The Name of the Damned

Damian's pulse pounded in his ears.

The Elders? He had no idea who they were, but the way the stranger said it—like it was a warning, like it was a death sentence—made his skin crawl.

He took a step back. "You're insane."

The stranger didn't react. His dark eyes remained locked onto Damian, unreadable. "I know this is overwhelming. But you need to listen to me. If you don't—"

"No," Damian cut in, shaking his head. "I don't need to listen to anything. You're some lunatic who's been stalking me, saying creepy things like 'you're not who you think you are.'" He scoffed, trying to keep his voice steady. "Yeah, that's real convincing."

The stranger sighed, as if he had expected this reaction. "You don't have to believe me. But soon, the truth will make itself known. And when it does, you'll wish you had been prepared."

Damian had heard enough.

Without another word, he turned and walked away.

He expected the stranger to follow, to call out to him again—but he didn't. When Damian finally glanced over his shoulder, the man was gone. Just… gone.

Like he had never been there at all.

Damian barely made it through the rest of his day. The stranger's words haunted him, echoing in the back of his mind no matter how hard he tried to ignore them.

"You are not who you think you are."

"There are others who know about you. They will come for you."

"The Elders."

By the time he got home, his head was pounding. He locked the door behind him, tossing his backpack onto the couch before running a hand through his hair.

This was insane. Completely insane.

And yet… he couldn't shake the feeling that something was coming.

Sighing, he grabbed his laptop from the table and sat down. If this was all some elaborate joke, he could at least prove it to himself. He opened a search engine and hesitated.

What was he even looking for?

After a moment, he typed: The Elders, secret society.

Dozens of results popped up—most of them conspiracy theories, cult rumors, and historical mentions of old governing councils. Nothing concrete.

He sighed and tried again. The Elders, supernatural.

This time, he found something different.

A forum thread.

"The Elders are real. They control the bloodlines. If you don't belong, they erase you."

Damian's stomach twisted. He scrolled further.

"They don't just watch. They decide who survives and who doesn't. If you've been marked, it's already too late."

He swallowed hard. The posts were old, buried deep in the archives. Most of the replies were skeptical—people laughing it off, calling the original poster crazy.

But one comment stood out.

"If you want the truth, search for the name of the damned."

Damian frowned. "The name of the damned?"

Before he could think too much about it, his laptop screen flickered.

Then, without warning, the entire device shut down.

His breath caught in his throat.

What the hell?

He pressed the power button. Nothing. The battery was fine—it had been fully charged. But no matter what he did, the screen remained black.

A chill crept down his spine.

Then, in the eerie silence of his apartment, something even stranger happened.

A voice.

Low. Whispering. Coming from nowhere and everywhere at once.

"Damian Voss…"

His blood turned to ice.

The voice was inside the room.

Inside his mind.

And for the first time in his life, Damian knew—he wasn't alone.