Chapter 1: The Stranger in the Ruins

The storm rolled in without warning. Dark clouds swallowed the moon, and the wind howled like a wounded beast. Elias Greythorne pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders as he trudged through the remains of what was once the village of Hollowmere. The place had been abandoned for years, left to rot after the Black Plague swept through its streets. Now, only the hollow shells of buildings stood, their skeletal frames reaching toward the sky like the fingers of the dead.

His horse, a battered old gelding named Bramble, snorted uneasily as they neared the village square. The fountain at the center was dry, its stone cracked with age. A single wooden post still stood beside it, remnants of an old notice board flapping in the wind. Beware the cursed ruins. None return. The warning was old, the ink faded, but the message was clear.

Elias ignored it. He had come too far to turn back now.

His sword rested at his hip, fingers twitching near the hilt. The rumors spoke of bandits and worse—creatures that slithered in the dark, feeding on the flesh of the unwary. He had seen enough horrors in his years as a knight to know that monsters were not always born of magic. Sometimes, the most terrifying creatures were men.

He guided Bramble carefully through the ruins, his eyes scanning for movement. Then he saw it—a flicker of light through the shattered window of a ruined chapel at the edge of the village. Someone was there.

Dismounting, he approached cautiously, bootsteps muffled by the wet earth. The chapel doors hung open, barely clinging to their rusted hinges. Inside, a small fire crackled in the center of the stone floor. And beside it, huddled in a ragged cloak, was a woman.

She didn't stir as he stepped inside. Her face was pale, framed by dark curls matted with dirt. The moment he got closer, his breath caught. Not just a woman—a girl, barely past twenty, and unconscious.

Her cloak had fallen slightly, revealing a silver pendant resting against her collarbone. A symbol was etched into it, faint but unmistakable—a crescent moon cradling a single, blood-red gem. The mark of the Forsaken One.

Elias' heart pounded. The prophecy had spoken of such a sigil, of a bearer who would either doom or save the world. And here she was, lying broken in the ruins of Hollowmere.

Lightning split the sky, casting shadows that danced along the stone walls. Elias clenched his jaw. He had sought answers, not omens. But fate had never been kind to men like him.

With a sigh, he sheathed his sword and knelt beside her.

"Guess I've got no choice," he muttered, wrapping his cloak around her shoulders. "Come on, girl. Let's get you out of here."

As he lifted her into his arms, the wind outside howled louder, whispering secrets only the dead could hear.