Chapter 1: The Boy Who Should Have Died

The village of Azakha was a peaceful place, nestled in a quiet valley between two towering mountain ranges. It was the kind of place where nothing remarkable ever happened, where the rhythm of life was measured by the seasons, and the lives of its people were ruled by hard work and faith. The villagers knew each other by name, their lives intertwined in a way that made the thought of any kind of danger feel distant, almost like a bad dream that didn’t belong in their world.

Kazo had always been a part of that world. As a child, he was a quiet, earnest boy—strong for his age, with dark eyes that held a quiet determination. He wasn’t special in the way that the legends spoke of heroes. His family was simple, poor even, but they were loved and respected by their neighbors. Kazo’s father, Harun, was a blacksmith, known for his skill in shaping iron, while his mother, Leela, tended the home and looked after Kazo and his two younger siblings.

But everything changed one night, when the sickness came.

The plague spread through the valley like wildfire. It wasn’t the kind of disease that took weeks to show its effects—no, this one was swift, cruel, and relentless. It struck without warning. One by one, the villagers fell ill, their bodies succumbing to the fever that wracked their bones. Kazo's friends, those he had grown up with, those he had laughed and played alongside, fell sick in a matter of days. His closest companion, Arin, was the first to show symptoms. At first, it was just a cough—nothing alarming—but soon it escalated, and before long, Arin was bedridden, pale and weak, his fever burning with an intensity that frightened everyone.

The local healer, an elderly woman named Mira, was quick to respond. She brewed potions, made salves, and worked tirelessly through the night to ease the suffering of the village. But despite her best efforts, the sickness spread relentlessly. Arin’s condition worsened, and soon, Kazo's younger sister, Amira, also fell ill. The fear gripped him, the overwhelming terror of watching the people he loved slip away, one by one.

Kazo knew that something had to be done, but the healers had no answers. There was no cure for this disease, no remedy for the relentless fever that consumed the bodies of the villagers. He was running out of time.

It was in the deepest part of the night, when the moon hung high above the valley and the air was still, that Kazo made his decision.

He would go to the Forbidden Woods.

The woods were a place of mystery, a dark and ancient forest that the villagers spoke of only in whispers. No one ventured there, not since the old times, when it was said that creatures of darkness—monsters, demons, and the like—roamed freely. The elders warned children not to wander too close, for fear that the spirits of the forest would take them.

But Kazo was desperate. The sickness was spreading too quickly, and he had already lost so much. The healer, Mira, had no answers, and his family and friends were slowly dying. Perhaps, just perhaps, the rumors of the Forbidden Woods were true. Perhaps there was something there that could save them.

With nothing left to lose, Kazo gathered what little he could—his cloak, a small dagger for protection—and set off into the night.

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The journey through the woods was terrifying. The trees were thick, their branches twisting overhead, blocking out the light of the moon. The silence was almost oppressive, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind or the distant cry of a night bird. Kazo pressed forward, his heart pounding in his chest, unsure of what he was searching for but determined to find something, anything, that could help.

Hours passed, and exhaustion began to set in. Kazo had no idea how far he had traveled into the heart of the forest, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t give up. If there was even the slightest chance of saving his loved ones, he would take it.

That was when he saw it.

A faint glow in the distance—an eerie, unnatural light, like a beacon calling him forward. Kazo’s legs carried him toward it without thinking. The glow grew stronger the closer he got, and soon he found himself standing at the edge of a clearing. In the center of the clearing stood an enormous tree, ancient and twisted, its roots sprawling outward like the fingers of a giant. The tree emitted a strange, pulsating light, as if it were alive, breathing in the darkness.

Kazo felt an inexplicable pull toward the tree. It wasn’t just the light—it was something deeper, something primal. He stepped forward, his feet crunching softly on the forest floor, and without thinking, reached out to touch the trunk of the tree.

The moment his fingers made contact, a surge of energy shot through him. It wasn’t painful, but it was overwhelming, like a torrent of power flooding his body. He staggered back, gasping for breath, his heart racing. He felt dizzy, disoriented, as if the world around him had tilted on its axis.

Then, a voice—low, ancient, and full of sorrow—whispered in his mind.

“Why do you seek the power of the old world, child?”

Kazo’s breath caught in his throat. He had no words. He didn’t even know who—or what—had spoken.

“I seek to save them,” he finally managed, his voice hoarse. “My friends, my family... they’re dying. Please... I have to save them.”

The voice seemed to pause, considering his words. Then it spoke again.

“Power comes with a price, young one. The world you seek to save is bound by the laws of life and death. To change that, to defy fate itself... there is a cost.”

Kazo’s heart clenched. He didn’t care. He couldn’t care. His sister was dying. His friends were dying. He would do anything to stop it.

“I’m willing to pay any price.”

A long silence followed. The air in the clearing grew heavier, thick with the weight of something ancient and powerful. Finally, the voice spoke again.

“Very well.”

Before Kazo could react, the tree’s roots shot up from the ground, wrapping around his legs and pulling him toward the trunk. His body was consumed by an overwhelming wave of darkness, a torrent of energy that flooded his senses. He couldn’t move, couldn’t scream. All he could do was endure.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, it stopped.

Kazo collapsed to the ground, breathless, his body trembling. He looked down at his hands—his skin was pale, almost as if he had been drained of all color. He felt... different. The world around him seemed sharper, more vivid. He could hear the distant rustle of leaves, the flutter of wings, the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat.

But something was wrong. Deep within him, something stirred. It was a hunger, a thirst, something that clawed at his insides, demanding release.

He gasped, pressing a hand to his chest, feeling the strange, pulsing energy within him.

It was then that he understood. The price had been paid. He had saved his friends—but at what cost?

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