2025-03-26 18:15:23
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The First Direction
Just when Calen felt the weight of the whispers crushing his resolve—the way they slithered into his ears and nested in his chest like parasites—something changed.A sudden stillness swept through the forest like a spell cast by some unseen hand.The voices stopped.The wind died.Even the rustling of leaves fell silent, as if the very forest was holding its breath.No sound… except a low, constant hum—distant, rhythmic, and almost imperceptible. Like chanting. Faint and far below.Calen froze, his breath misting in the cold air. He listened, heart pounding. The hum wasn’t natural. It pulsed in a steady cadence that stirred something ancient in his blood, something he couldn't name.He slowly crouched down. The ground beneath him no longer felt mossy and damp. It was smoother—harder.He brushed away the dead leaves and layers of damp soil with trembling fingers. A cold surface met his touch. Black stone, worn by time, revealed itself inch by inch. Faint lines etched across it. Symbols
Mocking Voices
The forest whispered.Not in words—but in twisted instincts.At first, it was the trees. They looked the same—identical bark, identical patterns, as if painted by the same cursed hand. Calen marked one with his blade. Ten minutes later, he passed it again.His mark was still fresh.I’m going in circles.He slowed his breathing. The air here felt heavier, as if pressing down on his chest. The ground was soft, too soft—almost breathing. And the silence… the silence was wrong. Not peaceful, but expectant. Like the calm before a massacre.Then came the noise.Crackling.Like footsteps—but not quite human. Something dragged.Calen spun around, weapon ready.Nothing.But the path ahead… it had changed.It was clearer now. Open. Almost inviting.A narrow trail led through thorn-laced trees, bathed in an eerie blue light that seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat.He didn’t trust it. But his feet moved anyway.As he walked, the air thickened with fog. Not natural mist—but something alm
Someone Wants You Alive
Calen’s breath caught as realization struck.“Cassien Vale,” he said slowly. “You’re the Cassien Vale. The legendary assassin.”Cassien chuckled, tugging the reins of his horse with idle ease. “I’ve never considered myself legendary, boy. Just efficient.”Calen’s eyes narrowed, his stance shifting subtly. “Then why are you here? Why chase me all the way to the edge of Drakhtarion?”Cassien’s expression sobered. “Because someone wants you alive, Calen. Someone who wants that more than King Ashford himself wants you dead.”That sent a cold ripple down Calen’s spine. “What’s happening? What the hell happened while I was on leave?”Cassien shrugged, nonchalant. “Don’t ask me. I don’t care. I’m not a court dog. I just finish what I’m paid to do.” His eyes sharpened. “And you, Calen Storm, are coming with me.”Calen’s hand went to the hilt of his sword in a fluid motion. The steel sang softly as it left its sheath.Cassien didn’t flinch. He didn’t even move.“If I were you,” the assassin sa
You Must Be Callen Storm
Calen stepped into the forest.Not the edge—no, he had passed that long ago—but deeper now, into the part where light itself seemed reluctant to follow. The air grew colder with every step, the canopy above sealing tighter, like the jaws of a sleeping beast. Moss curled along the gnarled roots of ancient trees, and somewhere far above, the last threads of daylight bled away into dusk.They called this place the Wyrmsdeep. Others named it Drakhtarion’s Gate. But most didn’t name it at all—because most never returned.Once you go in, you don’t come out. That’s what the villagers whispered, even in places far from the border of this cursed wood.But Calen had no choice.He had to know the truth.His father, Aldric Storm—hero, traitor, or something else entirely—had come here. The maps didn’t lie. Neither did the old journal entries that Calen had found hidden in the double lining of his father's satchel. And if what the figure earlier said was true—if that really was a Watcher—then the p
The Watcher
Calen sat cross-legged beneath the outcropping of weathered stone, the light of the fading sun flickering through the canopy above like the last heartbeat of a dying flame. His chest rose and fell in a measured rhythm as he tried to calm the storm within—both the one in his blood, and the one in his thoughts.Spread before him on a flat slab of rock were the items he had taken from his father’s study: brittle-edged maps drawn with ink so fine it had to be alchemical, a few sealed vials of shifting, iridescent liquid, and a pair of gloves reinforced with runes that glowed faintly when touched. He had once dismissed them as obscure relics or tools meant for ritual—decorative, even. But now he understood. His father had used these to channel or conceal power.Storm magic was never subtle. Even when wielded with precision, it reverberated through the fabric of the realm like a drumbeat that couldn’t be silenced. It called things. Drew eyes. And sometimes… worse.He ran a hand along the ed
The Trigger
The twilight deepened into dusk, and shadows stretched long and thin across the clearing as Calen moved along the forest’s edge, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign—any fracture in the terrain, any stone displaced by time.According to the map from the monastery, the forgotten passage should have been here—somewhere near the ridge that curved like a bent finger against the forest. But all he found was overgrowth and silence.Too much silence.Calen knelt by a moss-choked boulder, brushing away the green film to reveal markings—faint, nearly erased by time. He traced them with a finger, whispering to himself.“This was the seal... it has to be. The glyph of the Fourth Gate.”But where there should’ve been an entrance, a tunnel, or even ruins, there was only tangled root and earth that seemed untouched for centuries.He checked the map again, turning it slowly in the dying light. The parchment glowed faintly as moonlight brushed its surface, glyphs pulsing ever so slightly—but the
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