The sun rose over the village, but its light did little to soothe the ruin left behind. Eryan sat outside the inn, black blade resting against his shoulder, its pulse faint but relentless, a silent reminder of the power he had barely controlled.
Selene knelt beside him, damp cloth in hand, tending to the cuts that remained. Her hair fell across her face, catching the morning light. "You pushed yourself too far," she whispered, pressing gently against his shoulder.
Eryan grunted, closing his eyes. "I couldn't let him… destroy everything. Not again."
Selene's fingers brushed against his chest accidentally, and she quickly looked away, cheeks flushed. "Just… don't do this alone. You can't."
He opened his eyes, meeting hers. For a moment, the world felt calm. But the black blade throbbed against his grip, the whispers faintly echoing in his mind. More… more power…
Eryan stood, testing the weight of the cursed blade. Each movement sent a jolt through his body, muscles screaming in protest. He knew he was stronger than before, but Kael had been faster, sharper. He couldn't rely on raw strength alone.
"I need to train," he said finally, voice firm. "If Kael comes back, I can't be just strong. I need to be… unmatched."
Selene's eyes widened. "Train? After everything? You're barely standing!"
"I'll survive," he replied, smirking faintly, though the exhaustion was evident in the slump of his shoulders. "I have to."
Selene sighed but nodded, helping him inside. "Fine. But I'm staying with you. You're not doing this alone."
The first weeks of training were grueling. Eryan worked tirelessly at his forge, hammering metal with relentless focus. The cursed blade fed on his blood, shaping weapons mid-crafting, enhancing their lethality. Each swing, each strike, was a step toward mastery—but also a step deeper into the blade's whispers.
The villagers noticed the change in him. He moved with a predator's precision, eyes sharper, aura heavier. Some whispered fearfully that he had become more machine than man.
Selene stayed close, often sitting on the edge of the forge, monitoring him. Sometimes she brushed ash from his arms, other times offering small words of encouragement. The intimacy was quiet but grounding; her presence reminded him of what he was fighting for, and of who he was still capable of being.
Late one night, as Eryan pounded molten steel into a long, curved sword, a vision came to him. In the sparks of the forge, he saw Kael, surrounded by dark figures—mercenaries, shadowy warriors, and creatures of unnatural strength.
Kael's voice echoed, calm and chilling: "You cannot escape the forge, boy. Every swing you take brings you closer… to your end."
Eryan's grip tightened, sweat and blood mixing on his hands. "I will surpass you," he growled, striking the blade against the anvil. Sparks flew, illuminating his determined face.
The cursed blade pulsed violently, and for a moment, it almost seemed alive, its veins of red light writhing across its surface. It hummed with power… and hunger.
Weeks passed. Eryan trained relentlessly, forging weapons that could shift mid-battle, learning to synchronize his strikes with the cursed blade's whispers without losing control.
Selene joined him in mock sparring sessions, often wielding a small dagger or short sword. Though she wasn't a blacksmith or a warrior by trade, her agility and heart gave Eryan a reminder of humanity amidst the darkness. Occasionally, during a pause, their closeness sparked a blush or an unspoken tension—her fingers lingering on his arm, his eyes catching hers in fleeting moments of intimacy.
During one such pause, she teased, "Maybe one day you'll stop training like a maniac and let me teach you a few moves."
Eryan smirked, the corner of his lips curling faintly. "Maybe… if you survive the first swing."
Her eyes sparkled with determination and something softer, as though daring him to try.
Beyond the village, ominous signs appeared. Traders reported raiders carrying Kael's sigil; townsfolk spoke of monstrous creatures moving in the dark forests. Rumors whispered of a shadowed guild that Kael had allied with, and of a greater war looming beyond their small village.
Eryan realized: Kael was not acting alone. Every step of his training would be tested, and the next encounter would not just be a duel—it would be a battle with a force that could consume the entire region.
Standing at the forge one night, sweat and soot on his skin, Eryan grasped the cursed blade tightly. Its whispers were louder than ever.
Soon…
He clenched his teeth, a flame of determination igniting in his chest. "Then I'll be ready," he said to himself. "I'll forge my own destiny… and face him, no matter what it costs."
Selene's hand found his shoulder again, grounding him, a silent promise that they would face the storm together.
Outside, the winds carried ash and the faintest hint of smoke. The shadow of Kael's influence was spreading. The war was coming. And Eryan was preparing to meet it head-on.
The sun dipped low, painting the village in blood-orange hues, but Eryan barely noticed. He stood at the edge of the training grounds, the cursed black blade held loosely, yet pulsing with anticipation. The past weeks of relentless forging and sparring had honed his strength, but the whispers of the blade grew stronger, insistent.
Faster… harder… stronger… kill…
Eryan's jaw clenched. He knew he could not fully give in. Each swing of the blade now required a delicate balance between control and fury. A single lapse, and the cursed steel would take over completely, leaving only destruction in its wake.
Selene stepped forward, a small dagger in hand. Her face was flushed from exertion, yet her eyes were sharp. "You're pushing yourself too far. Even now, you're barely holding it together."
Eryan smirked faintly, though exhaustion tugged at his features. "I have to. Kael is out there. He's not waiting, and neither can I."
She frowned, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "And if you lose yourself completely? If the blade consumes you?"
He caught her gaze, and for a moment, the world outside the forge melted away. "Then I'll trust you to pull me back," he said softly.
Selene's cheeks flushed. She pressed her hand lightly against his chest, grounding him. "I… I'll be here," she whispered.
The training intensified. Eryan experimented with new techniques: forging while swinging, channeling his own blood into the steel, shaping weapons mid-combat. The cursed blade seemed to respond to his will, morphing, extending, even slicing through solid iron with unnatural precision.
But the more he pushed, the more the whispers gnawed at his mind. Each swing brought visions of Kael, his red eyes burning, mercenaries and monsters at his command, the village in flames. The cursed steel hummed in anticipation.
Eryan's muscles screamed, exhaustion threatening to collapse him, but he forced himself to continue. Sparks flew, flames danced across the forge, and blood dripped onto the molten metal, mixing with sweat and ash.
Selene watched quietly, sometimes interjecting with a suggestion, sometimes simply grounding him with her presence. Occasionally, she would adjust his stance, brush a cut from his skin, or place her hand briefly on his shoulder. The proximity sent a shiver through both of them, unspoken feelings lingering in the small touches.
One evening, after a particularly grueling session, Eryan collapsed onto the cold stone floor. His body shook from exertion, sweat and blood dripping onto the ground. The cursed blade pulsed violently beside him, veins of red light crawling across its surface.
Selene knelt beside him, pressing cool water to his lips, her hand steady on his arm. "You're overdoing it," she chided softly, though her concern was evident.
Eryan coughed, tasting iron in his mouth. "I have to… I can't let Kael win. Not ever."
Selene's eyes softened. "Then you fight with me at your side. Not just the blade. With me."
Her closeness was a balm to his frayed mind. For a moment, the whispers were silenced, replaced with something human, something worth fighting for.
The calm didn't last.
From the edge of the forest, faint rumblings reached the village. Shadows moved unnaturally, and faint blue flames flickered in the distance. Traders and scouts reported signs of Kael's guild: monstrous creatures, armored riders, and raiders moving stealthily toward the village.
Eryan rose immediately, the cursed blade thrumming in anticipation. "He's coming… faster than I thought."
Selene grabbed his arm. "Then we prepare. Together. Whatever comes, we face it."
A group of villagers gathered with crude weapons, ready to defend their home. Eryan's presence bolstered their morale. The cursed blade was a terrifying sight, but it symbolized hope—he would stand between them and annihilation.
Training became survival.
Eryan now combined his Blacksmith techniques with combat strategies: forging weapons mid-battle, enhancing armor, and using the cursed blade's whispers to anticipate enemy movements without succumbing to it. Each swing, each hammer strike, honed his reflexes and increased his stamina beyond human limits.
But the strain was immense. Every night, Selene helped him treat his wounds. Occasionally, during moments of weakness, she pressed her body against his to stabilize him, lingering just long enough to remind him why he fought—not just for survival, but for the bonds he cherished.
During one particularly quiet night, she whispered, "Promise me you won't let it take you. Not completely."
Eryan held her hands, their fingers intertwined, and nodded. "I promise. For you… for everyone."
Days passed, and the rumblings of Kael's guild grew louder. Reports of raided villages, slaughtered patrols, and monstrous beasts moving toward the region were constant. Eryan realized the next confrontation would not just test his skill, but his humanity.
Standing atop the training grounds, black blade in hand, Eryan gazed toward the distant forest. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the land.
Kael is coming, he whispered. And I'll be ready.
Selene stood beside him, eyes glinting with determination. "We'll face him together," she said, pressing a hand to his shoulder, grounding him.
The cursed blade pulsed violently in response, sensing the impending battle, the blood yet to be spilled.
Eryan tightened his grip. "Then let the world burn. I'll forge my destiny with my own hands."
From the forest, a dark shape moved, faster than any normal man, its aura radiating malice. The first wave of Kael's guild had arrived.
And the war… was about to escalate.
Kael's guild and monstrous allies are approaching the village, setting up the next large-scale battle,