2. Valen

2

VALEN

B lood pools beneath my boots, seeping through ancient stone. My sisters' screams pierce the night, but my legs won't move. I'm forced to watch, trapped in this cursed memory as dark elf blades flash in the torchlight.

"Valen, help us!" my mother pleads as she reaches for me, her fingers stretching across the great hall. The dark elf behind her grins, ears twitching with pleasure as he draws his blade across her throat.

"No!" My voice cracks. "Stop this!" But I'm just a ghost here, reliving this nightmare for the thousandth time.

My father fights like the lord he is, his sword claiming three lives before they overwhelm him. They don't grant him a quick death. They want him to watch as they slaughter the children.

The marble floor turns crimson. Bodies of my kin – warriors, healers, children – pile up like cordwood. The metallic stench of blood mingles with smoke as they torch our ancestral home.

"I'll kill you all," I whisper, but the words catch in my throat as I spot my youngest sister. She's trying to hide behind a tapestry, small fingers clutching the fabric. A dark elf yanks her out by her hair.

My body convulses. The dream shatters.

I bolt upright in my makeshift bed, sweat streaming down my chest. My fists clench instinctively. The cave's cool air does nothing to stop the tremors wracking my frame.

"Same dream," I mutter as I press my palms against my eyes. "Same damn dream."

The wound on my neck throbs – their failed attempt to end me. My hands shake as I reach for the water skin.

"You're dead," I remind myself. "They think you're dead, and that's how you'll destroy them."

The cave's darkness wraps around me like an old friend, but sleep won't return tonight. It never does after these memories surface.

I soon step out of the cave into the darkness. My boots barely whisper against the frost-coated ground. The frigid air slices through the night, a stark reminder that winter never truly leaves this forsaken land. My skin, toughened by centuries of warfare, barely registers the chill.

My thoughts, however, are ensnared by the past, a tapestry of blood and betrayal woven by dark elf hands. The hilt of my sword, a cold, familiar weight at my side, seems to pulse with a life of its own, thirsting for the blood of those who took everything from me.

The night is a canvas of ebony, painted with the faintest brush of silver from a crescent moon. It's the kind of night that cloaks a man's intentions, the perfect shroud for vengeance. My grip tightens around the sword's hilt, the leather worn smooth by centuries of use.

"They thought they could erase us," I murmur to the winds, my voice a low growl that blends with the rustle of the trees. "They were wrong."

Images of that fateful night crash against my mind's eye like relentless waves – the flames consuming our ancestral home, the cries of my sisters as they were dragged into the shadows, the laughter of their tormentors echoing in the smoky air.

I close my eyes, but the images are etched into my very soul. "I will make them pay," I vow, the words slicing through the frosty air like a blade.

My senses sharpen, the Vrakken blood in my veins responding to the surge of primal anger. The world around me comes alive. I can hear the soft whisper of a mouse in the underbrush, smell the damp earth and the faint metallic tang of impending snowfall.

I open my eyes, the faint glow of my crimson irises casting an eerie light on the surroundings. "You took my family from me," I say, my voice echoing through the woods, a challenge to the darkness. "Now, I am the reaper, and your time is running out."

A sudden rustle in the bushes nearby jerks my attention. I draw my sword in a fluid motion, the steel singing as it cleaves the air. A pair of frightened doe eyes meet mine – a small woodland creature, caught in my fierce gaze.

I lower my weapon, a wry chuckle escaping my lips. "Not tonight, little one," I tell the creature, sheathing my sword with a flourish. "Tonight, my war is with ghosts."

The animal scampers away, leaving me once again with the silence of the forest and the echoes of my past. I take a deep breath. The cold air fills my lungs, a stark contrast to the heat of my fury.

"Valen, the ghost of the Vrakken," I say, a self-deprecating smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. "A specter seeking justice in a world that has forgotten him."

My gaze drifts upwards to the handful of stars twinkling between the cloud-strewn sky. "I will avenge you, my sisters," I whisper, a solemn vow carried away by the wind. "And then, perhaps, I can find some semblance of peace."

Until that day, I will move through the shadows, a relentless force, an unstoppable storm. The dark elves have had centuries to fortify their defenses, to plot and scheme. But they have not reckoned with the fury of a Vrakken who has nothing left to lose.

Suddenly, the wind carries whispers to my ears, a murmur of celebration and dark elf revelry. It's a sound that sets my teeth on edge, a stark reminder of the joy they've stolen from me.

"A celebration," I muse aloud, my voice a low rumble. "They dare to celebrate while my kin rot in unmarked graves."

As I stand near the edge of their territory, a shadow among shadows, my crimson eyes scan the horizon for any sign of movement.

My fingers twitch, aching for the hilt of my sword. It's more than a weapon; it's a harbinger of the retribution I've sworn to deliver. The dark elves think themselves untouchable, secure in their fortresses and their numbers. They're about to learn a painful lesson – no one is beyond my reach.

I lean against the gnarled trunk of an ancient tree, its bark rough against my palm. "Will I feel anything once they're dead?" I ask the night. "Will the void in my chest finally close, or will I be left with nothing but the echo of my own fury?"

The emptiness of my existence claws at me like a relentless beast. I've been alone for centuries, a solitary predator stalking the night. My hatred for the dark elves has been my only companion.

I shake off the creeping tendrils of doubt. "No," I growl, pushing away from the tree. "Revenge is all that matters. It's the flame that keeps me moving forward, the force that drives me through each agonizing day."

The night is my ally, cloaking me in its inky embrace as I move silently through the underbrush. My senses, heightened by my Vrakken heritage, pick up the faintest sounds. I pause, my body tensing as I detect the presence of others.

"They're preparing," I murmur, watching from the shadows as dark elf soldiers scurry about, their movements frantic as they prepare for the upcoming festivities.

A slow smile spreads across my face, a dangerous promise of the chaos I'm about to unleash. "You won't see me coming," I whisper, my voice carried away by the wind. "Not until it's too late."

I retreat, melting back into the forest, my mind already formulating a plan. The dark elves may have numbers, but I have centuries of experience, honed by loss and fueled by an unquenchable thirst for vengeance.

My path soon takes me to a small clearing, the moonlight casting a silver glow on the ground. I stop, my gaze drawn to the stars twinkling above once more. They're silent sentinels, bearing witness to my solitary war against an entire race.

"I am the ghost of the Vrakken," I declare, my voice echoing through the stillness. "The dark elves' worst nightmare, the harbinger of their doom."

I drop to one knee, my hand instinctively reaching for the dagger at my side. The cold steel is a comforting presence, a tangible reminder of the power I wield. With a swift, practiced motion, I draw a symbol in the dirt – the sigil of my fallen house.

"For you, my family," I vow, a fierce determination burning within me. "Your deaths will not be in vain."

With the vow spoken, I rise to my full height, my resolve hardening like the steel of my blade. The dark elves will pay for their sins, and I will be the one to collect the debt.

As I turn to leave the clearing, a newfound sense of purpose fills me. The emptiness is still there, a yawning chasm in my soul, but it's tempered by the knowledge that my vengeance is close at hand.

"Let them celebrate," I murmur, a dark chuckle escaping my lips. "It will make their fall all the more satisfying."

With a final glance at the makeshift grave marker, I disappear into the night back to my cavern.