The wind howled, tearing through the darkness like a hungry beast. Lyra clutched her threadbare cloak tighter around her shoulders, but no amount of fabric could keep out the chill that gnawed at her bones. She was not truly awake, and yet the world around her felt too vivid to be a dream.

Before her, rising from the blood-soaked earth, stood the sword.

It was unlike any weapon she had seen in her waking life—taller than a man, with a blade that gleamed as though it was forged from starlight. Vines, dead and thorny, snaked around its length, while ravens circled above, their cries cutting through the heavy silence like jagged shards of glass. At the sword’s hilt, intricate carvings formed a twisted, monstrous face, as if the blade itself was a living thing, an artifact of both power and horror.

Lyra took a step forward, her feet sinking into the wet, crimson mud. Around her, the battlefield stretched endlessly, littered with broken shields and abandoned armor. Faceless warriors lay strewn across the ground, their eyes vacant, their bodies twisted as if they had fallen mid-scream. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and death.

She knew she should turn back. She knew this was a place she didn’t belong, a place where hope had been extinguished long ago. Yet something called to her—a pull that was as inevitable as the dawn. She raised a trembling hand, reaching out for the hilt, but before her fingers could make contact, the ravens descended, blocking her view in a flurry of black feathers.

A cry echoed in her ears, a voice both familiar and strange. “Find it… Find Karl’s Will…”

The dream shattered, plunging her into darkness once more.

Lyra woke with a gasp, her heart hammering in her chest. The familiar, dim interior of her hut came into focus—the rough wooden walls, the single narrow bed, the cracked hearth

where embers still smoldered from last night’s fire. Her skin was damp with sweat, and her hands were shaking. She looked down and saw a faint, bluish glow on the palm of her right hand, a mark that hadn’t been there yesterday.

The shape was strange, almost like a crow with its wings outstretched, but it was fading quickly, as if melting back into her skin. Lyra rubbed her hand, trying to banish the lingering chill from the dream. It wasn’t the first time she had dreamed of the sword, but this time… this time it felt different. More real.

A knock at the door startled her. She stumbled out of bed, pulling the thin blanket tighter around her shoulders as she went to open it. Old Bram, the village elder, stood outside, his face creased with worry.

“Lyra,” he said, his voice low. “You need to come with me. There’s… there’s something you need to see.”

She hesitated, but the urgency in his eyes left no room for argument. Pulling on her boots, she followed him outside into the predawn gloom. The village was eerily quiet, the usual morning clatter stilled. Shadows lingered between the huts, stretching like dark fingers over the ground.

They stopped at the edge of the village, where a small crowd had gathered, murmuring in hushed tones. Lyra pushed through to the front, her heart sinking as she saw what lay before them.

In the clearing stood a soldier, dressed in the black armor of the Crow Lord’s army. His body was twisted, broken, a fallen figure against the stark light of the dawn. His face was frozen in an expression of fear, as though he had seen death itself reaching for him.

Beside him, carved into the ground, was the same mark she had seen on her hand—a crow with wings outstretched.

The whispers grew louder, voices filled with fear and dread. “The Crow Lord’s men… they’ve found us,” someone muttered. “We’re not safe here anymore.”

Old Bram placed a hand on her shoulder, his grip firm but gentle. “Lyra,” he said quietly. “You’ve been having those dreams again, haven’t you?”

She nodded, unable to speak. The mark on her hand pulsed faintly, as if in response to the death before her.

“This isn’t a coincidence,” Bram continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “The legends speak of a time when Karael’s Will would return, when a hero would rise to end the Crow Lord’s reign of terror. The mark… the dreams… Lyra, it’s you. You’re the one the prophecies spoke of.”

Lyra shook her head, a wave of denial washing over her. “No… I’m just a girl. I don’t even know how to fight, let alone wield a legendary sword.”

But even as she spoke, she felt the pull again—a tug in her heart, as if something was calling her, waiting for her beyond the horizon.

“Whether you believe it or not, the time has come,” Bram said, his voice steady. “You can run, or you can face this destiny. But if you choose to face it, I’ll be here to guide you.”

A sound echoed through the village, a low, mournful cry that sent a shiver down her spine. She looked up and saw a single raven perched on the roof of her hut, watching her with eyes that gleamed like polished obsidian.

The crowd began to disperse, the villagers retreating back to the safety of their homes, whispering prayers under their breath. Lyra stood alone at the edge of the clearing, staring at the soldier’s lifeless body and the mark that seemed to be branded into her skin, a reminder of a fate she could not escape.

In the distance, dawn was breaking, casting pale light over the forested hills. She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her choices settling on her shoulders. The dream had brought her here, and the dream was guiding her forward.

With a final glance at Bram, she nodded, her voice barely a whisper. “I’ll do it. I’ll find the sword.”

Lyra’s footsteps echoed in the silence as she made her way toward the forest’s edge, leaving the village behind her. Old Bram’s words replayed in her mind, weighing heavy on her thoughts: “Whether you believe it or not, the time has come.”

She wasn’t sure she believed it. She was no hero, no chosen savior. She was just a girl who barely knew how to hold a blade, let alone wield Karael’s Will. But the mark on her hand throbbed with a strange warmth, a silent reminder of the power buried beneath the earth somewhere, waiting for her.

The path through the trees grew darker, the canopy overhead thick with branches and tangled vines. Lyra pulled her cloak tighter around herself, shivering as a chill wind brushed past. Every sound, every rustle in the leaves, set her on edge.

Then, suddenly, a figure stepped out from the shadows—a tall man, wrapped in a dark cloak with a weathered face and cold, calculating eyes. She froze, her heart pounding as his gaze settled on her.

“Not many dare to travel alone in these woods,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “Especially not a young girl like you.”

“I… I’m not afraid,” she stammered, though her hands trembled at her sides.

The man studied her, his eyes narrowing as they flicked to the mark on her hand. Recognition flashed across his face, and he nodded as if confirming something.

“My name is Thane,” he said, lowering his hood. “I lead a band of rebels fighting against the Crow Lord’s forces. And if that mark on your hand is real, you’re exactly the one we’ve been waiting for.”

Lyra shook her head, taking a step back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not a hero. I’m just trying to find… something.”

Thane’s lips curled into a small smile. “That ‘something’ you’re looking for is Karael’s Will, isn’t it? You wouldn’t be the first to seek it, but you may be the first destined to find it.”

He held out his hand, offering her a choice. “Come with me. Join us, and I’ll help you find the sword. We can train you, teach you how to fight. Or, you can go alone… and face the Crow Lord’s wrath unprepared.”

Lyra hesitated, glancing at his outstretched hand. She didn’t trust this stranger, not fully. But something in her heart urged her forward, as if this meeting had been part of her path all along.

She took his hand, feeling its roughness and strength. “I’ll come with you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Thane’s grip tightened. “Good. Then your journey begins now.”

Together, they vanished into the shadows of the forest, leaving behind the village, the dreams, and the life she once knew.

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- XNECROMANCER

They moved swiftly through the dense forest, with Thane leading the way, his steps sure and unhesitating. Lyra struggled to keep up, dodging branches and brambles that clawed at her cloak. The silence between them stretched long and uneasy, broken only by the crunch of leaves underfoot and the occasional call of a distant raven. Lyra couldn’t shake the feeling that the eyes of the forest were watching her.

Finally, Thane slowed his pace, glancing over his shoulder. “I imagine you have questions,” he said, his tone gruff.

Lyra swallowed, keeping her gaze fixed on the ground. “You said… you said you were with the rebels. Are there many of you?”

“A handful,” Thane replied, his voice tinged with bitterness. “There were more, once. The Crow Lord’s forces saw to that.” He paused, his expression hardening. “We’re all that’s left, fighting to survive. Fighting to free those who can’t defend themselves.”

Lyra nodded, feeling a pang of sympathy for this man she barely knew. She had heard whispers of the Crow Lord’s tyranny, tales of villages razed, families torn apart, innocents enslaved. But it had always seemed distant, like a nightmare that belonged to someone else’s life. Now, with her own village lost and the Crow Lord’s mark seared into her skin, that nightmare had become her reality.

Thane continued walking, his gaze fixed ahead. “The Crow Lord has held these lands in fear for far too long. He wasn’t always this way, you know. Once, he was a man—one of the greatest warriors our people had ever seen. But power… it changes people.” His voice dropped to a whisper, as if afraid the trees themselves might hear. “He found something, an ancient power that twisted him, that made him… less than human.”

Lyra shivered, recalling the stories her mother used to tell her before she’d died—the stories of dark magic and cursed relics, of heroes who rose and villains who fell. “Do you think he’s searching for the sword too?” she asked.

“Without a doubt,” Thane replied grimly. “Karl’s Will is the only thing powerful enough to stand against him. The sword was forged in the fires of an ancient era, blessed by the gods themselves. With it, the first king united the lands and banished the darkness. But when he died, the sword vanished, hidden away to keep its power from those who would misuse it.”

“And you think… you think I’m meant to find it?”

Thane stopped, turning to face her, his gaze piercing. “That mark on your hand isn’t just a coincidence, Lyra. There’s a prophecy—one that speaks of a warrior with the mark of the crow, a bearer of Karl’s legacy. The one destined to find the sword and use it to bring an end to this tyranny.”

Lyra looked down at her hand, the faint outline of the crow’s mark barely visible in the dim light. She wanted to laugh, to tell him that he was mistaken, that she was no hero. But the weight of his words settled over her like a shroud, filling her with both dread and a strange, undeniable pull toward something greater than herself.

“But I… I don’t even know how to fight,” she whispered. “I’ve never even held a real sword.”

Thane’s expression softened slightly. “You’ll learn. We’ll teach you. The sword’s power will only answer to someone who has suffered, someone who understands loss. I can see in your eyes that you’ve known pain, Lyra. You have the strength within you, even if you don’t realize it yet.”

She took a deep, shaky breath, feeling the weight of his words settle into her bones. For the first time, the path before her seemed clearer, though it was shrouded in uncertainty and danger. She didn’t fully understand her role in this, didn’t fully believe she could be the one to wield such a legendary weapon. But she knew one thing—there was no turning back.

As they resumed their journey, a glimmer of hope began to take root within her. She could feel the beginnings of something new, a quiet resolve to see this through, to find the sword and confront whatever destiny awaited her.

“Tell me more about the others,” she said, breaking the silence as they neared the edge of the forest. “The ones who fight with you.”

A shadow crossed Thane’s face, but he nodded. “You’ll meet them soon enough. Each one has their own story, their own reason for fighting. They’ve all lost something to the Crow Lord, just like you. And now, they’re waiting for someone who can bring them hope.”

Lyra felt a flicker of doubt, wondering if she could be that hope, if she was truly worthy of such trust. But as they stepped out of the forest, into the clearing where the rebel camp lay hidden among the trees, she pushed the fear aside.

She was here now, with a mark on her hand and a fire in her heart. Whatever lay ahead, she would face it. For herself, for the ones she had lost, and for the dream that had led her here.