Ronan's chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, his heart pounding in his ears as the wind screamed through the trees. The stone in his hand pulsed with a dark, rhythmic beat, as if it too was alive, responding to the turmoil inside him. He could feel Doomfang's presence beside him, but the wyvern remained silent, as though waiting for Ronan to make sense of the chaos unfolding within him.
The voice in his mind—the ancient voice—lingered, swirling around him like a storm cloud on the horizon, distant yet inexorable.
You are no longer what you were, Ronan Blackthorn. You have embraced your destiny, whether you understood it or not.
He clenched his jaw, his mind whirling. What did it mean to embrace his destiny? What did the voice want from him? And why had he been chosen for this power? The weight of it all pressed down on him like a heavy stone, and he wondered how much more of it he could endure before breaking.
He had heard of power before—of sorcery and beasts and kings who wielded dominion over vast lands. But none of them had ever spoken of the darkness he now felt clinging to him like a second skin. The stone in his hand hummed with an energy that was more than just magic—it was a force of nature, raw and untamed.
You are weak, Forsaken, Doomfang's voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and commanding. That is why the power is still foreign to you. To master it, you must cast aside your doubt. You must embrace it fully. Only then will you understand what it is to be a beastbinder.
Ronan's grip on the stone tightened. "What does it mean to be a beastbinder?" he muttered under his breath, his voice raw. He had heard the term before, but it had never felt so heavy, so oppressive.
You will bind with creatures beyond your comprehension, Doomfang answered, his voice laced with a deep, dangerous excitement. You will summon beasts of great power, creatures that could destroy cities with a single swipe of their claws. And you will fuse with them, becoming something... greater.
Ronan's stomach churned. The idea of fusing with a beast—the idea of becoming something monstrous—was terrifying. But as the wyvern's words lingered in his mind, something inside him stirred. There was a power in it, a seductive pull that gnawed at his will. He had already crossed a line, and it seemed there was no going back.
Embrace it, Forsaken, Doomfang urged. It is your destiny.
Ronan felt the air around him shift, the trees groaning under the pressure of an unseen force. The ground seemed to tremble beneath his feet, as though the very earth itself was reacting to the darkness within him.
"Embrace it…" he repeated the words, a hollow echo in his mind. His fingers clenched around the stone as he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He didn't know if he could do this—if he could bear the weight of the power within him. But he didn't have a choice. The voice, the stone, the wyvern—everything had brought him to this point.
His heart beat faster as the energy surged once more, a tidal wave of raw, unfiltered power. The darkness was a living thing now, wrapping itself around him, slipping under his skin, clawing at his soul. It was both painful and exhilarating, like standing at the edge of a precipice and knowing that to step forward would be to fall into the unknown.
"Doomfang," Ronan breathed, his voice shaking. "Tell me. What do I have to do to control this?"
You must learn to live with the darkness, Forsaken. It will not release you willingly. But you will learn to wield it, and with that power, you will reshape the world in your image.
The wyvern's words were like a call to arms, an irresistible command. Ronan's breath hitched as his senses seemed to expand, filling with the pulse of life around him—the trees, the animals, the wind itself. He could feel everything, hear everything, as if the world itself was speaking to him.
But amid the overwhelming rush of sensations, there was a deeper presence—an undercurrent of something far darker. The voice from the stone returned, clearer now, almost tangible.
You are ready. The path is clear.
Ronan opened his eyes, his gaze falling on the stone. It glowed faintly in his hand, its surface pulsing with the rhythm of his heartbeat. His skin prickled as the air around him thickened, and the world seemed to warp, twisting at the edges.
Suddenly, he was no longer standing alone in the forest. He was in a vast, dark cavern, the stone beneath his feet cold and slick. The air was thick with the scent of decay, and Ronan could hear the distant drip of water echoing through the emptiness. Shadows moved at the edge of his vision, and the very air felt charged with a dark, oppressive energy.
Ronan's heart pounded in his chest, his instincts screaming that something was wrong. This place—it felt ancient, as though it had been waiting for him, for this moment. And then, from the shadows, figures emerged. Tall, robed figures, their faces obscured by hoods.
They have been waiting for you, the voice from the stone whispered. They are the ones who will teach you what it means to be a beastbinder. But beware—they will not hesitate to take what they want from you.
Ronan tensed, his fingers tightening around the stone. The figures advanced, their movements fluid and silent, like wraiths. He could feel their eyes on him, even though their faces remained hidden. His heart raced, and his breath came in shallow gasps. The darkness was closing in, and he didn't know how much longer he could resist it.
"Who are you?" Ronan demanded, his voice hoarse.
We are the Ancients, one of the figures spoke, its voice hollow and echoing in the cavern. We have existed since before time itself, watching over the world's magic. And you, Forsaken, are the key to our return.
The words sent a chill through Ronan's bones. He didn't understand what they meant, but he knew one thing for certain: they were not here to help him. They were here for something else—something he wasn't ready to give.
You have already given us what we need, the figure continued. The stone. And now, we will show you the true path of the beastbinder.
Ronan's chest tightened, the air around him thick with dread. His instincts screamed at him to run, but his feet remained rooted to the ground. The figures closed in, and he could feel the weight of their gaze bearing down on him.
Embrace it, Doomfang's voice rumbled in his mind. This is your destiny, Forsaken. Accept it. Accept them.
Ronan gritted his teeth, his mind racing. He had come too far to back down now, but the path ahead was fraught with peril. He had already awakened something ancient, and now he was facing forces beyond his understanding.
There was no turning back. His choices were made.
"Show me," Ronan whispered, his voice filled with resolve. "Show me what I must do."
The figures raised their hands, their movements slow and deliberate. And as they did, the world around Ronan seemed to shift once again, twisting and warping until he was no longer in the cavern but in a place far darker, far more ancient.
You have made your choice, the voice from the stone said. Now, you will learn what it means to bind with the darkness.