The Cursed of Destiny: The One Who Waited

The war had ended—but the silence it left behind was far from peace.

Not a single enemy remained. Ash and broken steel littered the courtyard. The sky, once torn with thunder and screams, now stood eerily quiet above the charred ruins of the mansion.

In the middle of it all stood the man.

Tall. Silent. His brown hair tousled by the wind. His cloak torn and soaked in blood that wasn't his. His eyes—deep blue, impossibly deep—swept across the wreckage without blinking.

Then, without a word, he moved toward the elders and toward Auren, who sat slumped and bloodied near a broken column.

The man knelt and placed a hand over Auren's mangled arm. Light, soft as breath, spilled from his palm. The shattered bone realigned. The torn flesh rewove itself. Auren's fingers twitched… then curled.

He stared in disbelief.

The man raised a hand to the sky. A silver flame spiraled upward, bursting like a flower of light. A signal. A call to return. To rebuild.

In time, the others came.

The survivors—dust-covered, shaken, hollow-eyed—gathered at the ruined manor. Many wept quietly. Others simply sank to the ground in awe. They had expected to die. And yet… here they were.

Siora and Daran appeared, carrying the unconscious children on their backs. The little ones, bruised and limp, were laid gently on beds of spare cloth in the last remaining hall.

Siora approached Auren, eyes filled with cautious disbelief.

"Who is he?" she whispered. "Why did he come? Why help us?"

Auren didn't speak. He simply looked toward the man.

He had not moved from Lyra's side.

He sat beside her now, quiet as a shadow. He hadn't said a word since the battle ended. Hadn't explained who he was, or how he had reduced armies to ash with a glance. He simply watched her, as though seeing something the rest of them couldn't.

Moonlight spilled across her hand… then his. Where the light met, it shimmered—soft and silver—as if the world remembered something it had long forgotten.

He reached out—not to heal, not to awaken—but simply to be near her. His fingers brushed the space between them, and the faintest circle appeared in the dust.

A loop without beginning. A loop without end.

Siora watched from the doorway. Her gaze dropped to his bare arms—covered in old scars. Not from this battle. Not even this life. They were ancient, faded like worn ink.

How long had he been fighting?

That night, food was prepared in quiet reverence. Auren came forward, kneeling beside him. He held out a piece of bread.

"You haven't eaten," he said gently.

He took the bread with a hand far too steady for someone who had ended an army. Those ocean-blue eyes—calm, ancient—met Auren's. In them, Auren saw lifetimes.

Then he nodded once and chewed silently.

Something in Auren's mind clicked.

Without a word, he stood and turned away, his boots crunching on the broken stone. Siora saw the look in his eyes and followed him. Daran came too, curious and wary.

They followed Auren to his private study, a sealed door hidden behind a tapestry. He opened it with a carved sigil and descended into the chamber below.

Shelves lined the walls. Dust-covered scrolls. Relics. Forgotten tomes.

"What is this place?" Daran murmured.

"My family's hidden records," Auren answered, already searching.

His hands moved with urgency until he found a worn book bound in deep red leather. He flipped through page after page—then stopped.

There it was.

A portrait sketched in faded ink.

A tall man. Brown hair. Eyes like the deep sea. And a single line beneath:

"He appears in every age. Always searching. Always waiting.

For her."

Auren read on aloud.

"Some say he is cursed to remember when the world forgets.

He wanders through the rise and fall of empires, through flame and frost,

chasing a soul that once made the stars sing."

His hand trembled.

"He isn't just protecting Lyra…" Auren whispered. "He's always protected her. In every age. Every ruin. Every war."

Siora stepped closer to the page. Her voice came softer than breath.

"They say some souls are born for each other.

That when the world ends, they find one another in the dark…

and begin again."

She touched the page, her eyes misting.

Daran was silent. He looked back toward the stairs.

"Then… who is she?"

Auren slowly closed the book.

"She's not just Elira's daughter. Not just my blood. She's the soul he's waited for—through lifetimes. And now… he's found her again."

Outside, the man still sat beside Lyra. His hand hovered just above hers. He hadn't moved.

He didn't need to.

He had waited longer than time.

And now… she was here.

And the silence was no longer empty.

End of Volume 1