THE BROKEN DREAMS

The sky remained overcast as Fred and Clara left the wreckage of the battleground behind them. Every step Fred took felt heavier than the last. The storm inside him had quieted, but it lingered just beneath the surface—a restless, waiting force.

Clara walked close beside him, her hand occasionally brushing his, as if reminding him he wasn't alone in this.

"We need to find someone who knows about this power," she said, her voice firm. "Someone who can explain why it's inside you."

Fred nodded, though doubt gnawed at him. "And if we don't like what we find?"

Clara gave a small, determined smile. "Then we decide what to do with it anyway."

It was a simple promise—but one that meant everything.

---

Unbeknownst to Fred and Clara, a figure watched them from the woods. Cloaked in black, face hidden, the figure's eyes gleamed with a sharp, predatory light.

"So, the storm awakens again," the figure muttered. "Just like it did all those years ago."

At their side, another shadow whispered, "Should we intervene?"

The figure chuckled lowly. "Not yet. Let him believe he has control. It will make his fall all the more delicious."

Then, like smoke in the wind, they vanished.

---

That night, Fred and Clara took refuge in an abandoned stone house on the outskirts of a ruined village. It was there, while searching for supplies, that Fred found something unexpected—an old chest hidden beneath the floorboards.

Inside was a collection of ancient letters, each sealed with a crest he had never seen before: a serpent wrapped around a broken sword.

Clara knelt beside him, reading over his shoulder as he opened one of the letters.

> *"To the Bearer of the Storm,

You are the last in a line cursed by our betrayal.

You carry the power that we tried to bury,

and the blood of the ones we tried to destroy.

Should you awaken the storm, beware.

Your enemies will not rest.

Your allies will turn.

And you... you must choose whether you will redeem us—

or destroy everything we failed to protect."*

Fred's hands trembled slightly as he set the letter down. His throat felt dry. He wasn't just the inheritor of some random magic—he was the final link in a bloodline both cursed and hunted.

"Fred…" Clara's voice was soft, almost reverent. "This changes everything."

Fred nodded grimly. "It does. And it explains why they've been after me."

The realization hit him like a wave: he had been born into a war he never knew existed. A war he had no choice but to fight.

---

As they sat in the flickering candlelight, trying to piece together the meaning of the letters, a knock echoed through the broken house. Three sharp raps. Then silence.

Fred and Clara froze.

Another knock. Slow. Deliberate.

Fred motioned for Clara to stay low. He approached the door cautiously, energy already crackling at his fingertips. When he swung the door open, no one was there.

Only a small, wrapped package sat on the doorstep.

Inside was a single object: an obsidian key, cold and heavy in his hand. Tied to it was a note:

> "Find the Vault of Echoes.

Only then will you know the truth about who you are."

Fred clenched his jaw. Another puzzle. Another trap, maybe. But if the Vault held answers about his bloodline, he had no choice.

Clara touched his arm. "We'll find it together. Whatever's waiting for us."

He looked into her eyes—so full of courage, even when fear must have been clawing at her—and nodded.

Together, they stepped back into the night, chasing a truth that might just tear their world apart.

---