The Dream Begins

Kael found himself standing in the center of Eryndor, the village bathed in an eerie, golden light. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and blood, and the silence was deafening. He looked around, his heart pounding as he realized that something was terribly wrong.

The village was empty.

The streets were deserted, the homes dark and lifeless. The only sound was the faint rustling of leaves in the wind. Kael's breath quickened as he walked through the village, his footsteps echoing in the silence.

"Hello?" he called out, his voice trembling.

There was no response.

The scream came from the edge of the village, a high-pitched, blood-curdling sound that sent a chill down Kael's spine. He turned toward the sound, his heart racing as he ran through the empty streets.

As he approached the source of the scream, he saw them—the cult members.

They moved like shadows, their black robes blending into the night. Their eyes glowed with a malevolent red light, and their jagged blades dripped with blood. They were everywhere, their numbers overwhelming.

Kael's breath caught in his throat as he watched them descend on the village.

The villagers fought with everything they had. They armed themselves with pitchforks, knives, and stones, their faces filled with fear but their eyes burning with defiance. Kael's father led the charge, his crutch abandoned as he limped forward with a pitchfork in hand.

Kael wanted to help, but his body wouldn't move. He was frozen in place, forced to watch as the villagers were cut down one by one.

One cult member fell, his throat slit by a villager's knife. It was a small victory, but it gave the villagers hope.

That hope was short-lived.

As the villagers fought, more cult members emerged from the shadows. There were dozens of them, their numbers overwhelming. The villagers' barricade was breached, and the fight turned into a massacre.

Kael's father fought to his last breath. He took down two cult members before he was surrounded. They beat him mercilessly, their blades cutting into his flesh. But he didn't cry out. He fought until the end, his eyes filled with defiance.

When it was over, they crucified him.

Kael watched in horror as his father's body was nailed to a wooden beam and raised high above the village. It was a message, a warning to anyone who dared to resist.

Kael wanted to fight. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to do something—anything—to save his father and his village. But he was weak. His body betrayed him, his legs giving out as he tried to stand.

He crawled through the blood-soaked streets, his hands slipping on the wet cobblestones. He reached the edge of the village, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

The cult members were heading toward the forest, their eyes fixed on the altar. Kael knew what they were after. The altar had given him his powers, and now they wanted it for themselves.

But Kael couldn't let them have it.

Kael reached the altar just as the cult members did. He stood in front of it, his body trembling but his eyes filled with determination.

"You won't take it," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The cult members laughed, their voices cold and mocking. "You think you can stop us, boy? You're nothing but a weakling."

Kael clenched his fists, his mind racing. He didn't have the strength to fight them, but he had something they didn't—a connection to the altar.

He reached out with his mind, his time manipulation activating as he slowed the cult members' movements. It wasn't much, but it was enough to buy him some time.

He placed his hand on the altar, his fingers brushing against the ancient runes carved into its surface. He felt a surge of energy, a connection to something far greater than himself.

The altar responded to his touch, its runes glowing with a faint light. The cult members hesitated, their laughter fading as they felt the power emanating from the altar.

But it wasn't enough.

The cult members recovered quickly, their dark magic overpowering Kael's time manipulation. They advanced on him, their blades raised.

Kael closed his eyes, his mind filled with images of his father, his village, and the people he had failed to save. He felt a surge of anger, of desperation, of determination.

He wouldn't let them win.

The altar's light grew brighter, its energy surging through Kael's body. He felt a connection to something ancient, something powerful.

And then, everything went black.

When Kael opened his eyes, the cult members were gone. The altar was silent, its runes dark once more. The forest was quiet, the only sound the crackling of flames from the burning village.

Kael's body was weak, his strength drained. But he was alive.

He stumbled back to the village, his heart heavy with grief. The streets were littered with bodies, their faces frozen in expressions of fear and pain.

Kael fell to his knees, his tears mixing with the blood on the ground. He had failed. He hadn't been strong enough to save anyone.