The fire crackled in the dimly lit chamber, casting flickering shadows against the wall, the scent of burning oak and damp earth feel the air mingling with the heavy silence that was hung over the gathered crowd, they sat in a half-circle around the story teller, a hunched old man covered in tattered robes, his voice hoarse yet steady, carrying weight of centuries, Studied the young faces before him. He had seen many faces like them before, in time long past when the world still believed in its myth.
"you listen now" he grasped staring at the young faces around him, some eager some fearful "for you must know the truth before it swallow you whole."
He closed his eyes for a while as if reaching back through time itself, when he spoke again, his words were not merely a story-but a memory, He exhaled slowly as if he summoned strength to utter word which has been buried in time
"it all began in an age when magic was real, when the earth itself trembled at the call of those who wielded power beyond mortal understanding," magic was not myth then nor was it feared, it was woven into the bones of the world, a force as natural as the wind and the sea, there were kingdoms bathed in glorious light, civilizations who were ruled by those who had struck a fragile balance between forces beyond. "But where there is powered there is hunger, and where there is hunger there is ruins."
His fingers traced an invisible pattern at his feet, the silence deepened.
Valac'turr he breathed the name alone enough to make the flames waver. "The devour, the destroyer, the darkened shadow in the heart of the world".
Some of the listeners flinched. Other merely stared,entranced by the way his voice seemed to pull them into the past itself.
"it was not born of this world", he continued "it was summoned".
"I remembered the day it came". He co tinjed, his voice distant, as if he spoke from a cliff, as if he stood once more in the ruins of that doomed kingdom. His fingers curled against the dust at his feet, as if feeling the blood-soaked ground of a time long past. "it was not a thing of flesh, nor shadow, but something in between. It did not simply kill-it chose."
The fire flickered widely, as if recoiling from the memory.
"The weak?". He exhaled, shaking his head. "it butchered them. It did not linger, did not play with its prey–it ripped them apart, bones snapping like dry branches, flesh dissolving as if the very air rejected their existence." It did not slaughter out of rage, nor hunger. No... It was purging."
A few in the crowd flinched. The storyteller's gaze remained fixed on something unseen.
" But the strong?"His voice dropped lower, paced with something far worse than sorrow." It did not kill them. No, the strong it claimed. "
His eyes locked onto the young souls before him, piercing through them like the blade of an unseen dagger.
" it slithered into their minds, into their veins, into their very marrow. It filled them with its power, warped them into something.. Other. Their bodies twisted, their eyes burned black with something deeper than madness. They did not scream–they laughed. They fell to their knees, not in pain, but in reverence. And then... "he paused l, his fingers thigtening in the dust." then they turned on us. "
The chamber grew colder.
" I fought them,", he whispered, his voice like a blade drawn from its sheath." fought my own comrades, my own brothers and sisters. They moved like nightmares, faster, stronger, unbound by the limits of flesh. They did not fight for survival —they fought for Valac'turr. And when the fell they did not bleed they disappeared into thin dust."
The fire snapped violently, embers spitting into the dark.
" steel could not touch them. Fire could not burn them. They were not bound by flesh, nor soul, nor any law of nature. They laughed when we cut them, for their wounds did not matter. They rose again, hungrier, darker, less human than before." we tried everything. Blades. Magic. Fire. But nothing could kill what had already been taken."
Ahushfell over the chamber, thick as the weight of old grief. Then, the storyteller's voice turned sharp.
"Until we learned the truth. There was only one way to kill them."
"You could not cut them. You could not burn them. You could not break them. The possessed were bound to something far greater than flesh. They did not belong to this world, and so, only those touched by something beyond it could end them."
A few in the crowd gasped. The old man nodded grimly.
" There could only be slained by the gifted, the ones who carried power not born of steal or spellcraft, but of something far older, something deeper. They were the only ones who could sever the chains binding the possessed to their master, and without them... " he exhaled," The world was doomed. "
His gaze turned distant, heavy with centuries of sorrow.
The war lasted an eternity. It swallowed kingdoms, devoured empires. It turned brothers against sisters, fathers against sons. And for every one of us that fell, another rose in darkness—stronger, faster, unbound by mortal limits. We fought not just the enemy before us, but the very corruption that threatened to take us all."
The fire flickered violently, casting jagged shadows across the stone walls.
"They could not be slain by ordinary means. We struck them down, only to watch them rise again, laughing with voices that were not their own. But those among us who were gifted... they were different. Their power was like a fire that could not be extinguished. They alone could tear through the veil binding the possessed to their master. They alone could truly kill them."
He exhaled, as if reliving the horror.
"And so, the war became something else. A battle not just of flesh and steel, but of will. Of power. The gifted became our last hope, our only weapons against the tide of ruin. And with them, we stood against the dark."
The fire dimmed, shadows crawling higher.
"We fought until the heavens shattered, until the rivers ran red and the earth split to swallow the dead. And when all else had failed, we stood before it."
The listeners barely breathed.
"I was there," he whispered. "I saw the final battle. The end of an age. We were few, so few—but we carried the last spark of defiance. And against all reason, against all fate, we did what none thought possible."
His voice was barely more than a breath.
"We sealed Valac'turr away."
A shudder ran through the room, as if the very air recoiled from the words.
"Bound in chains not of metal, but of the world's very essence. A prison crafted from the bones of the fallen, the whispers of the dying, the final breath of those who would never see the dawn, deep within the oceans, as it was sealed so did the possess all fall. "
For a long moment, there was only silence. Then, softly, the old man spoke again.
"But nothing sealed is sealed forever."
The flames dimmed.
"The world has forgotten its past, but the past has not forgotten the world."
His gaze sharpened, searching the faces before him. "The omens have returned. You know them. The restless winds. The darkened skies. The whispers in the stone. The shadows that move when no one is there."
The listeners nodded. Some reluctantly. Others filled with quiet dread.
"The seal weakens," he murmured, his voice like a dying ember. "And the power that once vanquished it... stirs again."
No one moved. No one breathed.
"There are those who will embrace this darkness," the old man said, his voice unreadable. "Who will let it shape them, twist them, make them more than human and less than alive. And there are those who will stand against it, as we once did."
His eyes darkened.
"But the choice is not as simple as you think." He leaned forward, the firelight casting deep, cavernous shadows across his ancient face. "Because power does not ask for loyalty. It only takes. And once it has you..."
His voice dropped to a whisper, so soft that the silence itself seemed to lean in.
"You do not come back."
The fire flared, wild and hungry, licking at the air as if tasting it.
For a long moment, no one spoke.