Rael stood at the cliff's edge, looking out over the wide, empty space ahead of him. The wind blew across the barren wasteland, and with it came the smell of something old—something ancient. It was a land untouched by human hands, a land where only the strong lived.
The ground under his feet was weathered, cracked stones, like the remnants of a lost civilization. On the horizon, a black forest stretched out to infinity, its trees gnarled and twisted. He could sense the power that existed there, an unnatural force that seemed to draw him in.
He didn't know why he was here, but something inside of him compelled him forward. The whispers were growing stronger, more demanding, and they mentioned something that was waiting for him. It was the same voice that had led him through the turmoil, and while he did not entirely believe it, he couldn't help but listen.
He took a deep breath and started moving towards the woods. Every step was more heavy than the previous one, as if the earth itself was opposing his entry. But he moved ahead, propelled by something he could not comprehend.
The atmosphere thickened the closer he was to the interior of the wood. The temperature dropped, and the shadows twisted. The leaves and branches in front of him seemed to swoop in like fingers reaching out to grab him. He moved carefully, his senses piqued, each snapping twig and creaking branch having him on the edge of caution.
Out of nowhere, a figure stepped forth out of darkness. Rael stiffened, his heart thumping in his chest. Tall and wrapped in black robes, the figure stood with its face hidden behind a hood. Eyes were all that were visible - pale green ones at that.
"Rael," it said, in a low tone. "You have arrived."
Rael had no idea how the figure knew his name, but he wasn't shocked. There were too many things going on in his life that couldn't be explained.
"Who are you?" Rael demanded, attempting to calm his breathing.
The figure smiled, a thin, creepy smile. "I am the one who watches. The one who waits. And you, Rael, are the one who will tip the scales."
Rael scowled, perplexed. "What scales?
"The scales of destiny," the figure responded enigmatically. "Your path has only just begun, and in due course, you will have to make your decision. Choose wisely, though, for when the scales have tipped, then they cannot again be balanced."
The figure dissolved into shadow, its voice growing faint. "The path upon which you tread is treacherous, yet it shall harden you. Come, Rael. The world awaits."
Before Rael could even react, the figure vanished, leaving him all alone in the dark woods. The whispering winds appeared to take the words with it, and Rael was left more questions than answers.
What scales? What choice? What did the figure mean? As the confusion increased, Rael realized one thing—his quest had just become a whole lot more complex.