Rivan dragged his feet along the rocky path, the cold wind biting at his skin. The villagers' laughter echoed behind him, sharp and merciless.
"Look at him! The weakling again!" someone shouted.
He clenched his fists, but his strength was nothing. Not yet. Not ever, at least so it seemed. His sister's worried eyes followed him from the doorway of their small stone house. His father lay silent, trapped in a coma, while his mother… her absence was a hole in their lives no one spoke of.
The mountains seemed alive that evening. Shadows twisted unnaturally, and the wind carried whispers that weren't quite wind. Rivan shivered. He hated the darkness, the entities that hid within it… but deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that one day, he would walk among them—not as prey, but as something else.
A faint glow flickered in the forest below, almost unnoticed, yet unmistakably unnatural. Somewhere out there, the secret society watched, their mystical energy keeping the villagers safe… for now.
And Rivan had no idea that this night, the first thread of his destiny had begun to weave.