Winter hadn't fully arrived yet, but the cold wind blowing from the mountain slopes was cutting through the village streets like a blade. The trees were nearly bare, and the air was cloaked in a gray stillness. That silence was a sign... of a storm approaching—not just in nature, but in fate itself.
Zayn sat alone on a small hill just outside the village in the early morning. His eyes were fixed on a distant point, and he absentmindedly scratched the ground with a twig. But his mind was far from there.
Everything was clear now. The memories buried deep within his mind had fully awakened.
He was once Vael'Tharon. The Dark Lord feared by kings, obeyed by armies, and ultimately stopped by the last heroes of the world. And now, he was reborn in the body of this red-haired, blue-eyed child.
But this body was still small, still limited. Far from his true power.
For now…
---
One day, while collecting firewood in the forest, he noticed some movement in the distance. A group of men crouched among the trees, whispering urgently. Their clothes were ragged, their voices harsh and impatient. Zayn crept closer.
Bandits.
His eyes narrowed. Most would panic and flee. But Zayn merely observed. Then, without a sound, he turned and walked calmly back toward the village.
---
That night...
The village was too quiet. Perhaps... suspiciously quiet. As Zayn looked out the window, he saw shadows moving in the distance. The guards were gone—or silenced.
Zayn slipped out of the house without a sound. His family was asleep. He blended into the night. The moonlight was faint, but his eyes saw everything. He moved swiftly through the shadows and reached the forest's edge.
There, he met familiar faces.
The bandits.
"You can't get in from here," he said coldly.
They flinched. "What the—? A kid?"
A faint smile appeared on Zayn's lips. "You won't get in... unless you use the right path."
There was a pause. Then their leader stepped forward. "Are you helping us, kid?"
"No. I'm just... watching."
He told them about the old stone sewer tunnel—forgotten, unused, and hidden. The perfect way into the village. The bandits nodded slowly.
"You're a smart kid. Maybe we'll take you in."
Zayn didn't respond. He simply turned and disappeared into the darkness.
---
The attack began at midnight.
Screams. Fire. Shattering glass. Blood.
Zayn watched it all from the hill. Flames engulfed the village. People ran, shouted, begged. Some woke up screaming. Some didn't wake up at all. The bandits took every street, every house, methodically and mercilessly.
Zayn's face remained emotionless. He simply watched.
A mother was stabbed trying to protect her child.
An elder was struck down while trying to close his door.
He saw it all. But never moved.
Just watched.
---
By dawn, most of the bandits had been killed by surviving villagers. Some adults, including his father, managed to fight back at the last moment. But it was too late. At least twenty people had died. The rest were injured or shaken.
Zayn returned home in silence. His mother shook him, crying.
"Are you okay, my baby?"
He nodded. His eyes were vacant.
His father embraced him tightly. "Thank the gods… we found you."
Zayn said nothing. His eyes were distant, haunted. His mind echoed with one single thought:
> This is only the beginning.
---
After that day, Zayn changed. He no longer just pretended to be a child. At night, he began sneaking out, training alone deep within the forest.
Using small stones like blades, he practiced strikes. With sticks, he trained his balance and footwork. He began whispering old incantations he remembered from his past life—but the power hadn't returned yet. His body was still too weak to contain his former might.
But he waited. Patiently. Quietly.
Every strike, every breath, every drop of sweat...
…brought him one step closer to his true return.
---
End of Chapter Note:
Zayn now remembers everything. But he remains still—for now. Patience in the shadows... is the foundation of true
power.