The Shattered Prophecy

Eryk had spent the night in a restless sleep, his dreams filled with flames and shadows, visions of power that burned through him like wildfire. His body ached from the strain of the fight, and his mind was consumed by the events of the day. What had happened? What power had he unleashed? And more importantly, what did it mean for him and his future?

As the sun rose on a new day, Eryk stood in the courtyard, the air heavy with the scent of dust and earth. He was alone for the moment, his thoughts spinning. Lyra had recovered quickly after the strange explosion of fire that had knocked her into the wall. The flames, though small, had burned bright, and it was clear to him now that he was no longer just a boy in the woods, learning to hunt. He had tapped into something dangerous—something powerful.

Darius had watched the whole thing in silence, his face unreadable, but Eryk could feel the weight of his gaze, like a hawk watching its prey. He didn’t know what Darius was thinking, but one thing was certain—his life had changed forever in that moment.

The door to the courtyard creaked open, and Eryk turned to find Darius stepping out from the shadows. The swordmaster’s presence was commanding, his every step deliberate and measured. There was no warmth in his gaze, no comforting smile—only the cold, steady resolve of a man who had seen far more than his fair share of the world’s cruelty.

“I’m surprised you’re still standing,” Darius said, his voice rough like gravel. “You’ve got guts, Eryk. That much is certain.”

Eryk swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle into him like stones in his gut. “I don’t understand,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant. “What happened in the fight? The fire—was that really me? I didn’t mean to hurt Lyra.”