The wind howled like a wounded beast as Lucian stepped into the ruins of what was once the grand cathedral of Ebonholme. The shattered stained-glass windows cast fractured moonlight upon the cracked marble floor, and the scent of damp stone and old blood filled the air. Each step he took echoed eerily, as though the cathedral itself whispered secrets long forgotten.

Lucian’s heartbeat thundered in his ears. Something was here. Something ancient. Something waiting.

He tightened his grip around the hilt of his blade, Shadowfang. The air grew heavier with each breath, thick with an unseen presence. A slow, deliberate clapping broke the silence.

"Impressive, truly," a voice drawled from the shadows.

Lucian turned sharply, his eyes scanning the darkness. The torches along the walls flickered wildly as a figure emerged from the void, draped in obsidian robes adorned with intricate silver embroidery. His face, partially concealed by the hood, bore a smile—calm, knowing, sinister.

"You feel it, don’t you?" the man continued, his voice a velvety whisper that crawled into Lucian’s mind. "The call of the abyss. The power surging through your veins. You stand on the precipice of something far greater than you could ever imagine."

Lucian exhaled slowly, pushing down the surge of energy coiling within him. "Who are you?"

The man chuckled, stepping forward, his boots clicking against the cold marble. "Names are shackles, meant for those who fear the weight of their own existence. But if it puts you at ease, you may call me Erevan."

The name sent an inexplicable shiver down Lucian’s spine. He had read of Erevan in the forbidden texts—an ancient sorcerer who had once attempted to breach the veil between realms, to harness the abyss itself. But he had perished centuries ago… hadn’t he?

Lucian steadied his stance. "You shouldn’t exist."

"Ah," Erevan sighed, amused. "And yet, here I am. As are you. The boy who was forsaken, reborn in shadow. We are not so different, you and I."

Lucian clenched his jaw. "I am nothing like you."

Erevan smirked, raising a hand. The ground trembled as the shadows around them twisted and coiled, taking monstrous forms. Eyeless creatures with elongated limbs slithered forth, their guttural hissing filling the air. The torches extinguished in an instant, plunging the cathedral into darkness.

Lucian had no time to hesitate. Instinct took over as he dashed forward, slicing through the first of the creatures. Shadowfang hummed in his grip, drinking in the energy of the abyssal entities. But for every one he struck down, two more took its place.

"You are wasting your strength," Erevan mused. "The abyss does not fight with steel. It fights with will."

The moment the words left his lips, Lucian felt it—a pulse deep within his core, resonating with the very essence of the void around him. His vision darkened at the edges, his body burning with an unfamiliar sensation. His fingers trembled against the hilt of his sword. The abyss was speaking to him, beckoning.

Erevan extended a hand. "Embrace it. Or be consumed by it."

Lucian’s breath came in ragged gasps. His mind swirled in chaos. The power—the hunger—it was intoxicating. Was this what he had been fighting against all along? Or was this what he had always been meant to become?

For the first time, he hesitated.

And in that hesitation, the abyss reached for him.

To be continued…

       THE END