Chapter 1: Prologue
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"You have run far enough."
The voice was heavy, carrying the authority of a man who had commanded legions and quelled entire rebellions. Standing tall in the center of the path was a titan of a man, his presence as oppressive as the iron helm covering his face. Clad in the crimson and gold of the Central Authority's elite, he gripped a Greatsteel Maul that seemed to pull the very light from the air.
The man opposite him gasped for air, his body trembling with exhaustion. "I didn't think I was worth the Commander's personal time... To have Drallis himself come to collect my head... I'm honored."
He spat a glob of blood onto the dirt, his fingers tightening around a jagged, bone-white blade. It was a terrifying weapon, crafted from materials that looked less like metal and more like the calcified remains of something from the deep. He had no elemental sparks, no swirling winds; he was a "silent" fighter, a man who had gained world-class infamy through nothing but sheer, lethal precision and the cold weight of his edge.
Without a word of warning, Drallis swung. The ground groaned as the massive hammer whistled through the air. The rogue threw himself to the side, the shockwave of the impact shattering the stone beneath his feet and sending debris flying like shrapnel.
"Attacking while I'm talking? How very 'orderly' of you, Commander," the rogue hissed, a dangerous smile hidden in the shadows of his hood.
"You are a stain on the Luminant," Drallis replied, his voice like grinding stone.
The Commander didn't wait. He swung the maul in a low, violent arc, the weapon screeching against the floor. The rogue leaped, performing a desperate mid-air recovery to stabilize himself. He didn't have the luxury of magic; he relied on raw, terrifying speed.
He lunged—a blur of black cloth—aiming the jagged white blade directly for the gap in Drallis's neck plating. It was a strike that would have ended any other man, but the Commander was a legend for a reason. He didn't dodge. He simply raised his gauntleted hand, catching the blade in his palm. The bone-like edge bit deep into the Commander's hand, but he held on, locking the weapon in place.
"Ugh..." The rogue's eyes widened. He was trapped.
Drallis's grip tightened, the sound of crushing bone echoing in the silence. As the Commander raised his Greatsteel Maul for the final, shattering execution, the world began to fade, the light of the sun swallowed by a sudden, freezing darkness.
...
"Aagh!"
A scream tore through the salt-heavy air of the beach.
Aspen jolted upright, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He was drenched in cold sweat, wearing a tattered, all-black outfit made of a resilient, unknown weave—the gear of someone who walked paths most feared to tread.
"What... where am I?" He looked around, his mind a blank slate. The white sands and the distant, rhythmic hum of the tides were completely alien to him.
[You are finally awake.]
A voice, cold and ancient, resonated within his skull. Aspen spun around, searching the empty shoreline, his hand instinctively reaching for a weapon that was no longer there.
[It seems Drallis has beaten the life from your lungs until you forgot your own name. Pathetic for someone with your... reputation.]
"Who are you? What are you talking about?!" Aspen yelled at the emptiness, his face pale with confusion and fear.
[It cannot be helped, Aspen. To regain your glory and mend your fractured soul, I shall accompany you. I am the Dreadstar... but you may call me Dread.] The voice sighed with a solemn, metallic ring. [Consider it a gift—your name is the only thing the Depths didn't swallow.]
Aspen whispered the name, feeling a strange, heavy familiarity with it. "Aspen... If you know who I am, then help me. Help me remember why a Commander wanted me dead."