The memory shifted again—like a wound reopening.
Aiden's mind drifted to the night everything changed.
He had just turned ten.
The chains had come off weeks before. They had started giving him clean clothes again, let him sleep in a real bed—but only because he had learned to obey.
"Breathe slow when the rune burns," they told him."Don't speak unless spoken to.""Do not cry. The curse awakens through sorrow."
But they were wrong.
That night, the guards shoved him into the main hall of the estate, where nobles sat feasting at long tables under candlelight. The Gravemires were entertaining foreign envoys, and Count Alaric wanted to demonstrate his son's "gift."
"Aiden," his father said aloud, voice thick with wine and pride,"Show them what your bloodline is capable of."
Aiden stood still. His hands trembled at his sides.
He looked to Lady Isadora, who smiled coldly from the high seat, sipping red wine like blood.
He was to perform. Again.They had brought a chained demon beast from the dungeons—twice his size, all fangs and rage. His job was to activate the curse and force it to submit.
Just like always.
He bit his tongue, stepped forward—and tried. The sigil began to glow on his chest. Pain built in his bones. The floor pulsed beneath him with corrupted magic.
But something was… off.
"Enough. Stronger," Alaric ordered.
Something inside Aiden snapped.
The room blurred. His head spun. The demon shrieked in panic—not from rage, but fear.
And then the curse exploded.
A blast of crimson energy ripped through the grand hall, shattering chandeliers, flipping tables, and sending nobles flying. Screams filled the air.
Aiden collapsed to his knees, clutching his head. His chest burned, his eyes glowed red, and the sigil bled light like wildfire.
When it cleared…
A servant girl lay dead—thrown into a pillar by the blast. She had always been kind to him. The only one who ever brought him warm bread without being asked.
And he had killed her.
The silence was deafening.
"Enough."Count Alaric's voice rang out, but it was colder than ever.
He didn't run to Aiden. He didn't speak with grief or shock.He simply turned to the gathered nobles and said:
"This… is no longer a son. He is a mistake. A threat. A curse."
And just like that… it was decided.
Aiden didn't resist when they bound him again.
He remembered Lady Isadora leaning down and whispering with a smile:
"Don't blame us, child. This is what monsters deserve."
That night, under moonlight, the guards took him deep into the cursed forest—and left him there.
No food.No blade.No goodbye.
Just the cold and the howl of beasts.And the fire inside him, burning with rage and grief.
Back to the Present (Forest):
Aiden opened his eyes.
He was still under the tree—but now, the wound at his side had closed slightly.The sigil still glowed, but softer now. Calmer.
"They left me to die…""…but I survived."
He stood up slowly, gripping the tree bark.
"They used me. Lied to me. Made me a monster."
He stared into the darkness of the forest.
"Fine."
"Let them see what their monster has become.
The forest stretched before him—vast, silent, cold.
Aiden walked with slow, measured steps, his breath shallow, one hand over the half-healed wound at his ribs. The glow on his chest had dimmed, but he could still feel it—a heartbeat beneath the skin, as if something ancient now stirred with every step.
Twilight had fallen fully now. Only faint moonlight filtered through the tangled branches overhead, and the woods whispered with every movement—birds retreating, animals hiding, and something else watching.
Aiden kept his eyes forward.
Soon, he smelled it.
Smoke.
But not fresh—the kind that lingers in ashes long after the fire has died. He turned a bend in the forest path and paused at the top of a small ridge.
Below him lay the charred remains of a village.
Cottages blackened and collapsed, fences torn apart, the well shattered at its base. The land looked withered, as if something had drained the life from the soil itself.
And then he saw it—a circle burned into the ground, runes carved in dark blood.
His breath caught.
"This wasn't bandits…" he muttered. "This was a summoning."
He descended slowly, eyes scanning for signs of life. None. Only silence.
But then—movement.
Near the altar-stone at the village center, someone knelt. A girl, barely older than him, her white cloak stained with ash. She was tracing the edge of the blood rune with her fingers.
Aiden froze behind a collapsed wall.
She looked human… but her eyes were covered with a cloth, and yet she moved with certainty—like she could see without seeing.
And then—she spoke.
"You shouldn't be here, boy."
Aiden stiffened. He hadn't made a sound.
"You reek of it…" she whispered, tilting her head toward him."The same curse. The same ruin."
He stepped into view slowly, one hand near his side—not drawing power, but not relaxed either.
"Who are you?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she stood, pointing a pale finger toward his chest.
"It sings louder now. The seal is loosening."
Aiden's hand flew to his shirt where the sigil lay.
"How do you know about the seal?"
"Because I carry the opposite mark," she said calmly, lifting her sleeve.
On her arm burned a sigil in silver-blue, shaped like a moon devoured by a serpent. It shimmered faintly, cold and beautiful.
"Where yours brings ruin," she said, "mine holds silence."
Aiden's eyes narrowed. "You're cursed too."
She smiled—not kindly. Not cruelly. Just knowingly.
"No, boy. We're not cursed.""We're chosen."
🌒 Suddenly—the runes on the altar flared to life.
A shadow burst from beneath the stone, screeching in rage. A twisted beast of bone and mist, its face a blank white mask carved with ancient letters.
Aiden flinched. The girl stood still.
"It's bound to the summoning. A memory," she said."You'll need to fight it… or feed it."
Aiden's hand glowed faintly red.
"You knew this would happen."
"Of course," she whispered."I was waiting for you."