THE BROKEN DREAMS

Fred stood frozen between the two paths.

The smooth road whispered promises of peace, of a life unburdened by shadows.

The twisted trail of thorns seemed to pulse with something darker—powerful, dangerous, and deeply familiar.

Clara's hand squeezed his gently.

"Fred," she said softly, "whatever you choose... I'm with you."

He looked into her eyes and saw no judgment—only trust.

It steadied him.

Still, fear gnawed at him.

Could he really turn away from everything he had ever known?

Could he embrace a legacy soaked in blood?

Ethan watched him with a predator's patience, his ruined face unreadable.

The staff glowed faintly at his side.

"Your time is nearly up, boy," he rasped. "Choose."

---

Fred took a breath so deep it hurt.

And he stepped onto the path of thorns.

The brambles slashed at his legs, tearing into flesh, but he didn't falter.

Every step forward was a promise.

He would not live in ignorance.

He would not be a pawn in someone else's story.

He would carve his own destiny—even if it meant embracing the darkness that ran through his veins.

Ethan's mouth twisted into something almost like approval.

"Good," he muttered. "There may be hope for you yet."

Clara followed without hesitation, though the thorns cut her too.

Her loyalty gave Fred strength.

They pressed on into the deepening gloom.

---

But they were not alone.

Far above, perched in the gnarled branches of a dead tree, a figure watched them.

Draped in a cloak of woven shadows, the watcher's eyes gleamed red like coals.

In his hand, he cradled a weapon not of this world—a blade that drank the very light around it.

He whispered a name into the wind:

"Fred Verrick..."

The trees themselves seemed to flinch at the sound.

The hunter smiled beneath his hood.

Fred's choice had sealed his fate—and triggered the hunt that had been long prepared.

"Let's begin," the hunter murmured.

Without a sound, he leapt from the branches and disappeared into the darkness, stalking his prey.

---