Chapter 1: The Burden of the Forsaken

1 – A Stranger in a Strange Land

The road stretched endlessly before him, winding through dense forests and open fields under an overcast sky. The scent of damp earth clung to the air, and distant hills rolled toward a horizon Elias did not recognize.

He walked in silence.

His mind replayed the visions that had struck him upon waking in this world—cities reduced to rubble, fields littered with corpses, skies painted crimson with fire. He had seen destruction before. He had caused it. But this… this was different.

This was a prophecy.

A warning of what he might become.

Elias flexed his hands, glancing at the dark sigil burned into his collarbone. The Mark of the Forsaken. The traders on the road had looked at him with fear. Their whispers still echoed in his mind.

"You'll bring ruin to this land."

Was that true? Would history repeat itself, even here?

He exhaled sharply and shook the thought away. Not unless I allow it to.

For now, survival was his priority.

He needed food, shelter, and—more importantly—information. If this world had cast him into it, there had to be a reason.

The sky dimmed as twilight approached. Up ahead, nestled between two hills, he spotted the flickering glow of lanterns—a town.

With a final glance at the empty road behind him, Elias made his way toward civilization.

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2 – The Town of Draeven

Draeven was a small, walled settlement, its wooden gates guarded by two men clad in crude armor. The banners overhead bore a sigil—a silver stag against a field of deep blue.

Elias approached calmly, his posture relaxed but measured. He had learned long ago that a man who moved with confidence was rarely questioned.

One of the guards straightened, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "State your business."

Elias met his gaze evenly. "Just passing through."

The guard's eyes flicked to his collarbone. A slight widening of his pupils—recognition, then suspicion. "You're marked."

Elias remained silent.

The second guard hesitated before glancing at his companion. "If he causes trouble, we can deal with him later. Let him in."

The first guard gave a reluctant nod and stepped aside. "Welcome to Draeven. Try not to burn it down."

Elias walked through the gates without another word.

The town was modest—cobblestone streets, wooden buildings, a marketplace where merchants sold goods by torchlight. People moved with purpose, some casting wary glances his way before quickly looking away.

He made his way toward the center of town, where a two-story tavern stood, its sign swaying gently in the wind. The Broken Hart.

The scent of roasted meat and cheap ale drifted from within, mingling with the low murmur of voices. Elias stepped inside.

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3 – The Tavern and the Stranger

The tavern was warm, dimly lit by lanterns and a crackling hearth. A few patrons sat at wooden tables, nursing drinks and murmuring in hushed tones. A barmaid moved between them, balancing a tray of mugs.

Elias approached the counter, where an older man polished a wooden mug. His eyes—sharp, experienced—flicked to the mark on Elias's collarbone.

"New in town?" the bartender asked, voice gruff.

Elias nodded. "Looking for food and information."

The bartender grunted, setting the mug down. "Food's a silver. Information depends on what you're asking."

Elias reached into his pocket—only to pause. No wallet. No cash.

Right. New world.

The bartender smirked, as if he had seen that reaction before. "No coin, no meal."

Elias exhaled. "Then maybe we can make a deal."

The bartender raised a brow. "That so?"

Before Elias could answer, the tavern door swung open. A man strode in, dressed in a dark coat, a sword strapped to his hip. He moved with the easy confidence of someone used to authority.

The tavern quieted slightly.

The newcomer scanned the room before locking eyes with Elias.

And then he smirked.

"Well, well," he drawled. "Didn't think I'd run into a Forsaken here."

Elias didn't move, but his mind sharpened. The way the man addressed him—it wasn't just caution. It was interest.

"Who are you?" Elias asked.

The man pulled out a chair, sitting opposite him. "Name's Dain." He leaned forward, elbows on the table. "And I think you and I are going to have an interesting conversation."

Elias studied him. There was something in his gaze—calculated, measuring.

"You know what I am," Elias said. "Tell me why."

Dain chuckled. "Oh, I know what you are. What I don't know is who you are." He gestured lazily toward the mark on Elias's skin. "The Forsaken are rare. Cursed, dangerous, and usually hunted. But you…" He tilted his head. "You don't seem like some mindless brute."

Elias kept his expression unreadable. "And if I was?"

Dain grinned. "Then I'd have killed you already."

Silence stretched between them. The air between them was taut, like the moment before a blade was drawn.

Then Dain leaned back. "Lucky for you, I prefer talking first. And I think you and I might be able to help each other."

Elias raised a brow. "How so?"

Dain's smirk deepened. "Depends on how badly you want to survive in this world."

Elias exhaled slowly. He had seen men like Dain before—dealmakers, opportunists. But right now, Elias needed answers.

And something told him that this man had them.

"Alright," Elias said. "Let's talk."

The night deepened outside. And within the flickering glow of the tavern, the first pieces of Elias's new fate began to fall into place.