Part 1: The Night That Changed Fate

Night crept slowly over the city, cloaking the rooftops in a thick darkness. The sky was unusual; the stars appeared dim, as if afraid to pierce through the heavy mist that hung in the air. The sound of carriage wheels and the clanging of hammers from nearby workshops gradually faded, leaving only an eerie, cold silence.

Ethan, a young man with disheveled brown hair and rough, work-worn hands, sat on the floor of a small workshop where he had spent most of his life. The dim yellow light from an oil lamp hanging from the ceiling cast tired shadows across his face. In front of him lay an old steam engine—an artifact from a bygone era—that stretched out like a challenging puzzle.

Ethan exhaled deeply, setting down the wrench beside him. "It's almost midnight," he muttered, his voice hoarse from exhaustion. Yet, for some reason, he felt reluctant to go home. There was something in the air that night—something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

As he began tidying up his tools, a soft yet chilling voice slipped into his ears.

"Ethan..."

He froze. The voice didn't come from outside but seemed to whisper directly inside his mind. His heart pounded as he turned his gaze around the room, his eyes scanning the empty space. "Who's there?" he asked, his voice trembling.

There was no response, only the faint sound of wind whispering outside. But in the dark corner of the workshop, something caught his attention—a wooden chest that looked old and out of place.

Ethan felt his feet move on their own, stepping closer to the chest. When his hands touched the wood, it felt cold against his skin, sending a strange energy coursing through his body. He hesitated for a moment, but an overwhelming curiosity drove him to open it.

As the lid creaked open, a silvery light burst forth, momentarily blinding him. Inside, there lay a sword that looked freshly forged, despite its ancient engravings. The hilt was adorned with a glowing red gemstone, radiating an aura that made the air around it feel heavy.

Ethan swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he reached for the sword. The moment his fingers wrapped around the hilt, a piercing cold shot through his body, followed by a deafening roar that shook the room. The sword's light grew brighter, enveloping his vision until everything faded to white.

---

When Ethan opened his eyes, he was no longer in his workshop.

He stood in the middle of an endless meadow, adorned with wildflowers glowing in golden hues. A warm breeze brushed past him, carrying a fresh scent unfamiliar to him. The sky above was unlike any he had ever seen—a deep purple with three small suns glowing softly in the distance.

"What is this?" he whispered, his voice barely audible in his confusion. He turned around, searching for something familiar, but everything felt foreign.

The sword was still in his hand, now feeling heavier, as if it had become a part of him. He gazed at the gleaming blade, his reflection staring back with wide, fearful eyes.

"How did I end up here?" he thought. Questions flooded his mind. Am I dreaming? Is this another world? Or… am I dead?

Before he could answer, the sound of footsteps echoed behind him. Ethan spun around, his eyes widening as an old man in a white robe emerged from the thin mist that suddenly enveloped the meadow.

"Ethan," the man called, his voice ringing like the chime of distant bells.

"Who are you?!" Ethan took a step back, gripping the sword tighter.

The old man smiled faintly, his gaze filled with wisdom but also mystery. "I am the Keeper of Fate. And you, Ethan, have been chosen by that sword."

"Chosen? For what?"

"To be the protector of this world," the man replied. "There is a darkness rising, and only that sword has the power to stop it. But the sword does not act alone—it needs you, a true wielder."

"What are you talking about? I'm just a regular workshop worker! I don't understand any of this!" Ethan shook his head, disbelief washing over him.

The old man didn't answer. Instead, he slowly faded away, like mist blown away by the wind. Once again, Ethan was left alone, surrounded by a silence that felt suffocating.

He looked at the sword in his hand, trying to convince himself that this was real. "This isn't a dream," he whispered, though a part of him wished it was. "I can feel it… the weight of the sword… the coldness… This is real."

At that moment, a rumble sounded in the distance. Ethan looked up to see dark clouds rapidly gathering on the horizon. From within the darkness, a massive shadow emerged, advancing with terrifying speed.

Ethan's heart raced. He knew whatever was coming wasn't bringing peace. He looked at the sword in his hand, then back at the massive shadow drawing closer.

"I don't know what's happening," he thought. "But I can't run away."

He gripped the sword with both hands, standing firm despite his trembling legs. The wind blew fiercely, carrying the scent of metal and destruction.

---

The rumbling grew louder, and Ethan saw flashes of crimson light flickering within the dark clouds. The massive shadow became clearer, revealing a shape that made his breath catch. Whatever was coming, he knew one thing for certain: his life would never be the same again.