The stranger

Pain.

That was the first thing Agor felt. A dull, throbbing agony that pulsed through his body, each beat of his heart amplifying the torment. His head pounded as if something heavy had struck it. His left arm remained stiff, no matter how hard he tried ...he couldn't move it. His right arm burned, stinging as if fire itself licked at the wound.

His eyelids felt heavy, the world around him a blur of flickering light and deep shadows. Slowly, his vision adjusted. The first thing he saw was the jagged ceiling of a cave, dark and uneven. The second was the fire.....the only source of warmth, its orange glow casting eerie shadows against the cavern walls.

Then he heard it.

A soft scraping sound. Metal against stone. Rhythmic and Precise.

His breath hitched. He turned his head slowly, wincing as pain shot down his neck. The figure sitting by the fire was large, broad-shouldered, his shadow shifting with the flickering flames. His arms were thick with muscle, veins like ropes winding down his forearms, a reflection of both age and years of wielding heavy tools. His beard, streaked with gray, framed a face lined with deep wrinkles....marks of time, hardship, and experience.Even as he moved about he had a limp to his strides, perhaps an old injury to the leg.

As he turned momentarily to glance at him, his eyes that stood out. Sharp, like steel tempered by war. They were locked onto Agor, watching him. Keenly aware of every of Agors movements.

Agor shuddered. He didn't know this man.

Panic surged through him. His breathing grew rapid, frantic. His mind raced, clawing for memories, for something familiar. Where am I? What happened?

Then it hit him.

His Father. His Mother . The Monster.

His Father's voice....Run! His father's last smile.

Agor's eyes widened in horror as the memories crashed down like a collapsing tower.

"M-Mother…" His voice cracked, weak and small. "F-Father…"

He tried to sit up, but his body refused. Agony shot through him like lightning. His right arm, his side,everything hurt. His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths, eyes darting wildly around the cave.

"Quite Boy!!! You would bring them right to us."

The voice was deep, gruff. Commanding.

Agor froze, his wide eyes locking onto the old man.

"They're still out there," the man continued, setting down the blade he'd been sharpening. His voice carried weight, like someone who had seen too much of the world. "You scream like that again, and you might not live to regret it."

Agor swallowed hard. His body trembled, but he bit down the sobs that threatened to escape.

The man leaned closer, his face partially illuminated by the fire. "You're lucky to be alive, boy. Found you by the river. Broken, bleeding." His gaze flicked to Agor's right arm. "Be still, so I would patch you up"

Agor followed his eyes,and what he saw made his stomach churn.

His right arm was torn open, flesh exposed, but the blood oozing from the wound was wrong. It wasn't just red...it was mixed with something darker, something sickly green. The liquid shimmered strangely under the firelight, the colors swirling together like poison.

Agor's breath quickened. "W-What is that?"

The blacksmith exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable. "I should be asking you" he said

A silence settled between them, heavy and unspoken. Agor felt the man's eyes scanning him, as if searching for something...some answer that he himself didn't have.

The old man reached for a leather pouch at his side. "I'm no healer," he muttered, pulling out a thick cloth. "But I know you won't make it to one unless I stop the bleeding."

Agor flinched as the man reached toward him.

"You're not gonna like this," the blacksmith warned, as he pressed his strong palms against Agors mouth .

The fire crackled.

And then the pain came.

Agor barely had time to react before white-hot agony exploded through his right arm.

A scream tore from his throat as searing heat burned into his flesh. The old man pressed a heated metal plate against the wound, cauterizing it. The smell of charred skin filled the air, mingling with the acrid scent of burnt blood.

Agor thrashed, his body weak but desperate to escape the pain. His vision blurred. He gasped, choking on his own sobs, but the iron grip now on his shoulder held him down.

"Stay still," the man ordered, his voice firm but not unkind. "Or you'll bleed out."

Tears streamed down Agor's face, his nails digging into the dirt beneath him. The pain was unbearable, like his skin was being torn apart by fire itself.

Minutes passed,...felt like hours...before the man finally pulled the metal away. Agor's body sagged against the cave floor, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. The pain still burned, but it was duller now, fading into a deep ache.

"Good," the man muttered. "That should hold."

Agor barely heard him. His head spun, exhaustion dragging him down. His body shivered despite the fire's warmth.

Suddenly, Something was pressed to his lips. A wooden bowl. A bitter scent came from it.

"Drink."

Agor hesitated, but the look in the blacksmith's eyes left no room for argument. He forced the liquid down

"What's that?"Agor asked as he grimaced at the awful taste

Almost immediately, warmth spread through his limbs, his head growing heavy. Sleep tugged at him, his consciousness slipping.

As the world faded, the last thing he saw was the old man watching him, his expression unreadable.

The cave fell into silence.

The blacksmith sat by the fire, his gaze lingering on the sleeping boy. He let out a slow breath, reaching for his leather sack. He'd been too preoccupied with the child before, but now,...now he had time.

He opened the sack.

Dark, oozing blood stained the cloth inside. The severed head of an Enju rolled slightly as he pulled it free.

Even in death, the creature's twisted features sent a chill down his spine. The gnarled skin, the sharp ridges along its skull....beasts like this were usually no ordinary enemies. He had fought plenty in his lifetime, but this one… this one had been different.

The blacksmith's fingers traced along the Enju's forehead, feeling for the spot. Then, with practiced precision, he dug his blade into the flesh, cracking open the skull.

Inside, nestled deep within, was the prize he sought.

A dark red orb, pulsing faintly.

He exhaled through his nose. A Zarachian Core.

These were valuable. Highly sought after. Used in forging Zarachian Blades;...blades strong enough to cut through Enju hide, powerful enough to channel blood-commanded magic.

But this was also something more. It was a remnant of the enemy. A piece of the darkness that had fallen upon the land.

He wrapped the orb carefully, ensuring no trace of the creature's husk remained.

Then, with a quiet sigh, he tossed the Enju's remains into the fire. The skull cracked, blackened, as it slowly turned to coal and then ash.

The blacksmith wiped his hands, glancing once more at the boy sleeping beside him.

What the hell am I getting myself into?

His instincts screamed that this child was trouble.

But there was something else, too. A feeling deep in his gut.

The boy's blood… it was Enju-tainted. But he wasn't an Enju.

He was something else entirely.

And that made him dangerous.

With a tired grunt, the blacksmith leaned back against the cavern wall, his eyelids growing heavy. It had been a long day; from hunting down a crippled Enju to dragging a half-dead boy from the riverbank.

He exhaled.

Tomorrow, he would have to decide what to do with the boy.

But for now, he would sleep.

And outside the cave, the wind howled _whispering of things yet to come.