Tales of the Linchpin

It was that dream again. He hated when it happened. He didn't understand anything about it, only a suffocating darkness stretching out endlessly. No light, no warmth, no hope. Just a vast, empty nothingness pressing down on him until he felt himself fading away.

David woke up with a pounding headache, as usual. Those strange dreams always left his mornings dizzy and heavy. Come to think of it, his mornings were always miserable: the pungent stench of animal dung, the constant, coarse noise of the quarters… but he was used to it now.

He forced himself up early, moving before the plantation instructor could find him and deliver a morning beating. Stepping out of the cramped animal shelter, the biting cold of the morning wind slapped his skin, bringing a brief, fresh sensation. Too bad everything waiting ahead would turn good into bad. In his world, nothing good ever lasted.

Suddenly, the heavy iron bells began to toll across the compound—the daily command for all the slaves to report for morning duties.

David walked through the dry, dusty fields as the sun rose above the jagged mountains, its brightness shining across the bleak landscape. He eventually reached his master's house. It was a massive, pristine estate, far too beautiful for people like him to ever dream of living in.

His master's name was Jeric. He was one of the richest men in the remote village of Imo, blessed with vast farmlands and massive herds. He owned twenty-five slaves who served him tirelessly under the heat of the sun. David was merely one of them. Once Jeric owned you, your rights, your life, your fate—everything belonged to him. Slavery was common in this land; it was a normal mechanic of trade, a part of making money. People like David were simply unlucky enough to be caught in its jaws.

SLAM.

A heavy, calloused hand violently struck the side of David's face, spinning his head around. It was one of the instructors.

"Go faster!" he shouted in David's ear, his voice furious and spitting with rage.

David didn't respond. He hurried to where the other slaves stood and quietly joined the line. The other laborers intentionally kept their distance, casting fearful, sideways glances at his face. They all knew him as "the demon in human clothes"—all because of his eyes.

His right eye was a piercing, crystal white; his left was a deep, blood-red. It was an unnatural, striking sight. Because of it, he was treated like he wasn't human at all, like he was one of those dark creatures that brought horror and ruin to the world.

After they finished cleaning the master's house, they were ordered to gather outside in the courtyard. The master wanted to make an announcement. They rushed out into formation and waited. Then Jeric appeared, standing proudly on the elevated wooden balcony of his house, looking down like a god reigning over his domain.

"Silence!" the instructor barked, slamming his staff against the earth. The crowd went completely still.

"Good morning, children," Jeric began, his voice smooth and cold. "As of today, half of you will no longer farm inside the safe village fields. You will be reassigned to the perimeter fields outside the village walls."

Tension and terrified whispers surged through the group like wildfire. The horrific stories of the terrors roaming beyond those reinforced walls struck absolute fear into every heart in the village, and now they were being sent directly into it.

"B-but master… what about the creatures of hell outside the walls?" a desperate voice called out from the crowd.

"Do not be afraid," Jeric replied calmly, dismissive of the man's terror. "Armed guards will escort you and protect you. You will go out safely and return safely. If you are selected, you must go. The rest will stay inside."

The instructor stepped forward, his eyes scanning the trembling lines. He began pointing at people randomly, his finger acting like a death sentence. Those picked were already shaking, their bodies trembling and hands unsteady.

Then David heard the harsh voice cut through the air: "You with those freakish eyes, come forward."

David stepped out of the line without a single word, his expression sharp and unfazed as he joined the exiled group. One of the nearby slaves whispered to another, "Look at him… he doesn't even look afraid. He really is a demon."

It was nothing new. He had been hearing those exact words for as long as he could remember: demon, child of the devil, walking calamity. He had long since grown numb to it.

After half the group was separated, heavy iron chains were brought out, and they were prepared to leave. They marched through the dusty village streets under the watchful glare of the townsfolk. Every eye followed them, but mostly, they stared at David. His mismatched eyes always grabbed their fear and hatred. Whispers trailed behind them. Some called it suicide. Others joked. A few tried to justify it.

They finally reached the outer village gate. It rose high and thick, a massive wooden barrier reinforced with iron plating, with stone walls stretching around the entire settlement to separate humanity from the wilderness. The gatekeepers saw them approach and began turning the heavy winches.

Chains rattled violently beneath the dirt, and slowly, the massive gate creaked open. Raw fear crept through the other slaves, but this was their path now.

For the first time in his life, David saw the world outside properly—endless, untamed lands stretching far beyond the horizon, so much to see… and so many terrifying things that kept men from venturing far. For him, the heavy chains dragging at his ankles were the biggest hindrance.

The instructor's voice shattered the silence, explaining the rules. "Stay close to the designated fields. Do your work. Do not, under any circumstances, cross the outer boundary line."

The back-breaking labor began. A few armored guards sat lazily under the shade of a distant tree, drinking from waterskins. Hours bled away. The sun grew blindingly hot, and the work was brutal. David labored without a single drop of water or food, his throat burning like hot ash with every ragged breath.

Evening approached, painting the sky in a bruised purple. The sun began to sink below the mountains. The instructor stepped out, ordering them to finish up and prepare to head back inside.

David was working at the absolute far end of the field, right against the brush, when he heard it—a low, freezing cold sound. He tried to ignore it, but the sound kept coming, a raspy, desperate wheeze. Eventually, curiosity won over his survival instinct. He stepped through the tall brush, going deeper into the dry field, following the voice… until he found it.

What he saw sent a violent shiver straight down his spine.

Laid flat on the dirt was a man, his clothes completely soaked in fresh, bubbling blood. David gasped and walked quickly toward him, dropping his tools. The dying man suddenly bolted upright with terrifying strength, his fingers locking onto David's tattered clothes like iron vices. He stared directly into David's mismatched eyes, his own pupils dilated with pure, unadulterated terror.

“He... lp me,” the man choked out, blood spilling past his lips as he fought to speak. “Help me... they are...”

Before the man could finish, his eyes rolled back, his grip went entirely slack, and his head hit the dirt. He was gone.

David's body began shaking violently. Panicking, he turned toward the tree line and shouted out for help. “Help! Someone help me!”

Heavy, frantic footsteps approached immediately. The instructor and the other guards, driven by the noise, burst through the brush. The moment they stepped into the clearing, they froze. They saw the fresh blood covering David's hands, his tattered clothes soaked in crimson, and the lifeless body of a royal scout lying beside him.

The instructor's eyes widened in horror before twisting into pure fury. He unsheathed his weapon and roared, "The demon boy finally snapped! He killed the scout!"

"I didn't—" David tried to scream, but before he could finish, a brutal, crushing blow struck him from behind. Pain exploded at the base of his skull, and the world spun violently into pitch black as he was knocked out cold.

He opened his eyes again.

But he was no longer in the blood-soaked field.

A vast, blinding white space stretched endlessly in every direction. There was no sky. No ground. No shadows. Only a heavy, absolute silence that hummed in his ears.

David looked down at himself. His body was completely whole. The tattered rags were gone, replaced by nothing but clean skin. There were no wounds. No pain.

His chaotic breathing slowly began to calm down.

“What… is this place?”

His voice didn’t echo. It didn't bounce off walls. It simply vanished into the vast emptiness.

Then, he noticed something standing directly ahead of him.

A figure. It possessed the exact same height, the exact same shape as him, but everything about it felt fundamentally wrong. It wasn't a mere reflection. It was a presence that felt exactly like him, yet infinitely heavier. Older. Deeper. It carried the weight of a dying world.

The figure didn’t move. It just stood there in the white void, watching him with an unreadable gaze.

David instinctively took a step back, his muscles tensing. His foot landed softly on absolutely nothing, yet he didn’t fall.

Slowly, deliberately, the figure began to raise its hand.

David didn’t understand why, but a strange, magnetic pull forced his body to mirror the movement. He raised his own hand, copying the figure perfectly. The vast distance separating them didn’t feel real anymore. The space between them began to warp and bend, as if meaning itself was twisting under a heavy gravity.

But the moment the distance between him and the figure closed, the pristine white world around them began to violently fracture. Cracks tore through the sky, and reality itself started to collapse into darkness.

David woke up to the sharp taste of dirt and copper. His head throbbed with a blinding, white-hot intensity from the blow that had taken his consciousness.

When his blurred vision finally cleared, his heart seized in pure panic. He wasn't in the fields, and he wasn't in the white void. He was completely stripped to the waist, his arms pulled taut and bound in heavy, freezing iron chains to a massive wooden post planted directly in the center of the village square.

"Kill the demon! Burn the monster!" a manic voice screamed from the surrounding crowd.

A jagged, heavy stone flew through the air, catching David squarely on the collarbone. The impact tore the skin, and hot blood began to trickle down his chest. He winced, his teeth grinding as he looked out at the sea of familiar faces. The very slaves he had bled with in the dirt, the villagers whose houses he had cleaned without complaint—they were all standing there cheering, their eyes wide with a terrifying, manic hatred.

Above them all, Master Jeric stood proudly on his pristine balcony, looking down at the chained boy with absolute disgust.

"For the brutal murder of a royal scout, and for harboring the dark, cursed blood of a calamity," Jeric’s voice boomed across the square, carrying the absolute authority of a god, "this slave has forfeited his right to exist among humanity. Burn him!"

The crowd roared in approval. An executioner stepped forward from the shadows of the stage, thrusting a blazing, roaring torch directly toward the dry kindling stacked high at David's bare feet.

I didn't do it! David wanted to scream. He wanted to tell them about the man's final words, about the blood already being there. But the words caught in his dry, ash-choked throat. He looked at their twisted, joyful expressions as the heat of the flames began to lick against his boots. They didn't care about the truth. They didn't want justice. They just wanted a monster to blame for their own miserable, terrified lives.

Something fundamental snapped inside David's mind.

The paralyzing fear vanished instantly, swallowed whole by a sudden, consuming ocean of pure, unadulterated rage. If you want a monster, his mind roared against the noise of the crowd, then I'll give you one!

Deep within his chest, a dormant, prehistoric volcano erupted.

His left, dark red eye suddenly ignited, bleeding a sinister, glowing crimson light into the smoke. Before the executioner could even lower the torch, a massive, violent shockwave of dark grey energy exploded outward from David’s body like a concussive bomb.

The sheer, raw pressure of his awakening Presence tore the heavy iron chains straight from their stone anchors. The massive wooden post shattered into a million flying splinters, and the concussive force sent the executioner flying backward through the air like a ragdoll.

The violent blast wave ripped through the entire courtyard. The windows of Jeric's pristine manor shattered into dust, and a massive section of the reinforced stone village wall cracked before collapsing to the earth in a heap of rubble. The joyful jeers vanished in an instant, replaced by screams of genuine, primal terror as villagers scrambled over each other to escape the debris.

Through the blinding cloud of dust, smoke, and flying stone, David dropped heavily to his feet. He didn't look back at the destruction he had caused. Coughing up dark blood, his body operating on pure survival adrenaline, he turned toward the shattered wall and sprinted at blinding speed into the deep, dark wilderness of forbidden forest.