Strings Of Destiny - Chapter 1

Night clung heavily to the skies above Vincyldel, drowning the world beneath a suffocating darkness where even the wind seemed afraid to move. Countless shadowed figures stood scattered within the void, their faces hidden beneath shifting blackness, yet their voices echoed violently from every direction like cursed whispers crawling through the dark.





“Traitor…”





“Kill him…”





“He must die…”





Their screams grew louder and louder until they no longer sounded human. Some laughed madly while others dragged rusted blades across the ground, sparks burning beneath their feet as they slowly advanced toward the lone figure standing before them. Barton could not see their faces, yet he could feel their hatred tearing into him like claws. The shadows pointed at him endlessly, their voices merging into one monstrous roar.





“TRAITOR!”





“DIE ALREADY!”





“HE SHOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN BORN!”





Barton stepped backward, his breathing turning uneven as the darkness around him twisted violently. The ground beneath his feet began cracking apart while the figures moved closer and closer, surrounding him from every side. Then suddenly, among the sea of shadows, a pair of glowing crimson eyes opened directly before him.





And Barton woke up.





He shot upright from his bed, gasping violently for air as if invisible hands had been wrapped around his throat. Sweat dripped from his face while his chest rose and fell uncontrollably beneath the darkness of his small wooden room. His heartbeat slammed against his ribs so hard it almost hurt. For several seconds, he simply stared into the empty room, trying to separate the dream from reality while the echoes of those voices still rang inside his head.





“Who… were they…?”





His breathing trembled.





“And why do they all want me dead…?”





Barton pressed a hand against his forehead, shutting his eyes tightly as another sharp pulse of pain shot through his mind. These dreams had started long ago, appearing like fragments of something forgotten, but recently they had become worse… clearer… more violent. Every night the same hatred. Every night the same screams. It felt less like a dream and more like a memory trying to claw its way back into existence.





“Why do these dreams keep coming back…” he whispered to himself quietly within the darkness.





For a while, Barton remained seated at the edge of the bed, his breathing slowly returning to normal while the silence inside the room grew heavier around him. The nightmare still lingered within his mind like smoke refusing to disappear. He could almost hear those distant screams buried beneath the quietness of dawn. Tightening his jaw slightly, he finally forced himself to stand.





The wooden floor creaked softly beneath his feet as he walked toward the corner of the room where a large stone pot rested beside the window, filled with cold water gathered the previous evening. Barton dipped both hands into it without hesitation and splashed the icy water across his face. A sharp chill ran through him instantly, pulling him away from the remnants of the dream. Droplets slid slowly from his chin while he remained leaning over the pot for several seconds, staring silently at his own reflection trembling upon the water’s surface.





“…Just a dream,” he muttered quietly, though even he did not fully believe those words anymore.





Pushing the thoughts aside, Barton lifted his gaze toward the window.





Morning had finally arrived.





Golden sunlight poured gently across Vincyldel, washing away the darkness that had consumed the night before. Thin mist drifted lazily between the rooftops while smoke curled peacefully from chimneys across the village. Somewhere in the distance, birds sang among the pine trees as the cold breeze carried the scent of fresh wood and damp earth into the room. The world looked calm… untouched… completely different from the horrors he had just witnessed moments ago.





Barton exhaled slowly before reaching for the worn coat hanging near the door.





“I should leave for the forest…” he murmured to himself quietly while fastening the leather strap around his axe. “I still need to fulfill their wood requirement before evening.”





The wooden door creaked softly as Barton stepped outside, the cold morning air brushing gently against his face. Sunlight filtered through the towering pine trees surrounding Vincyldel while the village slowly awakened from its sleep. A few villagers carried baskets toward the market road, children ran across the narrow paths laughing carelessly, and somewhere nearby, the rhythmic sound of an axe striking wood echoed peacefully through the morning.





But before Barton could take more than a few steps, a familiar voice called out loudly from across the dirt road.





“Morning, sweetheart!”





Leaning lazily against a crooked wooden fence stood a young man around Barton’s age, casually waving one hand through the air with an irritatingly bright grin stretched across his face. His messy brown hair swayed lightly in the breeze while amusement danced openly within his eyes.





“Still getting those horrifying dreams?” he asked mockingly while walking toward Barton. “I already told you the solution long ago.”





He threw an arm around Barton’s shoulder dramatically before chuckling to himself.





“Since you’re all alone now, you seriously need to find some pretty village girl already. Maybe then your cursed nightmares will finally leave you alone.”





A laugh escaped him immediately after, completely entertained by his own words.



Barton simply stared at him silently for a moment before pulling away with a tired expression.





“You talk too much this early in the morning, Kael.”





“See?” Kael smirked proudly. “That is exactly why girls avoid you.”





A faint laugh finally escaped Barton’s lips, and for the first time that morning, the weight pressing against his chest loosened slightly. Kael grinned immediately after hearing it, looking far too satisfied with himself as the two continued walking along the quiet village path beneath the golden morning light.





Kael had been beside Barton for as long as he could remember within Vincyldel. Four years ago, when Barton’s parents first arrived at the village seeking a quiet place to live, Kael had been the very first person to approach them without fear or suspicion. Back then, Barton’s family had lived like ordinary woodcutters at the edge of the village, far away from unnecessary attention. His father spent his days cutting timber deep within the forests while his mother sold carved wooden crafts within the village square. They lived a simple life… peaceful enough to almost forget how cruel the outside world truly was.





Until the night everything changed.





Even now, Barton could still remember the flames.





The screams.





The blood staining the snow beneath the burning rooftops.





Vincyldel had been attacked by Prototypes — creatures spoken about in fearful whispers across the world. They looked human from a distance, yet nothing about them truly was. Their bodies possessed monstrous strength far beyond ordinary men, their movements were impossibly fast, and their intelligence made them far more terrifying than wild beasts. They hunted with purpose. They spoke like humans. And above all… they drank human blood to grow stronger.





That night, death had crawled into Vincyldel wearing human faces and crimson eyes.





Barton remembered hiding helplessly beneath shattered wood while the village drowned in chaos around him. He remembered hearing villagers beg for mercy before their voices vanished into silence. And then… just when everything seemed lost… someone came.





One of the Nine Rulers.





Even after four years, Barton still remembered the overwhelming presence that man carried. The battle itself felt less like a fight and more like a storm descending upon the village. Prototypes that tore through armed men effortlessly were slaughtered within moments before him. Their screams had echoed through the night while silver flames consumed the darkness itself.





That was the first time Barton understood something terrifying.





There existed monsters within this world…





But there were also humans capable of killing them.





From that night onward, something inside Barton had changed forever.





While the villagers remembered the terror of the Prototypes and the destruction they left behind, Barton remembered only one thing — the man who stood against them without fear. The silver flames cutting through darkness, the sound of steel moving faster than his eyes could follow, the overwhelming presence that made monsters retreat for the very first time. Ever since then, the image of that swordsman had carved itself deep into Barton’s soul like a mark that refused to fade.





He wanted to become like him.





Not a ruler.





Not a hero.





Just someone strong enough to stand before monsters instead of running from them.





But reality was far crueler than dreams.





In Vincyldel, and in almost every corner of the outer world, strength belonged to bloodlines. The great swordsmen came from ancient lineages whose families had wielded blades for generations beneath the authority of Kristia. Their children were trained from birth, taught combat before they could even write their own names, raised with techniques and knowledge ordinary people would never even glimpse. They carried status, wealth, and power within their blood itself.





For someone like Barton… a mere woodcutter born with nothing… becoming a swordsman was no different from chasing an impossible fantasy.





Fate itself seemed determined to chain him to the life of an ordinary man.





Every morning his hands gripped an axe instead of a sword. Every evening he returned home carrying wood upon his shoulders instead of scars earned through battle. The world had already decided who he was supposed to become long before he ever had the chance to choose for himself.





And yet…





Somewhere deep within Barton, that dream refused to die.





The sound of metal scraping against stone echoed softly beneath the shade of the towering pines while the evening breeze drifted quietly through the forest. Piles of freshly cut wood lay scattered across the ground, and nearby, Kael sat casually upon a fallen log polishing an old iron chestplate he had somehow managed to obtain from a traveling merchant weeks ago. He hummed carelessly to himself while rubbing oil across the armor’s surface, completely relaxed beneath the fading sunlight.





A few steps away, Barton finally lowered himself against the base of a tree, exhausted from hours of cutting timber without rest. Sweat clung to his neck while small cuts covered his rough hands from handling the axe all day. His body was tired… but his mind remained far heavier than the weight of wood he carried every day.





Silently, his eyes drifted toward the forest ahead.





And once again…





The memories returned.





The forest that night had looked almost the same.





Cold.





Quiet.





Too quiet.





His father had been cutting trees deep within the woods while the sound of steel striking bark echoed peacefully through the darkness. Barton remembered sitting nearby with his mother beside a small lantern, listening to the rhythmic sound of the axe while the wind moved gently through the trees.





Then suddenly…





The sound stopped.





At first, there was only silence.





Then came the scream.





A horrifying sound that Barton would never forget no matter how many years passed.





His mother froze instantly before rushing toward the source without hesitation, panic consuming her face. Barton followed behind her through the darkness until they reached the clearing between the trees.





And there…





His father’s body lay torn apart across the blood-soaked ground.





The axe had fallen beside him.





One of the Prototypes stood above the corpse silently, its crimson eyes glowing within the darkness while fresh blood dripped slowly from its mouth. Its body looked human… yet every movement carried something deeply unnatural. The creature tilted its head slightly toward them, almost curious.





Barton still remembered his mother’s expression in that moment.





Not fear for herself.





Fear for him.





She grabbed Barton immediately and ran.





Branches tore against their skin while her breathing became more desperate with every step. Behind them, distant screeches echoed through the forest as more of those creatures appeared between the trees. Barton could barely understand what was happening, but he remembered his mother trembling violently while dragging him toward their home.





The moment they arrived, she shoved open the floorboards near the corner of the house, revealing a hidden storage vessel buried beneath the wood.





“Stay here,” she whispered frantically while pushing Barton inside.





“M-Mother—”





“No matter what happens… do not come out.”





Tears filled her eyes as she forced the lid shut above him.





Then everything became dark.





Barton screamed and pushed against the vessel desperately, but suddenly the entire container shifted violently across the floor as if dragged away from the center of the room. His mother had moved it somewhere he could not escape from… somewhere he could not reach her.





And then…





The monsters entered the house.





Even after four years, Barton still remembered every sound.





The door breaking apart.





His mother screaming.





The sound of claws tearing flesh.





And his own helpless fists striking the inside walls of the vessel while tears blurred his vision.





He had wanted to save her.





He had wanted to run toward her.





But the final thing his mother ever did… was ensure he survived instead.





From that day onward, something inside Barton disappeared forever. The pain never faded. The emptiness never left. Even now, sitting quietly beneath the evening sky beside Kael’s voice and the peaceful forest, Barton sometimes felt as though a part of him had died inside that vessel alongside his parents that night.





Kael remained silent for a moment after speaking, the evening wind brushing lightly against his hair while the fading sunlight filtered through the forest around them. Then suddenly, as if remembering something important, he snapped his fingers and turned back toward Barton with a grin.





“Oh right… the recruitment ceremony.”





Barton lifted his eyes toward him quietly.





“The new swordsman selection begins in one month,” Kael said while resting the armor against his shoulder. “If you’re serious about this, then one month is all you have.”





For the first time in a long while, Barton felt his heartbeat change slightly.





One month.





The words echoed strangely within him.



Kael continued speaking casually, though his voice carried an unusual softness beneath it.





“I’ll polish the sword meanwhile. Make it look brand new for you.” He smirked faintly. “At least try not to embarrass the weapon once you get it.”





Barton stared at him silently, unable to respond immediately.





Then Kael pointed toward the heavy woodcutting axe lying beside him.





“Until then, practice swinging that thing like a sword.”





Barton frowned slightly. “This axe is way too heavy.”





“Exactly,” Kael replied instantly. “That’s the point. If you can move something this heavy freely, handling a normal sword will become far easier.” He crossed his arms proudly before adding, “Your body already has strength from years of woodcutting. You just never realized it.”





For a brief moment, Barton looked down at the axe differently than before.





Not as a tool.





But as the first step toward his dream.





Kael suddenly turned around and began walking toward the village path without waiting further.





“I can’t hand over my precious sword to some stupid fool,” he shouted lazily while waving one hand above his shoulder. “So become worthy of it before the ceremony arrives.”





His voice still sounded playful.





Confident.





Carefree.





But Barton never saw Kael’s expression after he turned away.





Never saw the way his smile slowly disappeared the farther he walked.





Never saw his trembling eyes hidden beneath the falling evening shadows.





Because deep inside, Kael understood something Barton did not.





The dream Barton was chasing…





Had once belonged to him too.





Years ago, Kael had prepared his entire life hoping to stand among the swordsmen someday. He had trained alone in secret, imagined himself leaving Vincyldel behind, imagined proving himself worthy of something greater than this small village. But reality had crushed those dreams slowly, piece by piece, until eventually he was forced to bury them beneath laughter and jokes no one questioned anymore.





And now…





Watching Barton stand there carrying the same impossible dream… the same desperate hope…





It hurt far more than Kael expected.





He could not bear seeing Barton slowly become another broken man trapped by fate like himself.





A faint tear escaped down his face as he continued walking toward the village without turning back even once.





So instead, he smiled.





And kept moving forward.