The days following his meeting with the mysterious woman passed in a haze of confusion and quiet determination. Ronan—no, Velrion—couldn't shake the truth of what he had learned. The name echoed in his mind, louder than any other thought, pulling him in directions he couldn't yet understand. The woman had been right; he had been chosen. But chosen for what? The world felt vast and overwhelming now, each step carrying the burden of a responsibility he wasn't sure he was ready to bear.
The Forgotten Path had been a strange place—like something out of an old fairy tale. The shop had been filled with oddities, items that seemed to pulse with hidden power. He had felt something there, a flicker of recognition, as though the place was meant for him, even though he couldn't quite grasp why.
Ronan had left the shop that day with more questions than answers, but a deep sense of purpose had settled over him. He had to move forward. There was no going back, no matter how much he wished he could return to his simple life. The life of Ronan Winter had ended the moment he had stepped into this world. He was Velrion now, and whatever that meant, he had to figure it out.
For now, his search for answers led him deeper into the city—a place that, despite feeling foreign and alien, also felt like home in some strange way. It was as if he were living two lives at once: one as the boy he had been, and one as the man he was becoming.
The streets, though eerily quiet at times, felt alive with potential. People walked past him, going about their daily lives, completely unaware of the strange truth that weighed on him. They were oblivious to the powers that stirred just beneath the surface of their world, the threats that lurked in the shadows, the ones that only the Borrowed could fight.
His feet led him to an area he hadn't seen before, a part of the city that seemed forgotten by time. The architecture was older here, the buildings crumbling and covered in ivy. As he walked down the narrow alley, a feeling of unease settled over him. Something about this place felt wrong. But what was it?
Ronan's hand instinctively went to the dagger at his side—the blade he had found the first time he entered the other world. The weapon had been a gift, or maybe a burden, from the old man. Its dark steel gleamed even in the dim light of the alley, and for some reason, holding it made him feel stronger, more grounded, like he could face whatever dangers lay ahead.
Turning a corner, Ronan saw a small group of people gathered around an ancient-looking fountain. They seemed oddly out of place in this area of the city, their faces strained with worry, whispering among themselves.
Ronan approached cautiously, his instincts telling him that something was happening here—something important.
"Did you hear?" one man whispered urgently to the others. "The Dark One is stirring again. People are vanishing."
The Dark One.
Ronan's heart skipped a beat at the mention of the name. He had heard rumors of such a figure before—spoken of in hushed tones, a shadow that had plagued the world for centuries. The villain. The one who sought to bring destruction to everything. The one he had been warned about, but never fully understood.
He stepped closer, hoping to hear more.
"Some say it's the Borrowed who will stop him," another voice whispered, a woman's voice trembling. "But who could it be? Who has the strength to stand against him?"
Ronan's hand tightened around the hilt of his dagger. The Borrowed. It was him. It had to be.
"What if we're too late?" a third voice asked, a note of fear creeping in. "What if we don't have anyone left to fight?"
The group fell silent, and Ronan could feel the weight of their despair hanging in the air. He didn't know much about the Dark One or what he was capable of, but there was no mistaking the fear in their voices. These people were desperate for hope. And that hope had been placed in the hands of someone—someone like him.
Ronan's chest tightened. He had been given a purpose, a name. But now, he was faced with the reality of what that meant. He wasn't just in this world to find out who he was—he was here to fight, to protect.
As he turned to leave, a figure stepped out from behind the fountain, blocking his path. The man was tall, dressed in dark robes, his eyes glowing faintly with an unnatural light. There was something ancient about him, something powerful. He stared at Ronan—Velrion—as if he had been waiting for him.
"You're here," the man said, his voice low and filled with meaning.
Ronan's grip tightened around his dagger. "Who are you?"
The man smiled, but it was a smile full of secrets, of things left unsaid. "You're the one who will stop him," he said, his eyes gleaming with a knowing intensity. "But first, you must understand who you are."
Ronan's heart pounded in his chest. The man's words sent a shiver down his spine.
"What do you mean?" Ronan asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
The man didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, his power radiating from him like a storm.
"You are Velrion," the man said finally, his voice dark with something that made Ronan's blood run cold. "And you are the key. But the key must be forged in fire. You are not just the Borrowed; you are the one who will either save or doom this world."
The weight of the man's words crashed down on Ronan like a tidal wave. He took a step back, trying to process what he had just heard. Was he truly the one? The one to decide the fate of everything?
Before he could speak, the man turned away, his dark robes flowing around him like smoke. "Your journey has only just begun," he said, his voice barely a whisper now. "But know this: the Dark One will come for you, and when he does, you must be ready."
The man disappeared into the shadows, leaving Ronan alone with his thoughts.
Ready? How could he possibly be ready? He didn't even understand what was happening. He was just a boy—a boy who had been thrust into a world he didn't understand, with a name that felt both foreign and familiar, and now, a destiny that was more terrifying than he could have ever imagined.
The Dark One. The villain. The destroyer of worlds. And somehow, it was his responsibility to stop him. Velrion was supposed to be the key, but to what? To victory? To salvation? Or to his own destruction?
As Ronan stood there, alone in the alley, the weight of his destiny felt heavier than ever. He wasn't sure if he was ready for what lay ahead. But one thing was certain—he couldn't turn away now. The world needed him. He needed to understand who he truly was.
And he would fight. For the people. For himself. For whatever fate awaited him.