The Cursed Gift

The air shuddered. Kian felt it the moment his fingers touched the iron chest—a deep, unnatural tremor that pulsed outward, rattling the chains that bound the relic.

The whisper returned, stronger than before. "You are not ready." The voice echoed in his skull, sending a sharp pain through his temples. Kian clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay upright. Whatever was inside this chest—it was powerful. And it knew him.

The runes on the iron flared to life, glowing with an eerie blue light. The chains snapped, one by one, breaking as if they had rusted into dust. And then—The chest opened.

A gust of air blasted outward, sending Kian stumbling back as an icy force poured from within. The temperature in the vault dropped instantly, his breath turning to mist. The glow from the broken runes flickered…

And a figure emerged. At first, Kian could not tell if the figure was a man or a shadow. The prisoner rose slowly, their form shifting like a mirage. A long, tattered cloak draped over them, woven with threads of silver and deep blue. Their hands were bound in ancient sigils, glowing faintly, as if the very fabric of magic still tried to contain them.

Then, the figure breathed. And Kian saw their eyes. Two piercing orbs of silver fire, burning with something older than time itself.

Kian's body locked up. He had never felt such raw presence before—not even in the void where he had seen the golden-eyed being. The prisoner's gaze settled on him. Not with hostility. Not with gratitude. But with recognition.

"It is you," the voice murmured. Kian took a step back. His pulse pounded. "Who… who are you?" The figure's head tilted slightly. "You hear my voice." It wasn't a question. Kian swallowed. "I—"

A sudden blast of energy pulsed through the chamber, cutting him off. The prisoner winced, raising a hand as the sigils around their wrists flared violently. At the same moment—The vault doors exploded open.

Kian barely had time to react before figures stormed into the chamber. Magi enforcers. Four of them, robed in deep crimson, their hands crackling with spells. Behind them, a fifth figure strode forward—tall, commanding, his robes marked with the golden sigil of the High Order.

Kian's blood ran cold. Master Edran. First Magus of Eldrinth. The Magi's leader. Edran's sharp, pale gaze swept across the chamber—taking in Kian, the shattered chains, the opened relic. His expression remained calm. Calculated. "You," he said. Not to Kian—but to the prisoner.

The prisoner exhaled, straightening. "Edran," they murmured. "It has been a long time." Kian's stomach twisted. They knew each other.

Master Edran lifted his hand. Blue fire erupted from his palm, twisting into a spear of pure energy. The Magi enforcers moved in unison, their spells taking form—bolts of lightning, blades of raw force, runes flaring on the stone floor.

They weren't going to capture the prisoner. They were going to destroy them. Kian, MOVE! The first enforcer struck. A bolt of violet lightning ripped through the air toward Kian—He reacted.

The storm inside him roared to life. His hands shot up, and the world shattered. The force of his magic collided with the spell mid-air, sending arcs of energy crackling across the vault. Sparks ignited the walls, and dust rained from the ceiling as the chamber shook under the impact.

Kian stumbled back, his breath ragged. His power had deflected the attack—but barely. Master Edran's gaze snapped to him. His expression shifted, curiosity flickering in his cold eyes. "So," he murmured. "The boy still lives." He recognized Kian.

Kian's fingers curled into fists. "I could say the same to you."Edran smiled. Then he turned back to the prisoner. "Seal them," he commanded.

The Magi enforcers moved in perfect synchronization, their hands weaving intricate symbols in the air. A binding spell—one designed to lock the prisoner back inside their iron cage.

But the prisoner moved first. With a single gesture, the sigils around their wrists broke apart. The energy restraining them snapped like brittle glass.

And then—They vanished. Kian's breath hitched. No. Not vanished—moved. Faster than the eye could track.

One moment, they were standing beside him. The next—they were behind the first Magi enforcer. A whisper of motion. The Magi gasped. Then collapsed. No wound. No blood. Just gone.

The other enforcers hesitated. Fear flashed across their faces. The prisoner tilted their head. "Unwise," they murmured. Then—Chaos. The vault erupted in light and fury.

The Magi struck again, their spells tearing through the chamber, but the prisoner moved like liquid shadows, weaving through their attacks with terrifying precision. Edran did not move.

His eyes remained fixed on Kian. He braced himself. A rush of cold magic swept toward him—Kian, focus. The storm answered.

He threw out his hand—and the world shifted. The spell veered off course, crashing into a pillar instead. The stone exploded outward, and dust clouded the air. Kian didn't wait. He turned and ran toward the prisoner. "We have to go—now!" he shouted.

The prisoner's silver eyes flicked to him. Then they moved. A pulse of energy tore through the room—not an attack, but a wave of force that sent the remaining Magi stumbling backward.

And then—The prisoner grabbed Kian's arm. And the world vanished.

When Kian's vision cleared, he was somewhere new. A rooftop. High above Eldrinth. The stars stretched wide overhead, the wind cool against his sweat-drenched skin. The prisoner stood beside him, gazing down at the city with unreadable eyes.

Kian's heart still pounded. "What… what just happened?" The prisoner exhaled softly. "I moved us." Kian stared at them. "You can teleport?" A slight smile. "Something like that."

Silence stretched between them. Then Kian took a deep breath. "You know who I am," he said. The prisoner nodded. "Who are you?" A pause. Then, at last, the prisoner turned fully to him, their silver-fire eyes gleaming in the night.

"My name," they murmured, "is Solrien." Kian felt a shiver crawl down his spine.

That name—He had heard it before.