The forest was silent, too silent.
Kael Adryn wiped the sweat from his forehead, his hand trembling as he pushed away the thick vines that covered the stone altar.
The pedestal was cracked, black veins crawling across its surface as if the rock itself had been poisoned. At the center lay a sword—long, obsidian in color, its blade faintly glowing with red lines that pulsed like veins.
"...What is this place?" Kael whispered, his voice shaking.
He didn't remember how he had reached the ruins. One moment he was hunting for herbs in the forest, the next… something was pulling him. Something ancient.
His chest tightened as he stepped closer.
The closer he got, the louder the heartbeat became—thump, thump, thump—but it wasn't his. The sword was alive.
Kael's breath quickened. Every instinct told him to run, yet his feet carried him forward. He reached out, his hand hovering just above the hilt.
A voice echoed in his mind.
"Blood… the blood of the lost one… awaken me."
Kael froze. His eyes widened.
"Who's there?!"
But the voice wasn't outside—it was inside his head.
His hand, against his will, closed around the hilt. The moment his skin touched the cold metal, the sword screamed. A surge of crimson light burst out, flooding the forest, shaking the ground beneath him.
Pain ripped through Kael's arm, crawling into his veins like fire.
"AAARGH!" He fell to his knees, clutching the sword as his blood spilled onto the blade.
The weapon drank it greedily. The red veins along its surface flared brighter, pulsing in rhythm with his heart.
Images flashed before Kael's eyes—ancient warriors locked in war, rivers of blood, a colossal shadow that swallowed the sun.
And then, a single name burned into his mind:
Zerath Malakar.
Kael gasped, pulling the sword free from the pedestal. The vines around him withered instantly, turning to ash.
The cursed blade was his now.
But deep inside, Kael knew… he hadn't claimed the weapon.
The weapon had claimed him.
End of Chapter 2.