Raen did not sleep that night.
How could he? The visions clung to his thoughts like oil, thick and unshakable. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw the cracked orb. Heard the whispers. Felt the smoke coiling through his veins.
He stood at the edge of a cliff now, just beyond the borders of the ruined temple. The land before him was vast—forest, mountain, and river—but none of it looked the same anymore.
The world felt… thin.
Like the skin of something deeper.
His fingers trembled as he looked at the ring. It no longer glowed. But its weight had changed. He could feel it pressing against his soul, as if anchoring something inside him that wanted out.
> "Child of ruin…"
That title haunted him.
The wind picked up.
Somewhere in the trees, something howled—not a wolf, not anything he knew. And it wasn't alone.
Raen turned back.
He had to leave this place.
By morning, he had reached a village near the mountain's foot. It was quiet. Too quiet.
No birds.
No voices.
Only the creak of wooden signs and the soft flutter of laundry swaying in the wind.
As he walked, he noticed something strange.
The people—those who were outside—didn't look at him. Didn't see him. Their eyes were dull, almost... hollow. They moved like puppets, repeating tasks in an endless loop.
A man cutting wood. Over and over, though the logs were long gone.
A woman drawing water from a dry well.
Children chasing something that wasn't there.
Raen backed away slowly.
That's when he saw the marks.
Dark sigils—faint, like bruises—glowed beneath the villagers' skin. On their necks. Their wrists. Their spines. The same sigils from the temple walls.
> "They've been touched," he muttered.
He didn't know by what. But he had a guess.
And then—
A sound. Wet. Heavy.
He turned.
From the alley, something crawled into the light.
A creature.
Once human—perhaps. But no longer.
Its skin was pale and stretched too tight across its frame. Bones jutted out at odd angles. Its eyes were gone, replaced by black pits that leaked smoke.
Raen took a step back.
Then another.
But the creature smelled him. Its head snapped up.
And it screamed.
The sound tore through the air like shattering glass.
The villagers stopped.
All turned.
And looked at him.
Eyes gone. Mouths slack. All of them... smiling.
> "Ash-born," they whispered in unison.
Then they charged.
Raen ran.
Through the alleys, leaping fences, kicking through doors. The world around him warped—shadows growing hands, windows whispering his name, animals watching from rooftops with glowing eyes.
One word repeated in his mind:
> "TRAP."
He should never have come here.
The entire village was a husk—a shell covering something far worse.
He ducked into a crumbling house and slammed the door behind him.
Silence.
Until a voice spoke—right beside him.
> "You brought it with you."
Raen turned, blade drawn.
An old man stood in the corner. Blind. But unafraid.
> "The curse. It was sealed beneath the world. But the ring opened it again."
Raen gritted his teeth. "What is it?"
The man smiled sadly.
> "Not 'what'. Who."
Lightning flashed outside.
The room shuddered.
The man held out his hand. His fingers bore the same glowing mark.
> "It remembers you, Raen. From the age before names. Before flesh. You're not ready for it."
Raen felt the world slipping.
> "Then tell me how to stop it."
But the old man was already dissolving.
Into dust.
Into whispers.
Outside, the villagers stood motionless now. Waiting.
But the earth beneath them trembled.
Cracks formed.
Smoke rose.
And from deep below—something began to rise.
Not a monster. Not a god.
Something older.
Something that remembered him.
Raen stepped out of the house slowly.
His ring pulsed once more.
A voice echoed in the sky, in the trees, in his blood.
> "Welcome home... Prince of As