Return of the Forsaken.
_
Light slipped through the cracks of an old window, scattering dust into the air like drifting stars.
Ray stirred. For a moment, he simply lay there — breathing, listening. The silence was too clean, almost unnatural, as though it had been scrubbed of chaos. Only faint scars remained: a cracked table, the edge of a broken chair, and the scent of ash hiding beneath the smell of polished wood.
Someone had tried to make this place forget violence. But wood remembered.
Ray pushed the blanket aside and rose slowly. His body felt heavy, like it was catching up to the days it had slept through. The stiffness eased with a slow stretch. Something inside him had changed overnight — not only in strength, but in the way his thoughts formed.
But he didn't notice it himself.
Fragments of memory drifted back — the battle, the villagers' terrified faces, the way their fear had turned into reverence when they saw his eyes.
And one question lingered in the quiet corners of his mind.
'Who are the Forsaken… really?'
He stepped out of the room.
_
The village was waiting.
When he stepped into the sunlight, silence spread through the clearing. The survivors were gathered — dozens of them, standing among the ruins of what had once been their homes. When they saw him, they lowered their heads and bowed together.
"We greet our lord," they said.
For a heartbeat, Ray didn't move. It had been years since he had spoken to anyone — years since words had meant something more than survival.
His voice, when it came, was quiet but steady.
"Why do you trust me to lead you? And how do you know about my eyes?"
An elder stepped forward — thin, pale, his back bent by age but his eyes still alive.
"A prophecy passed down through generations in our village," he said. "It spoke of the Forsaken's return: 'Follow the one with the eyes of the Void,' it said. 'He shall bring reckoning upon the world.'"
Ray's gaze sharpened. "And how were you so sure?"
"We did not know," the elder admitted, his tone soft but unwavering. "But when we saw your eyes — eyes deeper than the abyss itself — we felt it. To make sure our assumptions were not wrong, we placed an artifact of the Forsaken near you while you slept… and it reacted to your presence."
Ray stood silent for a moment. "All of you, stand."
The villagers obeyed, rising one by one. The reverence in their faces softened into something quieter — hope.
"How long have I been asleep?" Ray asked.
"Two days," the elder replied.
Not long. The world hadn't stopped for him.
When murmurs began to ripple through the crowd, Ray raised a hand. "Everyone, leave. Only the elders and those with knowledge, stay."
The villagers obeyed at once. Mothers gathered their children, men returned to their shelters, and soon the clearing fell into silence. Only a few remained — the thin elder, Mimir another older man, Falker whose posture was proud despite his age, and a handful of others who lingered quietly nearby.
---
Ray turned to them. "What do you know about the Forsaken?"
The thin elder bowed his head.
"We know little. They were guardians once — protectors of balance. The records were erased by the government long ago. We are what's left of those who escaped. When soldiers came for us, we thought it was to destroy what remained. But no… they meant to take us — for experiments. The government is hiding something darker, my lord. It's as if they want the Forsaken to be forgotten forever — or perhaps they fear them. And every empire cooperates with them. We have verified this through our spies."
He paused, then knelt. "I ask this shamelessly — lead us as our king. Bring reckoning to this world. We will follow you in every way we can."
Ray's expression didn't soften, but something in his eyes flickered — the faintest echo of purpose.
"Do you have anything left?" he asked. "Artifacts, books — anything connected to the Forsaken?"
The elder's expression dimmed. "All that we had was taken. Only one remains."
From the folds of his robe, he produced a small ring — black as midnight, threaded with faint amethyst veins that shimmered when light touched them.
"We don't even know if it's truly an artifact or just a relic…"
Before he could finish, the ring moved.
It slipped from his palm, hovering in the air like a drop of liquid light. Then, as if recognizing its master, it flew to Ray's left hand. The metal softened, turning fluid, and spread across his skin until it sank beneath the surface and vanished.
A warmth spread from the spot of contact — not hot, but calm and steady.
The elders stared, speechless. Something they had guarded for generations had just chosen him.
Ray flexed his hand slowly, studying the faint pulse beneath his skin. "Does any of you know magic?"
The older man, Falker, stepped forward. "Most of us do," he said with quiet pride. "But we are not that strong. We have little knowledge — everyone here are ordinary people without access to the powerful spells the government keeps for themselves."
Ray's smile was small, but it carried a weight that made Falker stand straighter.
"I will lead you as a king," Ray said — the word king tasting strange yet familiar. "But first, I need to test something. Who among you is the best mage?"
All eyes turned toward Falker.
Ray met his gaze. "Then take me to an open place. We have something to do."
---
They walked to the forest's edge, where the trees broke into a clearing washed in morning light. The air was still, and only the whisper of wind moved through the grass.
Ray turned to Falker. "Do you know how to use aura?"
Falker nodded slowly. "A little," he admitted. "I can use it, but it's faint — barely stable."
Ray watched him for a moment. "Then tell me," he said, "what do you think aura really is?"
"It is the manifestation of will," Falker answered. "Willpower, inner strength—"
Ray shook his head. "I don't think that's all. I have a theory." He looked up, his crimson eyes glinting faintly in the light. "Aura isn't just willpower. It's something else. Do you know what qi is?"
Falker's expression shifted — a trace of memory flickered across his face. "Yes. We once had records about it in our hometown, but the government destroyed them — or seized them for themselves. I was a child back then. I only know of qi from the old legends of cultivators."
Ray's voice grew quieter, heavier. "My parents were burned alive because they planned to start a revolution. The government won't allow knowledge that could challenge them — not something like qi. They're trying to control everything… even the truth."
He looked at Falker again, his expression calm but unyielding. "I think aura is the harmony between qi and mana."
Falker froze, disbelief spreading across his features. "But… isn't it impossible to have both in the same person?"
Ray's crimson eye glowed with a faint violet tint. "That's what we're about to find out."
He motioned for Falker to sit cross-legged on the grass. "Focus on the veins that carry your energy," Ray said. "Not your mana heart. Feel the flow itself."
Falker obeyed. For a moment, there was nothing — only the sound of wind. Then his breath hitched, and his face changed. Awe and confusion warred in his expression. He opened his eyes slowly, voice trembling.
"H-How did you find out?"
"It matters not," Ray said quietly. "I take it that you felt another energy."
Falker nodded.
"Now," Ray said, "try mixing a small part of both. Let them move together — form a fragile harmony."
Unlike Ray, for villagers like Falker — whose energies had been exposed to the world — the two streams were similar enough that harmonizing them was a delicate, achievable thing.
Slowly, the streams blended — soft light gathering around his hand until a bright grey glow formed, stable and calm.
It was the aura at the level of trained veterans in the army — the first stable form of aura.
Falker stared at it, wide-eyed, his hand shaking. It was real.
He turned to Ray and dropped to one knee. "I, Falker, swear allegiance to my lord."
Ray's expression remained calm, but a quiet satisfaction flickered beneath the surface. "It's time — start packing," he said. "The government will come when they see their scouts aren't returning."
"Yes, my lord," Falker replied, voice filled with newfound strength. "I will prepare the villagers. But… where should we go?"
Ray paused, his gaze turning distant. "I have a place in mind. Start packing."
Falker bowed deeply. "As you command, my lord."
---
When Falker left, silence returned.
But it didn't last long.
A sudden pain tore through Ray's head — sharp and blinding. The world twisted, and in an instant, he was no longer in the forest.
He sat upon a throne of black stone, high above the world. It resembled the one within the Ark of the Void.
Before him knelt five figures, their faces hidden in shadow, as if his own memory refused to reveal them. Then, one by one, they began to stand.
And one of them laughed — the sound spilling like poison — and spoke in a voice filled with betrayal:
"It's done now. I will take your throne."
The memory vanished suddenly, leaving only an image in Ray's mind — a tall, godlike figure rising, and the feeling that something precious had been stolen from him.
He stared at the sky until the ache subsided and he voiced what the memory had left behind.
"What do you have in wait for me?" he asked the open air, and the wind slid across the clearing like a patient answer.
---
That night, the village came alive.
Falker moved swiftly, giving orders, gathering supplies. Even the youngest children helped, their small hands gripping rope and baskets with quiet determination. They didn't look afraid anymore. They had purpose.
Ray stood at the edge of the clearing, watching them beneath the cold light of dusk. The ring beneath his skin pulsed softly.
He had a plan. Not yet a map of conquests, but a method — to teach, to gather, and to test the boundary where qi met mana.
If his theory was right, and aura could be turned into a weapon of harmony, then the people might no longer be helpless against those who burned and silenced them.
The Forsaken had given him the means; he would forge them into an answer.
He raised his gaze to the darkening sky. Thunder rolled faintly in the distance, echoing like an old promise.
"Come what will," he murmured into the wind. "I will face it. I will make them repent. For I am the Reckoning."
Above him, the first drops of rain began to fall — quiet, cold, and steady.
And somewhere deep within the silence, the Forsaken watched — a faint smile hidden in the dark, waiting.
End of chapter 6