The voice. It wasn't a sound, not really. It was… a presence in his head, cool and smooth as polished obsidian, utterly devoid of emotion. System. Host. Forsaken Phoenix. The words sent a shiver colder than the storm's rain down Kael's spine. He stared at his hands, still wreathed in the impossible, writhing black-crimson flames. They pulsed with a life of their own, a hungry, eager energy that mirrored the frantic terror in his own heart.
"What… what are you?" Kael choked out, the question lost in a sudden, violent gust of wind that tore at the cave mouth. He felt Hemlock's eyes on him, ancient and sharp. The hermit hadn't moved from the entrance, his weathered face unreadable in the flickering, unholy light of the Shadowflame.
"Some doors… once opened…" Hemlock's voice was a dry rustle, like autumn leaves. "Cannot be closed, boy. The moon that night… it wasn't just watching. It was… anointing." His gaze flickered to the raging storm, then back to Kael, a strange mix of awe and something that looked unsettlingly like fear. "The old blood sings a dark song. You hear it now, don't you?"
Kael did. It was a terrifying symphony, a chaotic power thrumming just beneath his skin, begging to be unleashed. The 'System' had fallen silent after its initial pronouncements, leaving him adrift in a sea of questions. A Sigil? What in the name of forgotten gods is a Sigil?
He tried to speak to Hemlock, to ask, but the old man simply shook his head, a gesture of finality. "Your path is not mine to guide, Shadow-touched. The mountain taught you to survive. What comes next… that is for you and… that." He gestured vaguely towards Kael, encompassing the flames, the unseen voice, everything.
Over the next few days, as the storm receded, leaving the mountains clean-washed and achingly beautiful, Kael wrestled with his new reality. The Shadowflame was a skittish, volatile beast. Sometimes, with intense concentration, he could coax a flicker from his fingertips. Other times, a stray thought, a surge of anger or fear, would cause it to erupt in an uncontrolled torrent, scorching the nearby rocks or sending small creatures scurrying in terror. Hemlock watched, always from a distance, his silence growing heavier, more profound. He still left food for Kael – a handful of nuts, a smoked fish – but their unspoken companionship had fractured, replaced by a wary distance.
One crisp dawn, Kael woke to find Hemlock gone. The cave felt colder, emptier. On the flat stone where the hermit usually prepared his morning brew of bitter herbs, lay a single, perfectly preserved hawk feather. No words. None were needed. You fly alone now. A knot tightened in Kael's chest, surprisingly painful. He hadn't known how much the silent, gruff presence of the old man had anchored him. "Right," he said to the echoing emptiness. "Just me then. Me and my… shadows." He picked up the feather, its barbs soft against his calloused palm, and tucked it carefully into the ragged pouch at his belt.
Leaving the cave felt like stepping off a cliff. The world outside Hemlock's small, protected territory was a vast, indifferent wilderness. The air was thinner here, the peaks sharper, the valleys deeper and filled with older, more dangerous shadows. The System remained a quiet hum at the edge of his awareness, offering no guidance, no comfort. Only that single, baffling Directive: Awaken Your First Sigil.
"Easy for you to say," Kael muttered, stumbling over a loose rock, his voice raw from disuse. "How am I supposed to awaken something I don't even understand?" He scanned the desolate landscape. No game trails. No familiar plants. Just rock, wind, and a silence that pressed in on him.
Days bled into a desperate, hungry blur. He snared a few scrawny mountain rabbits, the act of killing, even for survival, leaving a sour taste in his mouth and a hollowness in his gut. He ate them half-raw, a grim necessity. Berries, when he found them, were often bitter or worse, leaving him doubled over with cramps. His Shadowflame was a fickle ally, useful for starting fires (when it didn't flare out of control and nearly set the whole mountainside ablaze), but useless for hunting, too wild, too loud.
One evening, he found himself trapped in a narrow, unforgiving ravine as a cold, sleety rain began to fall. He'd been tracking what he thought was a mountain goat, only to find himself in a dead end, the rock walls too steep to climb, the entrance now obscured by the worsening weather. "Brilliant, Kael. Truly brilliant," he shivered, huddling under a meager overhang, the wet cold seeping into his bones. "Lost, hungry, and about to become a frozen dinner for whatever else likes this charming little spot." That's when he heard the howls. Not the lonely call of a single wolf, but a chorus. Close. Too close. His blood ran cold. He scrambled to his feet, peering into the driving sleet. Shapes moved in the gloom – lean, dark, bigger than any wolf he'd ever imagined. Their eyes glowed with a faint, eerie luminescence. Shadow Wolves. He remembered Hemlock's muttered warnings about them, beasts that hunted in packs, fast as striking vipers, with a cunning that bordered on unnatural.
Three of them materialized from the sleet, fanning out, their movements fluid and terrifyingly coordinated. Saliva dripped from their bared fangs. The largest, a brute with a heavily scarred muzzle, fixed Kael with eyes that promised a swift, bloody end. "No, no, no," Kael whispered, backing away until his shoulders hit the cold, unyielding rock of the ravine wall. There was nowhere to run. His sharpened stick felt like a toothpick against these monsters. Terror, pure and primal, threatened to swallow him whole. He squeezed his eyes shut, a small, choked sound escaping him. This is it. This is how it ends. But then, something else rose through the fear. A hot, bitter surge of defiance. He'd been beaten, cast out, left to die once before. He'd survived. He would not just… lay down and be torn apart. "You want me?" he screamed, his voice cracking, flinging his arms out. "You want what's left of Kael Ardyn? Then COME AND GET IT!" He didn't consciously summon the Shadowflame. It erupted. A raw, uncontrolled inferno of black and crimson fire, fueled by his terror, his rage, his absolute refusal to break. It blasted outwards, a shockwave of dark heat. The nearest wolf, caught mid-lunge, was engulfed. It didn't even have time to scream before it was consumed, turning to a pile of smoking ash in a heartbeat. The other two wolves recoiled, a flicker of something like shock in their glowing eyes. Kael didn't give them time to recover. He was running on pure, desperate instinct. He focused, a searing pain lancing through his head, and lashed out with a tendril of black fire. It caught the second wolf across its flank. The beast yelped, a high-pitched sound of agony, and stumbled back, its fur smoldering. It gave Kael one terrified look, then turned and fled into the storm, its howls fading. The scarred Alpha, though, was made of sterner stuff. Or perhaps just hungrier. It snarled, shaking off its momentary hesitation, and charged. Kael tried to bring the flames to bear again, but he was clumsy, his control nonexistent. The wolf was a blur of motion. It slammed into him, its massive weight knocking the air from his lungs, sending him sprawling onto the slick, icy rocks. Hot, fetid breath washed over his face. Fangs, long and yellow, snapped inches from his throat. He thrashed wildly, blindly, his hands clawing, burning with the residual heat of the Shadowflame. He felt a searing pain as teeth grazed his arm. Then, the System's voice, cool and clear in the chaos of his mind:
[System Quest Initiated: Trial by Fang!][Objective: Survive the Shadow Wolf Alpha's Assault.][Reward: 10 System Essence. Minor Soulfire Restoration.]
Survive? That's it? Even as the Alpha's jaws lunged for his neck, a desperate thought, a memory, surfaced. Primary Directive… Awaken Your First Sigil… He didn't know how. He didn't know what it meant. But he focused on the core of his being, on the well of bitterness and pain that had been his constant companion for thirteen years. He poured all his scorn, all his grief, all his rage into that one silent, desperate plea. The wolf's lunge faltered. A wave of energy, colder than the sleet, sharper than any fang, pulsed outwards from Kael. It wasn't fire. It was despair given form, loneliness made manifest. The Alpha whined, a low, confused sound, shaking its massive head as if to clear it of cobwebs. The predatory fire in its eyes dimmed, replaced by a flicker of… unease? It backed away a step, then another, its powerful body trembling. Then, with a final, baffled growl, it turned and melted back into the storm-wracked darkness, leaving Kael alone, bleeding, and utterly confounded.