The rain was unrelenting.
It pounded against the cobbled streets of Ydran's Crossing, washing away what little light the distant streetlamps offered. Lysander's breath came in ragged gasps, every step he took heavier than the last. His hand gripped the hilt of his blade, fingers slick with blood that dripped from a wound in his side. He had never been this close to death before—never so utterly helpless.
The pain was a constant presence, sharp and unforgiving, yet nothing compared to the weight of the realization crashing down on him.
Aric.
His friend. His ally. His betrayer.
The sound of boots splashing in the rain echoed behind him, growing louder with each passing moment. Lysander glanced over his shoulder, his heart hammering in his chest, only to see the glint of steel and the cold eyes of Aric, his once-trusted comrade, closing in.
"You really thought I'd let you walk away, didn't you?" Aric's voice cut through the night, cold and venomous. "Did you really think I would keep my word?"
Lysander's pulse quickened. He had been a fool, hadn't he? Foolishly trusting someone who had always been a wolf in sheep's clothing. The betrayal had been swift—one moment, Aric had been standing beside him, ready to face the dangers of the city's underworld, and the next, a dagger had sunk deep into his flesh. A treacherous blow that left him gasping for air and bleeding out in this forgotten alley.
His grip on the sword was slipping, his fingers losing their strength. The pain was overwhelming, every breath feeling like it might be his last. But he couldn't let it end like this. Not in some alley, forgotten by all. Not when he had come so far.
"Why?" Lysander managed to croak, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why betray me, Aric?"
Aric laughed, the sound chilling and cruel. "Why? Because you were always a pawn. A pawn in my game. Did you really think you mattered that much?" He stepped closer, his boots squelching in the wet ground. "I have bigger plans. The relic is mine, Lysander. And you—you're nothing more than a stepping stone."
Lysander's mind was clouded, his vision blurring at the edges. Every movement felt sluggish, as though he were wading through thick mud. His body was growing numb, but his mind—his mind was sharp. Aric had mentioned the relic, the very thing that had led them both to this point. A relic so ancient and powerful, it was rumored to hold the secrets of forgotten gods.
He couldn't let Aric have it. He couldn't let his old friend—no, his betrayer—gain such power.
But how could he stop him?
Lysander's eyes scanned the alley, looking for some way out, but the narrow space felt like a trap. The walls loomed high above, pressing in on him, and the wet cobblestones gleamed with a sinister sheen. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.
His hand tightened around the sword, even as the pain in his side grew unbearable. His knees buckled, and he fell to one knee, gasping for breath. The world around him tilted, spinning. It would be so easy to give up, to let the darkness take him.
But then, in that fleeting moment, something caught his eye.
It was the glint of something—something out of place, half-buried in the muck at the base of the alley wall. Lysander's vision flickered, his focus narrowing as he saw the shape of the object. It was strange, different from anything he had ever seen. His bloodied hand trembled as he reached out, his fingers brushing against the cold surface.
A relic.
An ancient, forgotten relic.
It was smooth, with intricate carvings that seemed to shimmer under the dim light of the rain-soaked alley. The moment his hand touched it, an electric pulse shot through his arm, and for a heartbeat, the world around him seemed to still.
"Don't tell me..." Aric's voice was filled with disbelief. "You're actually trying to use this? Pathetic."
Lysander barely heard him. His mind was consumed with the relic, its power, its presence. It was as if something within him responded to it—a resonance, a pull that he couldn't explain. His fingers tightened around it, and a strange warmth began to spread through his body. It wasn't warmth like fire; no, it was something deeper—something ancient and eternal.
Aric took another step forward, the sound of his laughter grating against Lysander's already-frayed nerves. "You're a fool, Lysander. You always were. You think you can change your fate with a trinket like this? This relic isn't meant for you."
Lysander's vision swam, his breath growing ragged, but in that moment, he felt something stir within him. It wasn't just the relic—it was him. His body was so close to shutting down, yet something within him refused to yield. The power of the relic surged again, a torrent of energy that threatened to consume him whole.
"Die, Lysander," Aric sneered, stepping forward with his dagger raised.
But as the blade descended, everything around Lysander went silent.
The moment the relic's power connected with his soul, he felt his body change. His wounds stopped bleeding, the pain dulling to nothing. The wet cobblestones beneath him seemed to hum with energy, as if they, too, were alive. The dark alleyway faded into the background, and for the briefest of moments, Lysander felt... free.
Aric's eyes widened in shock as Lysander rose to his feet, the power of the relic coursing through him like wildfire. His hand was still wrapped around it, but now it felt like an extension of himself.
"You... You should have never crossed me," Lysander said, his voice low, almost unrecognizable. It wasn't fear that laced his words anymore—it was certainty. The relic had given him strength beyond anything he had ever known.
Before Aric could react, Lysander's hand shot out, slamming the heel of his palm into his chest. The force sent Aric crashing into the alley wall with a sickening thud, the air knocked from his lungs.
Aric groaned, struggling to get up, but the power radiating from Lysander was too much. He could feel the shift, the change in the air, as if the very fabric of reality had bent in Lysander's favor.
"You should have known better," Lysander said softly. "You never understood. You never knew what you were dealing with."
Aric's face twisted in pain and fear. "W-what is this? What have you become?"
Lysander didn't answer. Instead, he turned his gaze to the relic in his hand. His journey had just begun. The gods had cast their judgment upon him, but he would rewrite their fate. This was only the beginning.