Chapter 1: The Cursed Child of Velmira
The village of Velmira stood encased in shimmering blue light, a magical barrier that pulsed with quiet energy, like the heartbeat of a sleeping beast. Surrounded by towering forests and jagged hills, it was a place isolated from the outside world—a necessary prison to protect its people from the monsters lurking beyond. To the untrained eye, Velmira looked peaceful: stone cottages with moss-covered roofs, a central plaza paved with sun-faded bricks, and lush farmland nourished by spring-fed rivers. But beneath its surface festered something cruel and bitter.
Twelve-year-old Khaos stood at the edge of the barrier, where the fields met the forest. His eyes—deep violet like thunderclouds—gazed past the glowing dome. Beyond lay the woods, dark and still. He had never been allowed past the barrier, but he'd heard the stories. Everyone had. The Xylens. Demonic beasts born of chaos, with blackened fur, twisted horns, and breath like cursed fire. Every child in Velmira was raised to fear them. But Khaos feared the villagers more.
They called him cursed. A plague. The devil's heir. Children threw stones at him. Adults whispered and spat when he passed. His clothes were thin and ragged, hand-me-downs from dead villagers, and his body bore the marks of malnourishment and bruises that never fully healed.
He remembered none of what happened the night the barrier faltered—but everyone else did. Six years ago, his parents, once respected mages, had tried to escape the village. Why, no one truly knew. Some said they were traitors. Others whispered that they had learned something terrible and tried to warn the elders. All that mattered now was what followed: the moment they tampered with the ancient seal that powered the barrier, it weakened for less than five minutes.
And in those five minutes, two Xylens entered Velmira.
By dawn, over a third of the village was dead. Blood soaked the fields and ran through the cobblestone cracks. Families were torn apart. Homes reduced to rubble. One of the Xylens was slain by the elite knights, but the other escaped into the forest before the barrier reformed. The bodies of Khaos's parents were found near the seal's altar, charred and torn. Some believed they died trying to fix their mistake. Others believed they were consumed by their own summoned monsters.
None of it mattered. The village chose a single truth: Khaos was the reason for the massacre. A child of betrayers. A living curse.
Every morning, Khaos wandered outside the village center, collecting herbs or firewood—anything to stay away from people. Today was no different, though the air was colder than usual. He rubbed his arms as he stepped between the trees just inside the forest's edge. He wasn't supposed to be here. The knights patrolling the inner circle might see him and whip him for crossing the imaginary line of safety. But no one really watched the orphan boy unless they needed someone to blame.
He crouched to pluck a glowing mushroom from under a rotting log when a voice called out behind him.
"Looking for a place to die, freak?"
Three figures stepped into view—noble children, dressed in fine tunics and leather boots that had never touched real dirt. Dylan, the ringleader, stood tall with blond curls and a dagger at his hip. Behind him were Cedric and Lena, both carrying practice swords. They were only a year or two older than Khaos, but their families owned land and influence. Khaos had nothing.
He stood slowly, not answering.
"We saw you staring at the forest," Dylan sneered. "Thinking about joining your parents in hell?"
Cedric laughed, but Lena looked uneasy.
"You don't belong here," Dylan said. "The only reason you're still breathing is because you're too pathetic to even kill yourself."
Khaos clenched his fists, but he didn't speak. He'd learned long ago that words only fed their cruelty. But Dylan wasn't finished.
"You think you're better than us because you survived that night?" he stepped closer. "We're going to be knights one day. Heroes. Not some cursed little rat."
They moved to surround him, but before the first punch could land, a voice rang out like iron on stone.
"That's enough."
Ser Rothan stood near a tree, arms crossed. His dark armor bore the sigil of Velmira's third knight order, though his cloak was tattered and stained. He was a strange man—silent, cold, and avoided by even the other knights. But Khaos had seen something in his eyes once… a flicker of recognition.
The children hesitated. "We were just—"
"Go home." Rothan's voice carried finality.
Dylan spat toward the ground and turned. "Whatever. Let the freak die in the woods."
Once they were gone, Rothan approached Khaos. "You shouldn't let them bait you."
"I didn't," Khaos muttered.
The knight studied him, then extended a hand. "Come."
Khaos followed him in silence deeper into the trees, to a hidden glade marked by sword cuts in the bark. Here, Rothan had begun training him months ago in secret—first with stances and balance, then with wooden blades. He wasn't allowed to use magic; the elders forbade it. Not after what his parents did. But Rothan taught him anyway, whispering the names of spells in an old tongue. They could practice only at night or in hidden places.
"Again," Rothan said, tossing him a wooden sword.
Khaos took his stance and attacked.
Hours passed. Sweat clung to his skin, and bruises bloomed where Rothan struck him. But the pain was familiar. Predictable. Honest.
As the sun dipped behind the trees, Rothan finally said, "Do not trust anyone inside the barrier. Most will hate you until they're dead."
Khaos lowered his sword. "Why help me, then?"
Rothan's gaze drifted to the sky. "Because monsters wear more than one shape."
They parted ways silently. Khaos walked back toward the village, body aching and heart heavier than usual.
That night, he sat alone under the fading light of the barrier. Above him, stars blinked like old scars in the sky. In the distance, a single howl echoed from beyond the forest. His breath caught.
It sounded close.