Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound echoed through the lonely wooden house.
Derkile froze. No one came calling at night not in Mehato village. He glanced at the door, his chest tightening. The knocking came again, harder this time, rattling the latch.
His throat felt dry. With trembling steps, he moved closer.
"Who's there?" His voice was barely more than a whisper.
A firm reply cut through the silence.
"A message from the king. Open the door."
Derkile's heart skipped. The king? Why would the king send for me?
Then he remembered. The expedition. Every youth above sixteen was being summoned. The king sought new soldiers, the strongest, the bravest. And he was seventeen.
He hesitated only a moment longer before unlatching the door.
A man stood there in heavy armor, torchlight gleaming against polished steel. His presence filled the doorway. Without a word of greeting, he thrust an envelope into Derkile's hands and a small, glowing stone. The light shimmered pink across Derkile's face.
"You are to report to the king's palace in two days. This stone will guide you."
And just like that, the armored man turned and vanished into the dark, his footsteps swallowed by the night.
Derkile shut the door slowly, clutching the stone. Magic. Real magic pulsed faintly in his palm, warm and alive. He had expected this moment, yet still it felt unreal.
He tore open the envelope, unfolding the brown paper within.
> Congratulations. You have been chosen to serve in the king's army.
At seventeen, you are of age to train.
Report to the palace within two days. Prepare well.
Derkile let the letter fall onto the table. He wasn't surprised. He had always known this day would come. Still, his chest tightened not with excitement, but with the weight of memory.
Revenge.
That was why he wanted to join. To fight those who had taken his parents. To make them pay.
He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling as the memories flooded back.
Earth had once been beautiful. Magic flowed freely, kingdoms thrived, peace ruled the land. Until the discovery of the dark arts. Then war erupted good against evil. Cities burned. Kingdoms crumbled. When the war finally ended, trust had died with it. Survivors split apart, forming rival kingdoms, wary of one another, always waiting for another spark to ignite war again.
His parents had been sorcerers or so he'd been told. Sorcerers could wield magic without stones, drawing raw energy from within themselves. Because of this gift, they had been among the first to fight in the great war. Many sorcerers never returned. Those who survived were taken into the service of the kingdoms.
But Derkile had none of their power. He had been tested again and again, but no magic stirred within him. Abandoned, left alone, he had raised himself.
The weight of those thoughts lulled him into a restless sleep.
---
He stood at a riverbank, the air sweet with the scent of wildflowers. The water shimmered in the moonlight, calm and gentle.
A woman in a pink dress stood with her back to him, golden hair flowing to her waist. She whispered words he couldn't quite hear.
"Who are you?" Derkile called, but his voice seemed to vanish into the air.
The woman's shoulders stiffened. Slowly, she frowned.
The river began to churn violently, waves crashing against the shore. The flowers shriveled into thorny vines, lashing around Derkile's body. Panic clawed at him as he struggled.
The woman turned and her face melted into horror. Her eyes darkened, her mouth stretching wide as a monstrous shriek tore from her throat. Her pink dress blackened into rot.
"The evil hath come again!" she screamed, over and over.
The river rose, a torrent of black water sweeping him away. Derkile thrashed, shouting as the current swallowed him whole.
"Help! Someone help me!"
His own scream tore him awake.
He bolted upright in bed, chest heaving, sweat slick on his skin. His head pounded.
"Just… a dream?" he whispered. But it had felt real—too real.
---
Morning light crept through the shutters. Derkile forced himself to push the dream aside. He had work to do.
With a small axe in hand, he made his way toward the forest behind the village. Mehato was a crowded kingdom, and the king's call for soldiers was just another way to gather strength. Even women were drafted now.
Derkile only needed firewood. He never strayed far; the forest was rumored to be home to dangerous beasts.
He was cutting branches at the edge when a sound drifted from deep within the trees.
A voice.
Soft. Melodious. The voice of a woman, singing.
His axe slipped from his fingers. His chest felt tight, his mind… hazy. The song pulled at him, wrapping around his thoughts, tugging his body forward. Step by step, he walked deeper, deeper into the forest.
Time blurred. When the voice suddenly ceased, the spell shattered. Derkile gasped and blinked, as if waking from a trance. He spun around.
Trees. Nothing but endless trees.
"Oh no… where am I?" Panic surged. "How did I get this far? I need to get out before—"
A shadow loomed.
Derkile turned—and froze.
A beast towered above him, slime dripping from its grotesque body. Six blood red eyes glared down at him. Its maw gaped open, lined with jagged fangs. Four arms stretched outward, each tipped with claws as long as knives.
Hunger burned in its gaze.
Lunch.
The creature struck first. Its arm sliced through the air with deadly speed. Derkile barely leapt aside. Pain tore across his chest as the claws grazed him.
"Argh!" He stumbled back, clutching his wound. Blood seeped hot through his shirt.
No time to think. He ran.
Branches whipped his face as he sprinted through the darkening forest. The beast gave chase, but its heavy limbs slowed it. Derkile's legs pumped harder, his breath ragged.
He didn't see the slope until it was too late. His foot struck a rock, and he tumbled down a steep hill, rolling violently until he slammed against the ground below.
Agony exploded through him. His chest bled freely, his body bruised and battered. He lay gasping, unable to rise.
And then he saw it.
Another shape in the shadows.
This one was no monster of slime, but no less deadly a lion, ribs showing beneath its hide, eyes glowing with hunger.
Derkile's eyes widened in horror. He couldn't move. His body refused to obey. Was this how it ended? Torn apart in the forest, without even a chance to take revenge for his parents?
"No…" he rasped. His fingers searched desperately through the dirt. Something rough, round pressed against his palm.
A stone.
It pulsed with bright yellow light. Magic.
The lion lunged.
With a cry, Derkile drove the stone forward, stabbing it into the beast's chest. Light burst outward as blood sprayed across his face.
Then something strange happened.
The lion's blood mingled with his own, seeping into the wound across his chest. The stone blazed brighter, the light engulfing both man and beast.
The world vanished in a blinding flash.
---
Derkile's eyes fluttered open, just for a moment.
"What… is happening… to me?"
Then darkness claimed him.
---
End of Chapter One
---