The Cursed Gift

The air rippled like disturbed water, distorting the world around Kian.

The Shadowguard's knife remained frozen mid-air, caught in the unseen force that now hummed beneath Kian's skin. He could feel it—the power surging through him like a second heartbeat, raw and alive.

For the first time in his life, he was not just running. He was fighting back.

The Shadowguard who had thrown the knife staggered back, his masked face betraying no emotion, but Kian could sense his fear. It was slight, but it was there—like a crack in unbreakable steel.

The other assassin, still standing, moved first. He was fast—faster than any normal man should be. His curved dagger gleamed in the dim alley light, cutting a sharp arc toward Kian's throat.

Kian did not think. His instinct took over. His hand shot up, and before the blade could reach him, the air itself hardened, forming a barrier of force. The impact sent a sharp vibration through his skull, but the blade did not touch him.

The assassin's eyes widened. Kian had blocked a killing strike with nothing but willpower.

And then—Kian pushed. The invisible force lashed outward like a crashing wave, and the second assassin was hurled backward, slamming against the alley wall with a sickening crack.

He did not get up. The remaining Shadowguard hesitated. Kian stared him down, breathing hard, his hands still humming with invisible energy. For the first time, he was no longer the prey.

He took a step forward. The Shadowguard took a step back. And then—he vanished.

A ripple of darkness, a shift in the air—and he was simply gone. Kian swallowed hard. He could barely process what had just happened.

But one thing was clear. He had won.

The streets of Eldrinth were never silent. Even in the darkest hours, whispers moved like the wind—rumors that spread from tavern to palace, from beggar to noble.

That night, the city hummed with a new story.

"The boy who defied the Shadowguard."

"The one who made weapons freeze in midair."

"The one who shattered men with nothing but a thought."

"It was impossible!" they said.

The Shadowguard had never been defeated. Never fled from a fight. But now, they had.

Some spoke in hushed reverence. Others in terrified whispers.

And in the high towers of the Ivory Keep, the Magi sat in their candlelit chambers, their faces grim.

The Godmarked had returned. And Eldrinth was not ready.

Deep within the Ivory Keep, a door of solid iron groaned open. The three figures entered a darkened chamber, where only a single blue flame flickered atop an ancient stone pedestal.

Master Edran, First Magus of Eldrinth, stepped forward. His heavy robe dragged against the marble floor, his expression unreadable. "The Shadowguard have failed," he said simply.

The others remained silent. "We have spent centuries making sure this never happened," Lady Varess murmured, her violet eyes flickering with quiet fury. "And yet, the boy still lives."

Malrik the Silent, his silver gaze reflecting the cold light of the flame, pressed his hand to the pedestal. The blue fire shivered at his touch as if responding to some unseen force.

"We should have wiped them all out," Varess continued. "The old blood should have died with the last purge." Edran turned to her sharply. "It did. Until now."

A silence stretched between them. Then Malrik finally spoke. "The boy does not know what he is." His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of truth. Edran nodded. "Not yet."

Varess let out a slow breath. "Then we have a choice." She stepped forward, tracing her fingers through the air, and the blue flame twisted into a shape—an outline of a boy. "If he remains ignorant, he can be killed. He is not yet ready."

The fire shifted. The shape changed. A shadow loomed behind the boy now. Something larger, something powerful. "But if he learns," Varess continued, voice darkening, "if he understands what he is meant to be—"

Edran's fingers curled into a fist. "He will become unstoppable." The flame vanished.

The three Magi stood in silence, the weight of their decision pressing against the air. Finally, Malrik broke the quiet. "Then we must find him first."

Kian did not sleep that night. He sat on the rooftop of a crumbling inn, his legs dangling over the edge as he stared at the city below. Everything was different now. His hands still tingled with raw power, as if something inside him had finally woken up—something that had always been there, just waiting for him to notice.

But he had no idea how to control it. Every time he tried to focus, the air around him would hum, distort and pulse with unseen force. He could feel something coiling beneath his skin, but the moment he reached for it, it slipped away.

It was frustrating. And terrifying. Because now, the entire city was looking for him. He exhaled slowly. What was he supposed to do now? Run? No. Not anymore.

Not after what he had seen in the Void. Not after learning the truth.

The Magi had spent centuries erasing the Godmarked from history. They had stolen his past, his legacy, his very right to exist. But not anymore.

For the first time in his life, Kian would not let others decide his fate. He would find out who he truly was. He would learn to control his power. And then—He would make them fear him.

Kian closed his eyes and focused. The Void had shown him a glimpse of what he could be. He had seen the power of Solmira, the ancient city where magic had once thrived. He had seen gods walk among men, and men rise to challenge them.

But he needed control. He held out his hand. The air trembled, waiting. He reached inward, searching for the part of him that had made the Shadowguard tremble.

Something stirred. The wind around him shifted, carrying whispers that only he could hear. "Awaken, child of Solmira." His fingers twitched—and the stone beneath him cracked.

He gasped, pulling back. The roof tile he had been sitting on had split in two. The power was real. And if he could harness it…He would never have to be afraid again.