The wind howled across the jagged ridges of Drakovia, dragging the smell of smoke and iron through the night. Stars shimmered faintly overhead, the Astralis rivers flowing like silver veins in the dark sky, but they offered no comfort. Not here, not on the edge of the Riftlands.
Arlen crouched low against the blackened stone, his breath sharp in his chest. The dagger at his hip pulsed faintly, a heartbeat against his skin. He ignored it. For now.
The village behind him burned. He could hear the screams—sharp, short, then silenced. The Hollowspawn had come from a rift that tore open in the middle of their wheat fields. It hadn't mattered how many hunters had stood against them. The monsters had torn through steel like paper, through flesh like butter.
Arlen gritted his teeth. His knuckles were white around the broken shaft of a spear. He was just another farm boy until today, but the sight of his mother's blood on the dirt was carved into his mind like fire.
The dagger pulsed again, more insistent this time. A whisper brushed his thoughts.
Do you want to live?
Arlen froze. The voice was inside his skull—alien, yet intimate.
He glanced down at the weapon. Black iron, etched with faint lines of light that seemed to writhe if he looked too long. He'd found it weeks ago in the ruins, half-buried in ash. He had hidden it, even from his closest friends, afraid of what it was. Now it was calling to him.
The Hollowspawn's growl rumbled behind him.
Arlen closed his eyes. His heart thundered. And he whispered:
"Yes."
The world lurched.
Heat surged up his arm as the dagger's edge bled with light—an ember flame that shouldn't exist. His veins burned as something ancient tore through him. He screamed, but it wasn't just pain—it was power.
When his eyes snapped open, the Hollowspawn was already upon him, claws raised.
Arlen moved without thought. The dagger swept upward, carving through scale and sinew, leaving trails of shimmering fire. The creature howled, its body twisting before it collapsed into black smoke.
Silence followed, broken only by Arlen's ragged breathing.
The dagger was quiet again. No voice. Just weight.
Arlen stared at the monster's fading remains. His hand shook.
He had survived. But the question echoed in his skull.
At what cost?