The storm began as a whisper, a faint murmur in the sky, but it quickly became a roaring beast. Dark clouds swallowed the moon, blotting out stars one by one, and rain fell in sheets, drumming on the wooden rooftops like a relentless drum. The village of Eryndale, usually peaceful, seemed abandoned already, though it was only a few hours past dusk. A cold wind sliced through the streets, bending the young trees and carrying the scent of wet earth and wood smoke.
Inside a modest wooden house on the outskirts, **Arian** sat by the window, staring at the endless curtain of water. His fingers tapped nervously against the sill. He had always felt a certain emptiness inside—a hollow ache that seemed to grow stronger during storms. It was not loneliness; it was something deeper, a restless whisper from a part of him he could never reach. He pressed his palms against the glass, wishing, hoping, that tonight, somehow, he would find the reason behind it.
The first flash of crimson light tore across the night sky. Arian's heart jumped. He had seen lightning before, but never like this. This was different—thicker, more violent, as if the sky itself bled.
Then came the roar.
It was a sound that shook the ground beneath his feet, a deep vibration that rattled the plates on the table and cracked the window frame. Arian's breath caught. He pressed his body against the wall, but curiosity forced him forward. Another flash—this one closer, illuminating shapes that were not human.
Figures moved through the smoke—tall, twisted silhouettes with glowing eyes. Their movements were erratic, almost too fast for the human eye. They tore through houses and people alike, leaving fire and ash in their wake. Arian froze in horror, realizing that his village—the place where he had laughed, played, and grown up—was being erased as if it had never existed.
"Wh… what are those?" he whispered, unable to tear his gaze away.
One of the creatures lunged toward him. It moved with inhuman speed, black smoke trailing behind its limbs, claws extended like razors. Arian stumbled backward, tripping over a broken bench. He felt a surge in his chest, something he had never felt before—warmth, pressure, power. He didn't understand it. The creature leapt, its shadow stretching over him.
Then—a pulse. A wave of energy shot from his chest through his arms and palms. The creature disintegrated before it could touch him, turning into ash that the wind carried away. Arian staggered, wide-eyed, trembling. His hands had glowed faintly red just seconds ago, now nothing but pale flesh.
He didn't understand what had happened, but for the first time, he realized something inside him was… different.
By dawn, the storm had passed. The air was thick with smoke and wet earth. But the village was gone. Buildings were nothing but charred wood and ash. The river that ran through Eryndale had been tainted with blood. Arian wandered through the ruins, numb, his mind unable to process the horror. Everywhere he looked, he saw only death. Bodies lay where they had fallen, some still clutching weapons, others frozen in terror.
And yet… he was alive.
The emptiness he had always felt had grown deeper, now mixed with a cold, bitter sense of guilt. Why him? Why had he survived when everyone else had perished? He stumbled over a shattered fence, his boots sinking into mud and ash, and sank to his knees beside what had once been his home.
The sky was brightening, pale gray washing over the devastation, but there was no relief in the light. Only silence, broken by the occasional drip of water from the shattered roofs and the distant creaking of burning timbers. Arian's mind raced. He thought he might be dreaming, but the smell of smoke and iron in the air told him otherwise. Every memory of laughter, of family, of a normal childhood, was now smeared with red and black.
He closed his eyes and clenched his fists. His mind whispered one word over and over: survivor. But survivor meant nothing when the world had been erased.
A flashback hit him unexpectedly—a memory not his own, or perhaps a memory altered by trauma. A little boy with wide eyes hiding under a table as shadows passed overhead, flames licking at the walls. Arian gasped, opening his eyes. That wasn't him—or was it? He couldn't tell. The emptiness in his chest felt like it had grown larger, stretching across his ribcage like a void waiting to consume him.
As he wandered through the ruins, he felt a tingling sensation along his arms, like tiny threads of energy brushing against his skin. He shook violently, dismissing it as exhaustion and shock, but the feeling persisted, stronger now, pulsing with the rhythm of his heartbeat. For the first time, fear mingled with something else—a strange, electric anticipation.
It was then that he heard it—a voice, low and calm, carried over the ruins, yet somehow clear above the wind.
"He is the only one left," it said.
Another voice followed, sharper, analytical:
"His body… it radiates unstable energy."
Arian froze, heart hammering. He could see no one. But the voices… they were real. And then, from the shadows of the ruined houses, figures began to emerge—five cloaked silhouettes, moving with certainty and control. They were human, but their presence was different—commanding, almost otherworldly. Each wore a pendant carved with a symbol he did not recognize: a closed gate, etched in lines of silver that caught the first rays of dawn.
The oldest stepped forward. His hood fell back, revealing steel-gray hair and piercing eyes that seemed to look straight into Arian's soul.
"We are the **Guardians of the Fifth Gate**," he said, voice steady, resonant. "And you… were never supposed to awaken alone."
Arian tried to speak but his mouth was dry, words caught in his throat. Before he could respond, the world seemed to tilt and darkness closed in around him.
When he awoke, he was no longer in the ruins. Torches flickered along stone walls, casting dancing shadows over ancient runes etched into the floors and ceilings. The air smelled of damp stone and old incense. He was in a fortress, massive and hidden within a mountain. And he realized—he was no longer a boy from a small village. He was something else. Something bigger.
And the guardians… they had no intention of letting him leave.
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