Chapter 9: The War Yet to Come
The village bells rang faintly in the distance as Elior, Kael, and Liora walked the worn dirt path home. For the first time in years, Elior's heart felt light. The silence of unanswered questions no longer haunted him. His parents' voices still lingered in memory, like embers glowing softly in the dark.
But as the sun dipped behind the hills, he felt it.
A tremor beneath the earth.
A whisper in the wind.
Liora noticed it too. She stopped, her hand tightening around Elior's. "Do you hear that?"
Kael frowned, his staff vibrating faintly. "Not again…"
The sky above them rippled, like fabric tearing. From the seam of light, a shard of shadow dripped into the world, writhing before dissolving into mist.
Elior's breath caught. "No. We destroyed it. We ended it."
A voice slithered through the air, ancient and mocking. "You severed a fragment, child. But the heart of the Realm… has only begun to stir."
The ground shook violently. In the distance, the horizon glowed with fire. Shadows rose from the earth, spreading across fields, crawling toward villages.
Kael muttered a curse. "So much for peace."
Elior's chest tightened—not with despair this time, but with determination. His parents' sacrifice had delayed the darkness, but it had not ended it. Now he understood: their story was a beginning, not a conclusion.
He lifted his sword, its faint glow flickering with new purpose. "Then we fight. Not just for my past… but for the future."
Liora nodded, fierce and unyielding. "Together."
Kael rolled his shoulders, forcing a grin. "Seventy years or seventy battles—I'm not leaving your side."
The sky split wider, shadows pouring through. Villages screamed in the distance. The real war had begun.
And Elior, no longer the forgotten boy, stepped forward—not just as a son of sacrifice, but as a warrior destined to carve hope from the darkness.