THE BROKEN DREAMS

They walked for what felt like hours.

The forest changed as they went—the trees grew gnarled and twisted, their bark blackened and scarred as if by ancient fire.

The air grew heavier, thicker, until breathing became a conscious effort.

Finally, the hooded man stopped before a massive oak that had been split down the center, charred black from some long-ago blaze.

He turned to face them, his staff striking the ground with a sharp crack.

"Here," he said, voice grave. "This is where it began."

Fred frowned, glancing around.

There was nothing remarkable about the place... and yet something deep inside him stirred.

A memory he couldn't quite grasp.

Clara shifted nervously beside him.

"What happened here?" she asked.

The hooded figure reached up and slowly pulled back his hood.

Fred gasped.

The man's face was a ruin—burned and melted, with one eye clouded and sightless.

The other eye, sharp and piercing, burned with a cruel fire.

"My name," the man said, "was once Ethan Verrick."

Fred's heart skipped a beat.

Verrick.

His mother's maiden name.

"You..." Fred stammered. "You're... family?"

The man—Ethan—gave a bitter laugh.

"Family? No. I am what your family left behind to rot."

---

Ethan's story spilled out in jagged pieces, like broken glass.

Once, the Verricks had been a powerful bloodline, secret keepers and guardians of ancient knowledge.

But Fred's grandfather, desperate to escape the family's bloody history, had betrayed the oath.

He had turned his back on the old ways, seeking to live a "normal" life.

The betrayal had consequences.

A rival faction—those who clung to the dark traditions—had retaliated.

They had set fire to the family estate, seeking to wipe out the Verrick line entirely.

Fred's parents had been killed.

Fred had been hidden—spirited away by a few loyal survivors who had sworn to protect him.

Ethan had been caught in the flames.

Left to burn.

Left to remember.

And left to hate.

"I survived," Ethan growled, "but not whole. Not sane."

His fingers clenched around his staff.

"And now, you are all that remains."

---

Fred felt the ground tilt beneath him.

His parents weren't just victims—they had been part of a secret war he had never even known existed.

His whole life had been a lie.

Clara touched his arm gently.

He was grateful for her presence—something steady to cling to.

"What do you want from me?" Fred asked, his voice raw.

Ethan smiled, and there was no kindness in it.

"I want you to choose."

He slammed the base of his staff into the ground.

From the earth, two paths emerged—one paved in clean, smooth stones leading back toward the edge of the forest.

The other, a wild, tangled mess of thorns and broken ground, leading deeper into darkness.

"You can return to ignorance," Ethan said, "and live a life of comfortable lies."

He pointed to the rough path.

"Or you can reclaim your bloodline. Embrace the war. Learn the truth of what you are... and what you could become."

Fred swallowed hard.

There was no easy choice.

Only truth—and the pain that came with it.

---