have him," the Messenger said.
The boy lay in the dirt. His breath was thin. The cold wrapped around him like a sheet. His eyes stared into the darkness as if waiting for death.
But before the memory ended, something else came. A voice. A whisper. A name.
He remembered his parents.
For the first time, the images were clear.
A woman with soft eyes and a man with broad shoulders stood before a roaring beast. Their blades were stained with blood. They did not run. They fought. Their bodies were broken and burned, but they stood their ground.
They fought for the village.
Ashen saw the night they died. The beast was slain. The village was saved. The people cried with joy. But they did not cry for the parents. They cried because they were safe.
And their only son, the boy who should have been honored, was cast aside like trash.
Because he had no one left to protect him.
Ashen's chest burned. His heart pounded hard against his ribs. The rage rose like a black tide. It came without warning.
He saw their faces. Those who whispered. Those who dragged the boy. Those who sacrificed him to save their own lives. They owed everything to the blood of his parents. Yet they threw him away.
He clenched his fists until his nails dug into his palms. His breathing grew ragged.
His body shook with anger.
The night grew quiet.
A deer grazing nearby jerked its head up, its ears twitching. Its body tensed. A flock of birds took flight from the trees, their wings loud in the silence. A rabbit bolted across the wet ground without a sound.
They could feel it.
Something dark was moving inside Ashen. It was not strength but a deadly aura. It was like a storm pressing down on everything near him.
Ashen rose slowly to his feet. His hands dropped to his sides, trembling slightly. His silver eyes glowed faintly in the dark. His breaths came steady now, but the hate inside him did not fade.
He did not fully understand why this rage burned so fiercely. Maybe it was because these memories now lived inside him. Maybe it was because the void had changed him, stripped away his humanity that once existed.
Or maybe it was because the betrayal was real.
They had used his parents. Then discarded their son.
Ashen lifted his head. The rain fell hard, soaking his face. His wet hair clung to his forehead, but he did not move to wipe it away.
He no longer felt cold.
He no longer cared about what humans felt.
Whether they lived or died was no longer his concern. Their cries would not reach him. Their pain would not matter to him anymore.
Something inside him had snapped.
The fox peeking out from behind a tree saw his face and froze. Its small body trembled. Then it turned and fled into the shadows.
Ashen exhaled slowly. The pain in his head faded, leaving a hollow stillness. He looked at his hands, feeling the faint pulse of something deep beneath his skin.
The forest was silent now. Every creature had gone still.
But he could never forget the pains he felt.
He would carry these memories. And in their silence, he would remember how they betrayed him. He would surely get his revenge.
The world had turned its back on him once.
He would never give it the chance to do so again.