The wind howled like a wounded beast, whipping through the desolate expanse of the Ashen Wastes. The air was thick with the scent of charred earth and decay, and the sky hung low—a perpetual twilight streaked with veins of crimson lightning. Jagged ruins jutted out from the horizon like broken teeth, remnants of a world long forgotten.
In the shadow of one such ruin, Eson knelt amidst the ashes, his hands trembling as he clutched the shattered remains of his family's crest. It was all that was left after the humiliation—the jeers, the laughter, the cold indifference in their eyes as they cast him aside.
Eson replayed the moment in his mind over and over again—the way they had stripped him of his dignity, leaving him nothing more than a pariah. He clenched his fists until his nails dug into his palms, drawing blood. "I will not die here," he whispered, though even he wasn't sure if it was a vow or a prayer.
But survival meant little without purpose. Revenge—that was the ember still burning within him, faint but unyielding. Somewhere out there, beyond the wastes, lay the power to crush those who had wronged him. And he would find it, no matter the cost.
As night fell, the silence grew oppressive. Just as exhaustion began to claim him, a low hum resonated through the ground beneath his feet. Startled, Eson stood and scanned the darkness. A faint glow emerged from the rubble nearby—a shard of crystal pulsating with an eerie blue light.
Curiosity warred with caution, but desperation won out. Approaching the shard, Eson hesitated only briefly before reaching out. The moment his fingers brushed its surface, searing pain shot through his arm, followed by a surge of energy so intense it nearly knocked him off his feet.
"What… is this?" he gasped, staring at the mark now etched into his palm—a swirling sigil resembling flames. Before he could process what had happened, a raspy voice echoed in his mind.
"So, you've found me."
Eson spun around, but no one was there. The voice continued, dripping with malice and mockery. "You seek power, boy? Very well. But know this: the path I offer is paved with suffering. Are you willing to pay the price?"
Before Eson could respond, a figure materialized from the shadows. Cloaked in tattered robes, the man leaned heavily on a staff adorned with blackened runes. His face was gaunt, his eyes hollow yet piercing, as though they could see straight into Eson's soul.
"I am Noah," the man said, his tone devoid of warmth. "And you, young fool, have awakened something best left buried."
Despite the ominous warning, Eson felt a spark of defiance ignite within him. "If it gives me the strength to destroy my enemies, then I don't care what it costs."
Noah chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "Brave words for someone standing on the brink of ruin. Very well, boy. Let us see how far your resolve takes you."
With that, the mage extended a hand wreathed in flickering blue fire. Whether it was salvation or damnation awaiting Eson, only time would tell.