In our world exists magical artifacts known as "Powerbands", these seemingly normal headbands granted those that are worthy of unimaginable power beyond their human capabilities.
The Fireband: A band in red and burned orange, etched with the symbol of flame.And grants the command of fire, destruction, and heat.
The Waterband flows with calm and cruelty both. Aqua-colored and marked with waves, it bends to those who understand balance. It brings tides, rain, and floods.
The Earthband is brown-gray colored like mountain bones. It answers to the ground, those who hold their ground no matter the storm. They reshape stone and steel like clay.
The Windband: A white-sand color. It chooses the free, the fast, the unpredictable. To wear it is to move like thought, to strike like wind.
The Lightband is a purely white, almost glowing color. Said to heal the sick, blind the wicked, even twist the light itself. It bonds with those who carry hope like a torch.
Finally The Darkband. Pure black. No record of anyone surviving its touch. And no record of what its capable of. Only that it kills and is most definitely alive.
People have searched for them, fought for them, died for them. They're found in ancient shrines, buried ruins, or places no sane man would go. Some say the Bands choose their wielders. Others believe it's luck. But one thing is certain:
No one has ever worn the Darkband and lived to tell the tale.
Until now
Valnera, a beautiful, mystical city found on the East coast, awakened into morning with flickering lights, half-awake shop signs, and the low grumble of traffic that never seemed to end. Somewhere down the block, a coffee stand hissed steam into the air, and market hawkers yelled deals that were too good to be true.
Darion adjusted the strap of his delivery bag, with his shoulders aching from yesterday. The floor was still wet from rain that had come and gone before he got out of bed. The kind of morning where your brain takes a while to catch up with your feet. "A perfect morning, he says".
A billboard flickered overhead — grainy footage of a cliffside rescue, the Fireband lighting up, forming a giant hellish fireball in the sky. The caption read, "Is the Fireband the strongest of them all?" — a looping clip of him igniting everything in a five-meter radius, flames swirling like they had a mind of their own.
Darion watched for a second longer than he meant to. "Alright there, Mr. Hotshot always tryna make a scene, huh?" he muttered with a smirk, shaking his head. Then he kept walking and proceeded to his destination.
He passed the old monument by the crosswalk. Six carved symbols, one for each Band. Fire, Water, Earth, Wind, Light—and the last one. Dark.
Its stone was cracked. Scorched around the edges. Someone had wrote the word "DEATHWISH" under it in black marker. Faded, but still readable.
Darion slowed down, just for a second.
He didn't know why he always looked at that one. No one ever talked about it. It was like a ghost. A reminder that not every power came with the same benefits as the others.
"Yo! Courier boy!"
"Huh?".
Darion glanced up. Silas was leaning off a second-story balcony, his Windband tied tight around his forehead, the silver strands fluttering with the breeze. His dark hair was cropped short and tousled, matching his sharp grin. He looked like he belonged to the sky itself.
"You still delivering packages like it's the Stone Age?"
"Hey someone needs to do the heavy lifting while you guys play tag with monsters." Darion replied.
He laughed. "You missed it last night it was an easy mission. Some kind of Shade-thing tried crawling up through the market tunnels. Didn't last two minutes."
"Must've happened when I wasn't around," he said.
"Rex says you owe him lunch."
"I don't even remember losing a bet."
"Damn you waterboy, HE GOT ME AGAIN!"
Then he was gone — flying on the wind like a leaf caught in a gust. Typical.
Darion stood there for a moment longer, the silence creeping back in. He felt tired, but not in the physical sense. More like something distant, fraying at the edge of his thoughts.
The monument's shadow stretched longer than it should've in the morning light.
A whisper appeared.
"What the hell was that? Silas playing tricks on me or something?"
4B
"The hell is 4B." Darion muttered.
He glanced down at the slip in his hand. The numbers on the building were faded, barely visible. As he turned, the air thickened around him.
Darion…
His foot stopped mid-step.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't even a voice, not really. More like a ripple in his head that didn't come from him.
He spun around. No one. Just a twitching light overhead and a drain gurgling in the ground. He shook his head and pushed forward, telling himself he'd just been up too late again playing video games and reading manga.
But he walked faster.
Later that evening, Valnera's skyline glowed under dark clouds. The streets shimmered with new rain.
Darion leaned against the edge of a walkway overpass, catching his breath. He'd run two more errands and but yet the feeling of being followed couldn't bear to leave his mind.
Below, the city bustled — people, noise, movement. And then, just for a second, all of it stopped.
The world quieted. Shadows stretched unnaturally long. The wind vanished.
He blinked.
A man stood across the street, in rags, head tilted. Where his eyes should've been, there were only two glowing slits of violet. He was barely visible, shadow like.
Darion froze.
Then a bird caught his attention. The man was gone. The street roared back to life like nothing had changed.
Darion stood there breathing heavily, hands trembling.
"…I'm seriously losing it," he whispered.
That night, the whisper returned.
He layed in bed, half asleep, staring at the ceiling when a word had slipped into his mind.
Closer…
He jumped upright.
His window was shut. His phone was off. The clock read 2:44 AM.
His heart wouldn't slow down.
The next day, it wasn't a voice or a figure.
It was a feeling.
Like something tugged behind his ribs. Like his mind leading him somewhere he didn't understand. His feet carried him through streets he didn't usually walk, past abandoned train lines and rusted metal doors.
He should've turned back.
But the whisper came again. "You were made for this."
The seal cracked open.
Inside was a shrine, dust-covered and dry. In the center lay a headband unlike any he'd ever seen. Black metal, etched with swirling red veins, pulsing faintly like a heart beat.
He stepped forward.
His breath came shallow. His fingers trembled.
The moment he touched it, the world around him shifted to nothing but darkness.
He wasn't standing anymore—he was falling.
Through cities made of shadow.Through oceans of dark flame.Through eyes that watched, and laughed, and screamed his name.
"DARION!"
The Darkband bulged—awaiting him. He reached out and gripped it. It felt as if his soul was being released. He closed his eyes and donned the Darkband.
It wrapped around his forehead.
And he was not alone in his mind.
A voice echoed there, wild and laughing.
"Finally."