THE ENIGMA OF VORYN AND THE IRON CURSE
Darkness wrapped around the room where Zyrion awakened. His hands were bound by thick chains to the sides of a cold stone chair. His head throbbed, and a sharp pain in the back of his neck reminded him of the blow he had received before being dragged to this place. He opened his eyes slowly, trying to focus on his surroundings.
The room was dimly lit by a faint golden glow coming from an ancient lamp hanging from the ceiling, swaying slightly as if each movement threatened to extinguish it. In front of him, a tall, slender figure watched from the shadows.
"Finally awake," a deep, calm voice said.
Zyrion narrowed his eyes, trying to see more clearly. The figure stepped slowly into the light, revealing a golden mask that covered his entire face except for a pair of piercing metallic-gray eyes. The mask was intricate, etched with what looked like ancient runes, and its edges shimmered as if they were made of liquid fire.
"Who are you?" Zyrion asked hoarsely, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "Where am I?"
"My name is Voryn," the masked man replied, his tone as sharp as a dagger. "And you are somewhere your friends cannot reach. Here, only you and I will have this conversation."
Zyrion frowned, attempting to break free from the chains. "What do you want from me?"
"From you, Zyrion, I want nothing but answers," Voryn said, stepping closer. His movements were fluid—almost feline—as if every step was carefully calculated. "Though I suspect you have questions you don't even know you need to ask."
Zyrion leaned back in the chair. "How do you know my name?"
Voryn stopped in front of him, tilting his head slightly. "I know many things about you, Zyrion. More than you could imagine. But for now, let's talk about something far more interesting… the fragment inside you."
A chill ran down Zyrion's spine. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Voryn let out a soft, mocking chuckle. "Please. Don't take me for a fool. I saw it when you touched it in the river. I felt it. The white lightning, the light in your eyes… That fragment chose you. But the real question is… why?"
"Maybe it liked me," Zyrion replied defiantly.
Voryn stared at him for a few seconds, as if evaluating the answer. Then he tilted his head slightly. "Humor in a situation like this? Interesting. But not useful."
Zyrion clenched his fists, frustration burning inside him. "Look, I don't know what you want, but I don't have time for your games. If you plan to kill me, do it now. But if you think I'm going to cooperate, you're wasting your time."
"Killing you would accomplish nothing," Voryn said calmly. "You hold something within you that you don't understand. Something that, if controlled, could change everything. But if left unchecked, it could destroy you—and everyone you love."
The lamp flickered, and for a brief moment Zyrion thought he saw something behind Voryn's mask. A scar, maybe. Or perhaps just his imagination.
"What do you know about me?" Zyrion asked, his voice lower but filled with distrust.
Voryn crossed his arms. "I know you are more than what you appear to be. Kyrethron knew it. Calessia knew it. And now you are beginning to realize it, even if you don't want to admit it."
Zyrion stared at him, trying to decipher his words. "What does that mean? What does Kyrethron have to do with me?"
"Everything," Voryn answered without hesitation. "But that truth is not something you can handle yet. Before you face Umbraek, before you face true darkness, you must understand who you really are. And that begins here."
"And what am I supposed to understand?"
Voryn leaned closer, his metallic-gray eyes glowing intensely. "You are not just a man carrying a fragment. You are something far greater. And if you fail to control it, you will be the instrument of your own destruction."
Zyrion felt his mind spinning with questions. He wanted to shout, to punch something, to demand clear answers. But something in Voryn's presence restrained him.
"Why are you doing this?" he finally asked.
Voryn remained silent for a moment before speaking. "Because, deep down, I am like you. Someone who once carried a fragment. Someone who learned too late the price of wielding such power."
Zyrion blinked in surprise. "You had a fragment?"
Voryn nodded slowly. "And I lost it. But I learned enough to know what it means to have one. So here is my advice, Zyrion: do not trust the fragment. And more importantly, do not trust those who claim they can help you control it."
Zyrion stared at him, sensing a hidden meaning behind those words. "And you? What am I supposed to do with you?"
Voryn stood up, adjusting the cloak he wore. "For now, survive. Because whether you like it or not, your enemies already know what you carry inside. And they will do everything in their power to take it from you."
Before Zyrion could respond, the chains binding him suddenly snapped, falling to the ground with a metallic clang. He looked around, confused, but Voryn was already retreating into the shadows.
"We will meet again, Zyrion," he said, his voice echoing in the empty room. "And by then, I hope you're ready to hear the truth."
In a blink, Voryn vanished, leaving Zyrion alone.
As Zyrion walked slowly toward the exit, his mind was a storm of unanswered questions. Who was Voryn truly? What did his words mean? And, most importantly, what exactly was the fragment now inside him?
Stepping outside under a sky full of stars, Zyrion took a deep breath. Despite the uncertainty, there was one thing he knew for sure: no matter how dark the path ahead was, he wasn't going to give up.
"If there's anything to learn from this," he muttered to himself, "it's that I need to be ready for anything. And I'm not backing down."
The night air around Zyrion grew heavy, almost suffocating, as he moved through the forest in search of a way out of that unknown place. The calm, star-covered sky was replaced by a chilling whisper that seemed to echo from every direction. A dark presence made itself known.
From the shadows, a figure emerged. Tall and muscular, clad in black armor adorned with spikes and runes glowing a faint crimson. His face was hidden behind a white iron mask, similar in design to Voryn's—but far more grotesque and terrifying.
"So we finally meet, Zyrion," the figure said, his voice deep and distorted. "My name doesn't matter, but you will remember it as the beginning of your torment."
Zyrion staggered back, feeling a sharp pain in his chest—the fragment. "Who… who are you? What do you want from me?"
The man tilted his head, revealing a sinister smile through the opening of the mask. "I want nothing except to destroy you. Not out of hatred… but because your existence threatens everything I've worked for. You are an obstacle—one I must eliminate."
"Then try," Zyrion shouted, raising his hands to defend himself.
But the man lifted his hand first. A blast of black energy struck Zyrion, hurling him brutally against a nearby tree.
Zyrion barely had time to rise before the dark figure appeared in front of him with supernatural speed. The stranger took a white iron mask from his back. It was horribly heavy, lined with internal hooks and sharp nails along the inner rim.
"Do you see this, Zyrion?" the figure said, holding the mask up. "This artifact is cursed. Once you wear it, it becomes part of you. It will torment you, dominate you, and consume any hope you have left. And the best part… the pain never ends."
Zyrion tried to move, but his body was frozen. A dark energy held him in place.
"Don't… don't touch me," he said, struggling to free his arms, but it was useless.
The man laughed cruelly. "Oh, you cannot stop it. This is your fate. No matter how strong you are, Zyrion… your suffering begins now."
Before he could react, the man pressed the mask against Zyrion's face with brutal force. The internal hooks pierced his skin, and the nails slowly sank into his flesh.
Zyrion's scream tore through the forest, echoing for miles. He tried to pull the mask off, but it fused to his face as if melting into his skin and bones.
"Stop!" Zyrion screamed, his voice muffled by agony. Blood trickled down the edges of the mask, soaking into his clothes.
The dark figure stepped back, admiring his work. "This is only the beginning. Now, every breath will be torment. Every moment a battle to keep your sanity. But don't worry, Zyrion… the real agony comes later."
Zyrion collapsed to his knees, trembling hands clawing at the mask. "Take it off! Please!" he begged.
But the more he tried, the tighter it clung. The hooks adjusted, digging deeper. His vision dimmed, each blink showing glimpses of fire, death, and pure darkness.
"This isn't real… this isn't real…" he whispered, tears mixing with the blood on his face.
The man watched him with satisfaction. "Yes. Keep fighting. It will only strengthen the curse."
Zyrion looked up, eyes filled with despair and hatred. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because I want you to know true suffering," the man answered, disappearing into the shadows.
Time blurred into a whirlwind of agony for Zyrion. He could barely move—every attempt was a reminder of the torment now bonded to him. Then, a brilliant light illuminated the forest, and Quindarion appeared, racing toward him.
"Zyrion!" Quindarion shouted, kneeling beside him. "By the gods… what have they done to you?"
Zyrion looked up weakly, his eyes full of pain. "Quindarion… help me… please…"
Quindarion touched the mask but instantly recoiled as if burned. "This thing is cursed. I can't remove it… not without help."
"Do something!" Zyrion cried, slamming his fist into the ground.
Quindarion placed a firm hand on Zyrion's shoulder. "Listen to me, my friend. No matter what happens… you're not alone. We will find a way to free you. I promise."
Zyrion nodded weakly, tears streaming down his face.
As Quindarion helped him stand, both of them knew the path ahead was darker than ever. But in Quindarion's eyes burned an unbreakable determination.
"Zyrion… no matter how many times you fall," Quindarion said firmly, "I'll be here to lift you back up. No matter how long it takes, I swear… I will free you from this curse."
Zyrion looked at him—and for the first time since the torment began, he felt a faint spark of hope.
TO BE CONTINUED…