The town of Aelbourne wasn't known for much. Some hills, some lakes, a couple of old myths carved into stones nobody cared to read anymore. But that night, everything changed.
It started with the wind. It had been calm all day—lazy even—but now it howled like something alive. Branches slapped against windows. Power lines swayed like strings in a storm. And somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled, low and guttural, like a warning.
Abel sat alone on the rooftop of his foster family's house, arms resting on his knees, hoodie pulled over his messy black hair. He watched the sky, hoping the wind might tear open something interesting. Not that he expected it to. Life didn't work that way.
"I hate this town," he muttered. "Even the wind feels bored."
Downstairs, the lights flickered. His foster mom probably blamed the microwave again. She was always blaming the microwave.
A second rumble—this one closer.
Abel squinted. The clouds weren't just dark—they were wrong. They pulsed, almost like veins in the sky. Something about them made his skin itch.
And then… silence.
No wind. No crickets. Not even the distant hum of cars.
Just a still, suffocating quiet.
Then came the sound—a strange, hollow chime, like glass breaking underwater.
Abel stood up slowly.
He didn't know why, but his heart started racing.
Above the forest that bordered Aelbourne, the clouds split open.
Not like lightning. Not like rain.
They peeled back, like curtains pulled by invisible hands, revealing something behind them—something enormous, distant, and glowing.
A gate.
It floated high above the trees, made of stone and gold, carved with symbols that hurt to look at. It looked ancient. Heavy. Eternal.
And it was opening.
Abel didn't move. He couldn't. His legs locked as he stared at the impossible thing in the sky. Through the gate, shadows began to move—dozens of them. Some flew. Some crawled. Some had too many limbs, or none at all.
The air cracked.
A pulse of pressure slammed into his chest like a punch. Windows shattered across town. Car alarms blared. Dogs barked. Somewhere, someone screamed.
But all Abel could do was stare at the gate.
And then it looked back.
One of the shadows—humanoid, but too tall, too thin—turned its head.
Its eyes—if they were eyes—glowed with a soft, golden light.
A sound echoed in Abel's skull.
Not a word. Not a thought. Just a presence, like something ancient and enormous had just noticed him.
He stumbled backward, nearly falling off the roof.
"Abel!"
It was his foster brother, Caleb, yelling from the window below.
"Get inside, now!"
Abel didn't argue. He jumped, caught the balcony, and swung into the room below. The moment his feet hit the floor, the whole house shook.
Not from the wind.
From footsteps.
Not human ones.
The lights blew out. Darkness swallowed everything.
"Caleb?!" Abel called out.
No answer.
He moved slowly, phone flashlight shaking in his hand. The hallway stretched like a tunnel, every creak of the floorboards too loud.
Something was in the house.
He could feel it.
It wasn't breathing. It didn't need to.
It was waiting.
He reached the living room.
Empty.
But the front door was open. Torn off its hinges.
Outside, the town was chaos.
Fires. Screams. People running in every direction. The sky rippled like water, and the stars blinked in and out like faulty bulbs.
Abel ran.
Not because he was brave. Not because he had a plan.
But because something inside him screamed move.
And that something wasn't him.
He reached the edge of the forest before the ground split beneath him. A massive claw—scaled and black as tar—erupted from the dirt, dragging with it a demon three times his height.
It had no mouth. Just a slit of teeth stretching from ear to ear, and too many eyes, all focused on him.
It roared.
Abel froze.
But before it could pounce—something hit it.
A blade of light, fast and silent, sliced through the creature's chest.
The demon didn't bleed. It just crumbled into ash.
Abel blinked.
A man stood where the demon had been.
Tall. Old. Graying hair tied back. A battered coat draped over a broad frame. In his hand, a broken sword that still shimmered with gold.
The man looked at Abel like he knew him.
"You're late," he said flatly. "Took you long enough to wake up."
Abel had no words.
"Name's Kael. We'll talk later. They've found you. That means we run."
Abel opened his mouth, then closed it.
Kael grabbed his arm and yanked him into the woods.
They ran.
Behind them, shadows chased—leaping from tree to tree, snarling like wolves. More gates opened above the forest, and more figures spilled out, searching, screaming in languages that tasted like ash and iron.
As they ran, Abel noticed something strange.
The ground under him—trees, rocks, even the wind—it shifted around him. Like the world was trying to protect him.
And somewhere deep inside his chest, something clicked.
A whisper.
Not a voice.
Just a feeling.
Like a lock opening.
Kael looked back, eyes narrowing.
"…It's starting," he muttered.
"What's starting?!" Abel shouted.
"You. Becoming."
"Becoming what?!"
Kael didn't answer.
They burst through the trees—and stopped.
Ahead of them was an old ruin. One Abel had never seen before, even though he'd lived in Aelbourne his whole life.
It was a shrine. Ancient. Cracked. Overgrown. But at its center burned a small, golden flame.
And next to it…
A mirror.
Not glass.
Not metal.
Something else. Shifting. Alive.
It reflected Abel.
But in the reflection… he wasn't human.
He was glowing.
Cloaked in divine light.
And behind him stood five towering figures—half-shadow, half-light—watching silently.
Kael dropped to one knee.
"…So it's true," he whispered. "The gods chose you."
Abel stepped forward, drawn to the flame.
He didn't know why.
Didn't know how.
But he needed to touch it.
His fingers reached out.
And the moment he touched the fire—
—the world exploded.