The wind screamed over the hills of Balefire Valley, curling through dead trees and abandoned chapels like a whisper from hell. Moonlight barely pierced the fog, and somewhere beneath the mist-shrouded dirt, something stirred—something ancient. Seventeen-year-old Kael Sorna knelt beside his mother's grave, the cold soaking through his jeans and into his bones. The headstone was cracked, but her name was still legible: Elaine Sorna. She had died a year ago today—strangled in her own bed by something no one could explain. The village priest called it a curse. The coroner claimed it was suicide. Kael knew better.
He saw it.
Or thought he did.
He hadn't told anyone about the red eyes watching from the corner that night. Or the grotesque figure lurking at the edge of his vision—part shadow, part nightmare. When he screamed, it vanished. When he ran to his mother's room, it was too late. The thing had left nothing but claw marks scorched into the walls and a hollow echo of laughter.
And no one believed him. Not the police. Not his uncle Marek, who took him in. Not the therapists or counselors who told him it was trauma-induced psychosis. They all said the same thing.
"You're just grieving."
Maybe he was. But grief didn't leave burn marks in stone. "Kael." The voice cut through the silence, low and gruff. He turned. Uncle Marek stood on the path, arms folded, a cigarette glowing in the dark like a firefly. The man never smiled. Always looked like he'd fought in too many wars. His long coat flapped in the wind, and the scars across his jaw made him look like a survivor from another time.
"You've been out here too long," Marek said. "The valley's no place for kids after dark."
"I'm not a kid," Kael muttered, wiping his nose on his sleeve.
"No, you're not. That's the problem."
They walked in silence for a while, boots crunching over the gravel. The old road wound through half-burned fields and rusted fences. The village lights flickered in the distance like dying stars. As they neared the gate to Marek's compound—an old iron-black farmhouse surrounded by a ten-foot wall—Kael felt it again.
That pull.
Like something unseen watching from the shadows. Not with eyes—but with hunger
Inside, the house smelled like oil, gunmetal, and aged leather. Marek's "study" was more of an armory: swords on the walls, guns on the shelves, and a strange collection of relics—crosses, bones, runes carved into stone.
Kael had never been allowed to touch them. Not until today.
"Sit down," Marek said, pulling a black case from beneath the table. He clicked it open to reveal something Kael never expected to see.
A dagger.
But not just any dagger. The blade shimmered with faint red veins pulsing under its surface like blood in metal. The hilt was shaped like a twisted spine, and the crossguard was etched with arcane glyphs.
Kael's heart pounded.
"This belonged to your mother," Marek said.
"What?"
"She was a hunter. Like me. Like your grandfather. It runs in our blood."
Kael blinked, not comprehending.
"Hunter?"
"Of demons."
Marek leaned forward. "I've protected you from this for as long as I could. But the signs are clear. The thing that killed your mother—it's back. And it's looking for you."
Kael stood up, chair scraping against the wood.
"This is insane."
Marek didn't flinch. "No. This is war."
He handed Kael a folder. Photos spilled out—charred bodies, blood-drawn circles, monstrous symbols carved into flesh.
"This is what's happening around the valley," Marek said. "The old seals are breaking. Something is waking up beneath the ground, and the thing you saw that night? That was just the scout."
Kael stared at the photos, his stomach twisting. Each victim looked like they'd died screaming.
"I don't want any of this," Kael said.
"Doesn't matter," Marek replied. "You've been marked. The moment you saw it, it saw you."
That night, Kael couldn't sleep.
He stared at the dagger lying on the desk across from his bed. Every time he blinked, he saw his mother's face—eyes wide, mouth open, blood blooming across her bedsheets. He remembered the smell of sulfur and ash, the way the walls cracked, and the sound—like claws scraping glass from the inside of his skull.
His fingers twitched. He reached for the dagger.
The moment his skin touched the hilt, something in the room shifted. The air grew heavy, and the walls trembled faintly. A whisper slid across the room like wind under a door.
"You've begun."
Kael dropped the dagger. It clattered loudly against the wood floor, glowing slightly.
He wasn't dreaming. This was real
The next morning, Marek took him beneath the house—to the Catacomb.
A massive steel door opened to a stairwell carved into bedrock. Torches lit automatically, igniting one by one as they descended. Below, the walls were lined with runes. At the center was a circle, glowing faint blue.
"This is the Gate," Marek said. "Every hunter must pass through it."
"What's on the other side?"
"Answers. And trials. Once you enter, you either come back as a hunter… or not at all."
Kael's breath caught in his throat.
Marek handed him the dagger. "There's no more hiding. Step into the flame. And if it doesn't burn you alive… we'll talk about your first kill."
Kael took the dagger with trembling fingers.
He stepped forward.
And into the circle.
The moment he crossed the rune threshold, the world exploded.
Flames erupted around him—not fire, but memory. Scenes flashed through his mind—his mother, smiling over breakfast. The thing on the ceiling. Screams. Blood. Darkness. Then light again—his own reflection in the blade, warped and monstrous.
Suddenly he was standing in a void. A voice spoke, deeper than thunder, older than sin.
"What do you fear, Kael Sorna?"
He turned. A figure emerged from the dark.
His mother.
But not as he remembered.
Her face twisted, eyes hollow, mouth sewn shut with black thread. Clawed hands reached for him. Smoke poured from her wounds.
"No…"
"What do you fear?"
Kael gripped the dagger. The blade flared in his hand.
"I fear losing her again," he whispered.
The specter lunged. Kael shouted, swinging the dagger—
It sliced through the shadow like light through fog.
And suddenly, the flames vanished.
He awoke on the ground, gasping.
Marek stood over him, expression unreadable. "You made it."
Kael looked down. The dagger no longer pulsed red—it pulsed with his heartbeat.
"What now?"
Marek turned away. "Now we hunt."
Outside, the sun rose over Balefire Valley.
But it did not banish the darkness.
It only revealed where the monsters were hiding.