Darklight chronicles

Kaelith's footsteps echoed faintly through the empty alley, the sound swallowed by the towering stone walls on either side. The air was thick with the smell of smoke, damp earth, and decay. His body ached, every movement a reminder of the fragile form that barely housed his will to survive. His breaths came shallow, but his sharp gaze never wavered from the path ahead. In a world that thrived on strength, Kaelith had none.

The city of Lythrion was a cruel place, a sprawling hive of broken dreams and power struggles. It was where only the strong survived, and everyone was born marked with their fate. Those who awoke powerful attributes ruled with iron fists, and those who didn't, like Kaelith, were left to scrap for whatever they could. The streets themselves seemed to breathe, pulsating with the energy of the countless cultivators that walked its alleys. Laws governed everything—space, time, life, and death—all wielded by those fortunate enough to be born with potent attributes.

Kaelith had none of these gifts, not yet. His body was weak, his bones brittle from years of malnutrition, his muscles thin and underdeveloped. He was barely fifteen, but already his back was hunched slightly from exhaustion, his pale skin and sunken cheeks a stark reminder of the hard life he'd led. His parents had died years ago—victims of a raid, leaving him alone to fend for himself. They had no grand legacy, no riches to inherit, and certainly no powerful bloodlines to pass down. He was nothing. And in Lythrion, nothing was equivalent to dead.

Kaelith's hand instinctively tightened around the hilt of a crude knife, a weapon that offered little protection but was all he had. His fingers trembled from fatigue. He hadn't eaten in two days, and the gnawing hunger was beginning to cloud his thoughts. The world spun slightly as he took another step, leaning against the cold wall to steady himself.

"Focus. Just a little longer," he muttered to himself, his voice hoarse. He knew he couldn't afford to pass out in the open. He was a target—a weak, easy prey in a city teeming with those eager to exploit the vulnerable.

Ahead, the alley opened up to a marketplace, dimly lit by the flickering flames of oil lanterns. Despite the late hour, it bustled with activity. Traders peddling stolen goods, smugglers exchanging illegal wares, and the occasional cultivator flaunting their strength to intimidate others. The chatter was loud, the tension in the air palpable.

Kaelith pulled the hood of his tattered cloak lower over his face and blended into the shadows, keeping to the edge of the market. His goal was simple: find food, find shelter, survive another day. He didn't expect much more from life. Dreams of power, of rising through the cultivation ranks, were far from his reality. He'd never even awakened his attribute, something that usually happened in childhood for those with potential. Without it, he was destined to remain nothing more than a forgotten face in the crowd.

A shout suddenly echoed through the marketplace, breaking Kaelith's focus. His head snapped towards the commotion. Two burly men, their bodies rippling with the telltale signs of cultivation, were dragging a younger man through the street. The victim's screams were cut short by a swift punch to the gut, his body crumpling to the ground like a ragdoll. Kaelith watched, his grip tightening on the knife.

"Wrong place, wrong time, kid," one of the thugs sneered, looking down at their victim. "That's what happens when you cross us."

Kaelith felt a pang of sympathy. He'd seen it happen countless times—those without power falling to the whims of the strong. He turned away, knowing that intervening would only bring him trouble. He couldn't afford to be a hero. Not here, not now.

But then, as he moved to slip away, something strange happened. The young man on the ground stopped writhing in pain. Instead, he began to laugh, a dry, unsettling sound that echoed through the market. Kaelith froze, his instincts screaming at him to leave, but curiosity kept him rooted in place.

The thug who had struck the boy hesitated, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. "What the hell are you laughing at?"

Without warning, the victim's body shimmered, his skin glowing faintly with a sickly purple hue. In the blink of an eye, he was on his feet, his eyes burning with a violent energy. The air around him warped, and Kaelith's breath hitched as he felt the unmistakable pressure of a cultivator's power—strong, much stronger than anything he had ever felt before.

"Fools," the boy spat, his voice dripping with contempt. "You thought I was weak?"

Kaelith's heart raced. This was no ordinary street rat. This was someone who had awakened an attribute—a dangerous one at that. The air seemed to crackle with energy as the boy raised his hand, and suddenly the thug in front of him was flung backwards with a force that shattered the stone wall behind him. His partner barely had time to react before he too was sent flying, his body crashing through the wooden stalls of the market.

Panic spread through the crowd as the remaining thugs scrambled to get away, but the boy's power had already seized control of the space. The ground beneath him trembled, and in a matter of moments, the once bustling marketplace had turned into a battlefield.

Kaelith stood frozen, his mind racing. This was what true power looked like—this was the strength that came from awakening an attribute. He clenched his fists, his chest tightening with a mix of fear and envy. The boy before him had taken control of his fate, shaping the world around him with a force that Kaelith could only dream of.

But dreams weren't enough in this world. He needed to survive. He needed power. And as Kaelith watched the boy cut down the last of his attackers with a flick of his hand, something stirred inside him—an undeniable hunger for something more.

He couldn't remain weak. Not if he wanted to live.

As the dust settled and the boy walked away, leaving chaos in his wake, Kaelith turned and disappeared into the shadows. His mind raced, plans forming in the back of his head. He couldn't keep living like this. He had to find a way to awaken his attribute, no matter the cost.

Because if he didn't, he would die just like the others who fell by the wayside in this brutal world.

And Kaelith had no intention of dying.