Forge Of Fate: A Blacksmiths Journey

Xel'thar did not walk into House Valren's estate.

He arrived with thunder.

The night sky darkened unnaturally as clouds churned overhead, mana-charged lightning crackling within their depths. A storm that had no place on the weather charts descended upon the estate, its winds howling through the courtyards.

Then, without warning—lightning struck.

A searing bolt of energy tore through the estate's defensive barriers, overloading enchantments that had been carefully layered over decades. The once-impenetrable wards flickered and shattered like brittle glass, leaving the massive iron gates unprotected.

The explosion sent shockwaves rippling through the grounds. Guards stationed at the entrance stumbled, momentarily blinded by the sudden burst of energy.

Xel'thar stepped forward through the dissipating smoke, his robes billowing in the charged air. He wasn't a soldier. He wasn't an assassin. He was something far worse—an executioner who hadn't decided whether his prey would live or die.

His violet eyes glowed with raw arcane power as he surveyed the carnage.

One of the guards recovered first. A veteran swordsman, his blade gleamed with enchantments, crackling with the power of wind and steel. He lunged, swift and precise, his strikes guided by years of training.

Xel'thar didn't move. He didn't need to.

With a flick of his wrist, the swordsman's entire body twisted, as if an invisible fist had seized him in its grasp. The enchanted armor crumpled inward with an agonizing crunch. The man barely had time to scream before his form was flung aside like a broken puppet.

The other guards hesitated.

A mistake.

Xel'thar lifted his staff. The air around them rippled with distortion magic, and a sudden wave of force crashed through the courtyard. The remaining guards were lifted from their feet and slammed into the walls with bone-shattering impact.

Thunder rumbled above, as if the sky itself was bearing witness.

The estate was built like a fortress—tall, narrow corridors designed to funnel attackers into kill zones. It had been a stronghold for generations, housing the Valren lineage, who had always been known for their political cunning and military funding.

Tonight, that history meant nothing.

Xel'thar moved through the halls, methodical and uncaring. Each step he took was punctuated by destruction.

A group of elite house guards formed a defensive line, spears glowing with warding sigils. They raised their weapons in unison, waiting for him to enter their kill zone.

Xel'thar exhaled.

A single pulse of energy rippled outward.

The walls trembled. The floor cracked. The sigils on their weapons fizzled out, useless.

Then the air itself collapsed around them.

The soldiers gasped, clutching their throats, their eyes wide with terror as the very oxygen was ripped from the space they occupied. They collapsed one by one, writhing on the marble floor, suffocating without a single wound on their bodies.

Xel'thar didn't look back.

At the top of the estate's grand staircase stood Lord Valren, a man who had grown rich through war but had never once fought in one himself. He was draped in a deep blue robe, gold embroidery running along the edges—a symbol of his wealth, power, and absolute arrogance.

He turned to run.

Lightning struck.

The arcane bolt crashed down from the storm above, striking his knee with pinpoint precision. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air as Valren collapsed, a scream of agony tearing from his throat. He clutched his leg, trembling, eyes darting in desperation.

Xel'thar approached, slow, deliberate. He knelt beside the fallen noble, his staff pressing lightly against Valren's chest.

"Do you know the difference between power and arrogance?" Xel'thar murmured.

Valren whimpered.

Xel'thar smiled, his expression unreadable.

"One ends in chains," he said. "The other in ashes."

Valren tried to speak, to beg, but another pulse of arcane energy struck him, rendering him unconscious.

A moment later, arcane shackles bound his wrists and ankles.

The storm outside began to fade. The night fell silent.

House Valren had fallen.