Title: Silent Storm
Chapter One: A Simple Life
The town of Windgrove was the kind of place people forgot existed. Nestled between quiet hills and whispering woods, it had no great heroes, no monsters to slay, and no tales of glory. Just farmers, traders, and the occasional wandering bard. And that's exactly why Allen had chosen it.
He sat outside his cottage, carving a wooden hawk with a dull knife, its blade barely sharp enough to cut butter. He didn't mind. A sharp blade was unnecessary for a man like him. But appearances had to be kept.
Inside, his son Henry was busy finishing homework from the village school. The boy was twelve—sharp as a blade and already asking too many questions.
"Dad!" Henry called. "Where's the firewood you promised to chop?"
Allen smiled faintly and stood. "I got distracted. I'll handle it now."
He walked over to the chopping block. A single thick log waited. Allen raised the rusted axe slowly, taking care to make it look like a struggle. With a grunt of effort, he brought it down.
The log split neatly.
Henry stepped out, arms crossed. "You're not even sweating."
Allen shrugged. "Good form makes for easy work."
Henry eyed him suspiciously. "You were a soldier once, weren't you?"
Allen raised an eyebrow. "Who told you that?"
"Old Man Rurik said he saw you take down a bear with a stick."
Allen sighed. "Rurik drinks too much."
"But he wasn't drunk when he said it!"
"Still talks too much."
Henry narrowed his eyes but said nothing. He returned to the house, muttering something about finishing his arithmetic. Allen watched him go with a flicker of sadness in his eyes.
The boy was too smart. Too curious.
And too much like his mother.
Allen turned toward the woods. The sun was starting to set—but something felt wrong. A ripple in the air. A disturbance, faint but unmistakable. Something was moving beyond the treeline.
He blinked, and his irises briefly shimmered silver.
He wasn't supposed to use it. Not unless he had to.
But trouble didn't care about promises.
—
That night, as Henry slept, Allen stood alone at the edge of the woods. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying a scent of sulfur and ash.
They were here.
Three figures emerged from the shadows—cloaked, armored, each with glowing red eyes. Not bandits. Not even human.
"Voidspawn," Allen murmured.
The lead creature stepped forward. "You hide well, Stormbringer."
Allen's face didn't change. "You shouldn't have come here."
"We found your scent in the shattered ruins of Varnok," the creature hissed. "You left a crater where a city used to be."
"I warned them not to wake what they didn't understand."
The creature sneered. "The war isn't over. The Council still hunts you."
Allen stepped forward. "I buried that name. I'm just a father now."
"You can't run from your blood."
Allen exhaled slowly. Then, in the blink of an eye, he moved.
One moment he stood still—calm, tired. The next, he was in front of the creature, hand around its throat. The air cracked with force, and the Voidspawn didn't even have time to scream before it disintegrated into dust.
The other two turned to flee—but Allen raised a hand, fingers glowing with contained power.
A whisper of wind.
Then silence.
The woods were empty again.
Allen stood alone, staring at the place where his past had come to visit.
—
The next morning, Henry found his father chopping more firewood.
"You're up early," the boy said.
"Couldn't sleep."
"You okay?"
Allen smiled. "Just bad dreams."
Henry watched him closely, then looked at the neatly stacked pile of wood. There were twice as many logs now. And none had axe marks.
"Didn't you just start that?"
Allen shrugged. "Good form."
Henry didn't look convinced.
As the boy walked away, Allen looked to the sky. Something had changed. If the Voidspawn had found him here, it meant more would come. And hiding might no longer be an option.
Still… not yet.
For now, he'd keep the peace. He'd make breakfast. Walk Henry to school. Pretend to be normal.
And when the world came knocking again—
He'd be ready.
TO BE CONTINUED