Aarav stumbled forward, eyes bloodshot and throat dry. The very air scratched his lungs with every breath. Time didn't flow here — it dragged like a rusted chain. He couldn't tell how long he'd been walking, only that the skies never changed: always a bruised violet canvas torn by jagged streaks of dull lightning.
The ground cracked beneath his feet — dry, gray, and laced with black moss. Insects made of crystal hissed and darted through the air. Every sound, every movement made him flinch.
He was alone.
And he was not safe.
Hours earlier, Aarav had discovered the dagger.
It had been buried in the chest of a statue, half-sunken into the earth in what looked like the ruins of a forgotten shrine — stone cracked by seismic shifts, pillars bent into spirals like melted wax. At the center of it all stood a broken figure carved of bone-white stone. Its hands cupped together, offering something.
Inside the hands: a dagger.
Not ornate — simple in shape, but carved from black metal that shimmered oddly under this broken sky. It felt warm the moment Aarav touched it.
And when he pulled it free — the statue crumbled to dust.
No ceremony. No dramatic thunder.
Just silence.
But as he walked away, the spiral mark on his forearm pulsed once.
Now, dagger in hand, Aarav trudged through cracked hills and twisted trees. The land screamed decay. Even the air smelled old.
Then he heard it.
Thud.
Thud.
Skitter.
He turned, eyes narrowing. The wind shifted. Something was moving—fast.
A blur crashed through the underbrush.
It was enormous — a beast of nightmares: low to the ground, thick-limbed, with black scales cracked like burned pottery. Its eyes glowed pale blue, and a bone-like crown curled back from its skull. As it roared, a second mouth unhinged beneath the first, dripping saliva like acid.
Aarav's mind blanked.
Run.
He turned instinctively — but it was already on him.
A swipe from its claw caught his ribs. He screamed and flew sideways, tumbling down a slope, crashing against stones. Pain exploded through his body.
He gasped. Grit filled his mouth. His side burned — bleeding.
It leapt again.
Aarav barely rolled away, the creature smashing the rock where he'd been. The impact cracked the ground.
Adrenaline flooded him. He gripped the dagger with shaking hands.
"Get away—!" he shouted.
The creature lunged.
Aarav ducked and slashed wildly. The blade scraped along its shoulder — barely leaving a mark.
But something snapped inside him.
Suddenly, the world slowed.
His heartbeat thundered. His pupils narrowed to slits. A faint spiral shimmered in his vision — a soft, red glow tracing the creature's next movement before it happened.
He moved on instinct.
Slid under its jaw.
Drove the dagger up.
It sank deep — and then something else happened.
The dagger lit up, lines glowing along its edge.
The creature roared in agony — a shockwave erupted from the point of impact, sending it crashing back, screaming and twitching. Spiral burns seared across its throat.
Aarav staggered, blinking, panting, disoriented.
"What… the hell…" he whispered.
Blood dripped from his side. His palms were shaking.
But the creature wasn't dead.
It dragged itself forward, limping now, rage in its eyes.
And Aarav lost it.
He screamed — a raw, untrained sound of survival and terror, and lunged, striking again and again. The blade responded. Each hit sent pulses of energy through the metal, cracking bone and boiling blood.
The beast thrashed one last time — then collapsed.
He stood over it.
Breathing hard.
Chest heaving.
He dropped to his knees.
His dagger clattered beside him.
He had just killed something. Not in a video game. Not in a dream. Not with distance or detachment.
With his own hands.
He nearly vomited.
His body shook with exhaustion and pain and adrenaline. But even through it all… part of him felt something deeper.
Awake.
Alive in a way he'd never known.
Later, when he had gathered himself, he noticed the scar on his palm had vanished. And along his arm, new spiral patterns had surfaced — glowing faintly.
They didn't hurt.
But they were his now.
Like his body was accepting something ancient. Something buried.
And behind it all… the dagger still hummed, like it knew more than it should.
High above, deep within the dying clouds, something stirred again.
And far beyond — at the heart of the realm — a single massive presence shifted, faint but overwhelming.
The apex.
Watching.
Waiting.
Guarding.
But Aarav wasn't ready for that yet.
Not even close.