The Echo of a False Hero

Elias sat against the tree, his breath ragged and shallow. His chest felt like it was being crushed with every inhale. The adrenaline from the battle that had nearly taken his life was wearing off, leaving only the pain behind—sharp, relentless pain that throbbed in his wounds. His left hand was barely recognisable, the skin charred, raw, and blackened. The flesh had begun to peel away, leaving open, oozing burns. His chest wound had been bleeding for what felt like hours, soaking through his tunic and dripping onto the earth beneath him. Infection was inevitable. His body, already failing from exhaustion, couldn't survive long in this state.

The morning air was bitterly cold, but Elias didn't have the strength to shiver. He barely had the strength to breathe, let alone stand. His only hope was the village he'd seen to the north. It was still miles away, but it was the closest place he could reach. He had spent the last three years wandering the wastelands, scavenging remnants from old ruins, but he'd never felt this close to death. The thought of dying here, alone, in this forgotten part of the world, was terrifying.

Despite the pain, his mind was sharp—more aware than it had been in days. It was as if a different, unfamiliar awareness was rising in him. He needed to get up. He needed to move. His feet felt like stone as he tried to push himself upright, but his legs buckled, and he collapsed back to the ground, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. His vision blurred, the world around him spinning into darkness.

----

When Elias regained consciousness, he was no longer in the forest. The sharp pain that had almost consumed him was gone, replaced by a dull ache that spread through his limbs. He blinked his eyes open, the first thing he saw being a low wooden beam above him. The scent of dust filled his nose, mingling with something earthy and faintly comforting. He was lying on a bed, a thin quilt spread over him. His injuries were still there, but bandaged, tended to with care.

Confusion crept into his mind, and he slowly turned his head, trying to make sense of where he was. The room was small, humble—old, yet well-kept. The walls were lined with shelves, some filled with tools, others with dried herbs and jars. A fire crackled in the hearth at one end of the room, casting flickering light over the weathered stone floor.

A man was sitting at the far side of the room, his back to Elias. The man had graying hair, wild and unkempt, and a thick, messy beard that covered most of his face. His clothes were worn, but sturdy. He appeared old—perhaps in his seventies—but his posture was straight, his movements still sharp and deliberate. There was something about him that seemed almost otherworldly, despite his age. A strange, unsettling calm radiated from him.

"W-where am I?" Elias croaked, his voice hoarse and weak.

The old man didn't turn around immediately. He took his time, as though he expected the question, before slowly looking over his shoulder, meeting Elias' gaze with dark, serious eyes.

"My cabin," the man said gruffly. "Close to Ashwood—the impregnable village."

Elias' mind was still foggy, his body not yet ready to comprehend the situation. He tried to sit up but was stopped by the painful twinge in his chest. He winced, the sharp, aching reminder of his wounds forcing him to lie back down.

The old man's gaze, however, shifted from Elias to his hand. He looked at the sigil etched into his skin, his expression unreadable. He didn't speak for a moment, simply watching Elias, but it was enough to make the boy feel uneasy. His heart began to pound again, and a familiar sense of dread crept up his spine.

"What are you?" the old man asked, his voice tinged with suspicion.

Elias froze, caught off guard by the question. He hadn't expected it. What was he? He didn't know. His mind raced, searching for some answer—any answer—but it eluded him. He tried to speak, but his throat felt tight.

"I... I don't know," Elias muttered. His voice was barely more than a whisper. "I don't remember."

The old man grunted, a low sound of disapproval, but didn't press him further. He slowly stood, moving across the room with surprising grace for someone so old. As he did, Elias noticed the quiet strength in the man's movements, the way his frame remained tall and refined despite his age.

A wave of pain hit Elias suddenly, sharp and violent. His sigil flared, pulsing with light, but this time, it was more than just a burning sensation—it felt like something tightening around his chest, like an invisible force trying to strangle him from within. The old man noticed it immediately. His eyes darkened as he watched the mark with something close to concern, before turning his gaze back to Elias.

"You have limited time to live," the man said bluntly, cutting through the heavy silence. His words were matter-of-fact, as if he'd seen this before.

Elias blinked, his heart racing. "W-what?" he asked, his voice weak but filled with panic. "What do you mean?"

The old man's expression grew more serious, and he gave a heavy sigh. "The power you bear... the Void's touch can ruin a man more than any weapon can."

Elias' chest tightened at the words, fear creeping up on him like a cold fog. The Void? Was that the creature he'd fought? the one that forced him to fight for survival?

He opened his mouth to ask more questions, but the old man cut him off. 'You really don't remeber , do you? , the Veilstone , the void. If you have that sigil , i thought you would of least of knew.'

Elias frowned. "What are you talking about?" he asked, his voice shaky.

The old man sighed again, sitting down in a chair nearby. His gaze became distant, almost nostalgic, as he spoke.

"How do you possess that mark?" he said slowly, his voice heavy with the weight of untold stories. "The Veilstone was created millennia ago. Its purpose was to keep the Void from taking over this world. But the Veilstone shattered centuries ago. The pieces scattered, lost to time. And with it, the Void began to leak through, twisting reality itself. Monsters, beasts—creatures beyond comprehension—began to appear, and humans... we fought back. Heroes, gifted with sigils like yours, were created to fight the Void, but the power wasn't enough. Humans resorted to fighting poison with poison. By using voidshards , humans were able to transplant skills from slain monsters into themselves , birthing a new power structure. Hero's managed to fight back , using voidshards and being able to resist their corruption. Humans named 'voidwalkers' too transplanted voidshards , but had a hard time controlling their effects."

Elias sat up slowly, listening intently. He could feel the pain in his chest growing as the old man spoke, but he forced himself to focus.

"The Void adapted," the old man continued. "It's always adapting. And over time, those heroes who fought the Void — voidwalker or selected hero - they began to fall. The corruption took them. They became monsters, too."

Elias shivered, suddenly feeling the weight of the sigil on his hand. He stared at it, feeling the heat still radiating from the mark.

Elias recoiled at the word. "I'm not... I can't be. Hero? No."

The old man's eyes narrowed. "You might be correct. Hero's from this generation , the six classes , have already been selected. News from the capital like that even reaches here , on the boundary of the kindgom. ' His eyes were skeptical.

Elias swallowed hard, his thoughts swirling. "What... what should i do?' no. what can i do?

The old man's gaze softened with a hint of pity. "You have two choices.' He lifted up his finger. 'One , try to run away and live a life away from the void. If you do this , you would die as a human , and not a monster. But , your death would most likely be a grumesome one , espically if the kindgom figures out who you are , hero or not. Having a sigil like a hero would surely be a point of attraction for the 'monsters' in the capital . Second. Become a voidwalker , and tread a line between human and monster , weilding power above what humans are granted maybe this way you would be able to protect yourself , but you'll realise that the cost of living a life like that would make you regret dying as a human.'

Elias looked down at his hand, feeling the sigil burn once more. A hero? he wasn't no hero. He used to live a normal life , he thought. A hero could of protected his father and the villagers. 

'How do you know all of this?' Elias sighed as the old man leaned back.

'I use to go and attack rifts. I became a voidwalker , consuming a shard and becoming a stage 1 shardbearer. I could of went far , but i left my life behind. I saw my friends turn into monsters due to the corruption of power , monsters and weapons beyond what i can imagine.' His eyes shone with a glaze of madness before returning to their previous state. 'It's your choice to make. I will tend to your wounds until you leave.'

'Thank you.' Eli offered a limited bow.