Prophecy

The night the crimson moon rose, Elmswood fell silent. Farmers left their fields. Mothers clutched their children. The elders gathered in the square and whispered of an ancient promise—a prophecy that spoke of a chosen one.

Kael had never thought of themselves as chosen for anything. Seventeen years old, they spent most days mending their father’s broken plows or sneaking off into the woods to sketch the riverside. But that night, as the moon burned red over the forest, Kael felt a strange heat crawling across their skin.

When they pushed back their sleeve, a faint mark glowed on their arm—a curling sigil that matched the carvings on the village’s oldest ruins.

“Child of the earth,” one of the elders whispered, eyes widening. “The prophecy…”

Suddenly, every face in the square turned toward Kael.

A Weight Too Heavy

By dawn, Kael’s home was crowded with villagers offering blessings, questions, and fears. Their father tried to push them back, but the truth had already taken root. Kael was no longer just Kael. They were the one destined to rise when the crimson moon returned.

But Kael didn’t feel like a savior. They felt like a fraud.

That evening, a hooded traveler arrived at their door. He introduced himself as Thalen, a wanderer of the old paths. Without waiting for an invitation, he studied Kael’s glowing mark with quiet certainty.

“The darkness stirs,” he said. “And you must stand against it. But prophecy is not a crown, child—it is a chain. You must decide whether you will wear it.”

Kael wanted to slam the door. Instead, they found themselves following Thalen into the night.

The Journey Begins

They left Elmswood behind, crossing rivers and mountain trails. Everywhere they went, Kael heard rumors of shadows spreading across the land—villages swallowed by silence, crops rotting overnight, travelers vanishing without a trace.

At times, Kael’s courage wavered. When fear rose, the mark on their arm pulsed, guiding them forward. But each step weighed heavier, as if destiny itself pressed down on their shoulders.

In quiet moments, Kael whispered to Thalen: “What if I’m not enough?”

Thalen never offered comfort. Only truth.
“Prophecy names you, but it does not shape you. That is your burden—and your freedom.”

The Darkness Arrives

Weeks later, they reached the ruins of the old temple, where the sigil on Kael’s arm burned brightest. The air was heavy, charged with unseen power.

From the shadows rose a figure—taller than any man, cloaked in smoke and hunger. Its voice was like stone cracking under weight.

“You are the chosen?” it laughed. “A trembling child?”

Kael’s legs shook. They remembered their village’s frightened eyes, their father’s silent pride, the countless whispers of destiny. Every part of them wanted to run.

But then Kael remembered something else—Thalen’s words. Prophecy is a chain, unless you choose to forge it into a weapon.

Gripping the glowing mark on their arm, Kael stepped forward.
“I am not chosen because of a prophecy,” they said, voice steadying. “I am chosen because I choose to stand.”

The mark blazed like fire. The ruins shook. Light split the darkness, and the shadow shrieked as if torn apart from within.

A New Beginning

When the dust cleared, the ruins were silent. Thalen stood at Kael’s side, his face unreadable.

“You did not defeat the darkness because you were destined,” he said quietly. “You defeated it because you believed.”

For the first time, Kael felt the weight of the prophecy lift. It had not bound them—it had awakened them.

They were not simply the chosen one. They were the one who chose.

And in that choice, the world was remade.