The village of Dharvak was silent that night, unusually so. The rustling leaves of the dense forest bordering it whispered secrets to the wind. Amidst the shadows walked a boy—Arav, seventeen, curious, calm… and completely unaware that fate had already chosen him.
Arav had always felt... different.
Not stronger. Not smarter. Just haunted.
By dreams he couldn't explain. By shadows that whispered his name. By a presence he couldn't see — but always felt behind him.
That night, he wandered beyond the last hut of the village, following a strange humming sound that tugged at his soul. He didn't know why he walked into the forest — only that he had to. As if something… or someone… was calling him.
The air turned cold.
And then, he saw it.
A sword, buried halfway into the earth, bathed in a faint violet glow. It looked ancient. Beautiful. And terrifying.
Blood still stained its edge — fresh.
Arav stepped forward, heart pounding, but his hand moved on its own. He didn't want to touch it… but he couldn't stop. His fingers brushed the hilt — and the moment he did…
The ground trembled.
The trees screamed.
And his body… burned.
> "W-what is this…?" he gasped, clutching his chest as symbols erupted across his skin — glowing red like cursed fire.
Visions flashed before his eyes.
A battlefield soaked in blood. A man in black armor swinging the same sword. And a girl… weeping beside a burning house.
> "Who… am I?" he whispered.
But before the answer could come, he heard a voice — deep, echoing inside his skull.
> "You are the bearer now. The debt of blood begins with you."
His scream echoed through the woods.
---
The next morning, villagers found him unconscious at the edge of the forest. His skin was cold. His eyes... still glowing red.
> "It's that cursed forest," whispered one elder. "Another one chosen by death."
---
Back home, his best friend Zia waited, worry etched into her face.
> "You idiot!" she yelled, throwing her arms around him when he woke. "Where the hell did you go?! I thought— I thought you were dead!"
Arav didn't speak.
Because something inside him had changed.
Because he remembered the voice.
Because the sword… wasn't gone.
It was now inside him.
And it was hungry.
---
That night, Arav stared at his reflection.
His pupils… were no longer human.
His veins shimmered faintly, as if alive with flame.
And when he closed his eyes…
He heard the whispers again.
> "Your soul belongs to us now… Arav."
---
To be continued in Chapter 2: The First Mark