The wind howled like a beast outside our cabin.
I sat near the hearth, poking at the fire with a blackened stick, watching the sparks dance and die. The stew simmered. The fire popped. Everything felt calm. Normal. Safe.
That was the lie.
By the door, the man I called Father sharpened his sword. It was old—its edge notched, its hilt wrapped in worn leather. I never saw him use it on anything but wood or wild game. Just a relic from another life, I thought. A hunter's souvenir. Nothing more.
Then came the knock.
Three slow, heavy thuds. Not fists. Something else. Like stone on wood. A sound that didn't belong here.
He stopped sharpening. Didn't blink.
The blade in his hands stopped looking like a tool and started looking like a warning.
"Go to the back room," he said, low and firm.
"What? Why—"
"Now, boy. No questions."
I froze. Not from fear—yet—but from how he said it. Like a soldier on the edge of war.
I rose, one step back toward the narrow hall. But it was already too late.
The door burst inward—not open, shattered.
Wood exploded across the room in splinters. The wind snuffed the fire in an instant. I hit the floor, coughing in the dark.
And then I saw it.
Something stepped inside, tall and skeletal, cloaked in smoke. Its body was made of ash and fire. Its head like a horned mask carved from obsidian. Eyes burned pure white, no pupils, no soul.
Smoke coiled around it like living snakes. Every breath it took made the air heavier. It smelled like scorched bones and lightning.
"Return the child," it spoke. But not with a mouth. The voice echoed inside my chest.
My father stepped between us, sword drawn. His eyes locked on the creature like he'd seen it before.
"You were banished," he said.
"I was summoned," it replied. "By those who remember the old blood. The one you hide must die."
"You're not touching him."
Without warning, the creature lunged.
The ground cracked beneath its charge. My father moved just as fast. The clash of blade and shadow sent a shockwave through the cabin, blowing out the walls like paper.
I scrambled away, ears ringing, vision blurred. The night outside was chaos. Red lightning flickered across the sky. The moon bled. Trees bent in the wind like they were alive.
In the clearing outside, the battle had begun.
My father's blade glowed faintly now—runed, alive, pulsing with heat. He slashed at the creature, fast, skilled, deadly. He was no hunter. Not really.
He fought like a god.
Each swing cut the air, sent fire flying. The creature struck back, arms of smoke turning to razors and spears. Trees split. Earth shattered.
But he was losing.
The creature was faster. Stronger. Every blow it took seemed to make it grow. It fed on pain. On magic. On blood.
Then it caught him.
A claw of black mist wrapped around his leg. With a roar, it flung him into a boulder. The stone cracked in two. He dropped to one knee, coughing blood.
I stood frozen by the broken cabin, staring in horror.
The creature turned toward me.
"You are the son of the forbidden," it growled. "Your blood is abomination. You should not exist."
I stepped back. My hands trembled. I reached for anything—something to fight with—and my fingers brushed against a box half-buried in the snow.
I knew it.
He told me never to open it.
Never touch it.
Now it was cracked open.
Inside lay a sword—long, strange, wrapped in cloth. The metal shimmered with veins of gold and black. It pulsed, like it was breathing.
And it called to me.
I pulled it free. The moment my hand wrapped around the hilt, everything changed.
The storm above roared. Lightning struck the ground nearby. The air twisted. Power surged through my arm like fire and ice, both at once.
The creature hesitated. Its white eyes narrowed.
"You've awakened it," it whispered.
Then it attacked.
And I moved.
Not by choice. My body reacted like it had done this a thousand times. The sword swung through the air, clean and bright.
Impact.
Steel met shadow. But this blade was no normal weapon. When it struck, it carved through the creature like light through smoke. It screamed—not from pain, but fear.
Its body convulsed. The runes on its chest flared, then cracked. It stumbled back, trying to retreat into mist.
I didn't let it.
Another swing. Sparks and fire. A shockwave rolled across the forest.
The creature exploded into ash and smoke, scattered on the wind.
I collapsed, breathing hard, the sword still humming in my hand.
The world was quiet again.
The fire in the cabin flickered back to life. The red glow in the sky faded.
My father groaned.
I rushed to him. He was bloodied, one leg bent the wrong way, but alive. His eyes found mine.
"You... held it," he said.
"What was that thing?" I asked, still panting.
He looked past me. At the ruins. At the blade in my hands. At the sky.
"I was going to wait until you were older," he said. "But they came too soon."
I clenched my fists. "Who are you? Who am I?"
He hesitated. Then spoke words I'll never forget.
"You're not my son," he said. "Not by blood."
The world tilted.
"I raised you. Protected you. But your true parents... they're something else entirely."
I swallowed. "What do you mean?"
"You're not human," he said. "Not completely. You were born of gods."
He looked at the blade in my hands, reverent and afraid.
"Old gods. Powerful ones. Ones the other pantheons tried to erase."
"Which gods?"
He closed his eyes, exhaled slowly.
"They don't have temples anymore. No worshippers. No statues."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"They were cast out by the others. Forgotten."
I stared at him, stunned.
And then he passed out.
The snow began to fall again, quiet, slow, peaceful. But nothing would ever be the same.
Not after tonight.
Not after I tasted divine blood—and survived.