Chronicles of Verek

The mountain did not welcome him.

Every step was a battle against the jagged rocks, the relentless wind, and the cold that gnawed at his bones. The climb was steep, treacherous, each turn more unforgiving than the last. But Varek did not stop. He could not.

His boots crunched over loose gravel, sending tiny avalanches skittering down the slopes. The war axe on his back weighed heavily, a constant presence pressing against him, but it was nothing compared to the weight in his chest.

Uncertainty.

The gods had sent him here, but they had not told him why. He was a weapon to them—a tool forged in blood and battle. Yet something about this journey felt different.

The wind howled around him, a primal scream that carried whispers he couldn't quite understand. The mist thickened, curling around him like grasping fingers, concealing the world beyond his reach. He moved through it, each step echoing in the empty vastness of the mountain.

Then, the cave appeared.

A great, gaping maw in the rock, swallowing all light that dared approach it. The darkness within was not ordinary—it was deep, ancient, as though the very mountain had carved out a hollow to hide something the world was never meant to see.

Varek hesitated.

His instincts screamed at him. He had faced monsters, armies, and demons, but this felt different. This felt personal.

The shadows inside shifted.

He was not alone.

The Blind Seer

The air inside the cave was thick—heavy with the scent of damp stone, old magic, and something richer, something he could not name. It pressed against him, wrapping around his lungs, sinking into his skin.

Torchlight flickered along the cavern walls, their flames trembling as if afraid of what lurked in the darkness. The silence was near absolute, broken only by the sound of his own breath.

And then he saw her.

She stood at the heart of the cave, bathed in golden light, the very image of ethereal perfection.

Zera.

She was breathtaking.

Her long, dark hair cascaded down her back like a river of silk, strands catching the firelight and gleaming with hints of deep crimson. Her skin was flawless, kissed by an otherworldly glow, as if she had been sculpted from starlight itself. She was tall, poised, her every movement exuding a quiet, undeniable power.

And her eyes…

They were a shade he had never seen before, a piercing gold that burned with an intensity no mortal should possess. They were not blind; they saw everything. Past flesh. Past time. Past lies.

A knowing smile played on her lips as she regarded him, and when she finally spoke, her voice was like silk over steel—soft, yet carrying an undeniable force.

"You've come."

Varek's heart pounded. He had seen queens, goddesses, and monsters, but none of them unnerved him the way she did.

"I didn't think you would be so… young," he admitted, his voice hoarse.

Zera tilted her head slightly, amusement flickering in her gaze. "Time is a trickster, Varek. It hides the truth beneath layers of illusion."

Varek stepped forward, the weight of her presence pressing down on him. "And what is the truth?"

The cave pulsed. Not in a physical sense, but as though something unseen, something vast and ancient, had shifted beneath the surface of reality.

Zera's golden eyes burned into his. "You are more than you think. More than the gods want you to believe."

A voice cut through the silence.

"Foolish to think you'd find answers here."

The Prophet of the End

Varek froze.

The voice was familiar. Too familiar.

A shadow detached itself from the cavern wall, stepping into the flickering torchlight. A man, tall and broad-shouldered, his presence as commanding as a king's. His face bore the wear of a thousand battles, lined with scars and hardened by war. One eye was blind and milky, a stark contrast to the other—a sharp, calculating gaze that held the weight of countless secrets.

Ezekiel.

Varek's lips curled into a smirk, despite the tension clawing at his chest. "Still lurking in the dark, old friend?"

Ezekiel gave a low chuckle. "And you're still chasing ghosts."

They stood there for a moment, watching each other as if time had not carved a chasm between them. Once, they had fought side by side, bled together, laughed together. But the war had changed things.

Varek stepped closer. "Why are you here?"

Ezekiel's expression darkened. "To keep you from making a mistake."

Zera's voice, smooth as ever, wove through the tension. "And who are you to call him foolish, Ezekiel? You who have seen the end of many worlds."

Ezekiel let out a dry laugh. "The end of worlds is nothing. It's the end of men that interests me."

His sharp eye locked onto Varek's. "And you, my friend, are standing at the edge of your own."

Varek's jaw tightened. "Enough riddles. Speak plainly."

Ezekiel stepped forward, his presence heavy with something unspoken. "You don't belong to the gods, Varek. You never did."

The words struck like a hammer to his chest.

"They've used you," Ezekiel continued. "Shaped you into something they can control. A weapon. A pawn in a game you don't even know you're playing."

Varek's pulse thundered in his ears. "What do you mean?"

Zera's golden gaze remained steady. "You are the son of Azaroth. But not in the way you think."

Varek's breath hitched. "Azaroth… the god of storms?"

Zera's lips curved in a knowing smile. "Is that what they told you?"

Ezekiel's voice was sharp. "Azaroth was never a god of storms."

Varek felt the world tilting beneath him. "Then what was he?"

Zera's golden eyes glowed with something ancient, something terrible. "A god of death."

The words sent a chill down his spine.

Ezekiel folded his arms. "A being so powerful that even the gods feared him. So they lied. They called him the storm, the bringer of chaos, to hide what he really was."

Varek's chest tightened. "Why would they do that?"

Zera's gaze burned into his. "Because if you knew the truth, you would not be their weapon. You would be something else entirely."

Silence hung heavy in the cave, thick with the weight of revelation.

Varek's hands clenched into fists. "Then what am I?"

Ezekiel's sharp eye bore into him. "You carry Azaroth's blood. Not the blood of storms, but the blood of death itself."

The air in the cave seemed to vibrate.

Varek stepped back. "What does that mean for me?"

Zera's voice was softer now, yet no less powerful. "It means you were never meant to be controlled. It means you were meant to break the chains of fate."

Ezekiel's gaze darkened. "And when you do, the world will burn."

Varek's breath came hard and fast. He had always known the gods had secrets. That they were liars. But this… this was something else.

Zera stepped closer, her presence intoxicating. "The choice is yours, Varek. Will you remain their pawn?"

Ezekiel's voice was quiet, but the weight of it was crushing. "Or will you become something more?"

Varek stood there, caught between the two of them. Between the truth and the lies he had lived his whole life believing.

The storm inside him—the true storm—was waking.

And for the first time, it had nothing to do with the gods.

It had everything to do with him.

To be continued…