FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH DEATH

Everything was silent.

To Ravan atleast...he tried to wipe off the blood dropping from his ears hoping that if he does so he would finally be able to hear.

'I am able to hear just a bit.'

'Good my eardrums aren't completely shuttered.'

He darted his eyes up and finally saw the 8 foot monster looming above them.

Then swiftly his eyes moved and gazed at the old man who had clenched his fists ready to make a countering move.

'The old man is jacked as hell,'Ravan thought as he crawled and stayed behind the old man.

'I'm not experienced in any sort of combat whatsoever, so this man is the only chance in surviving.'

'If he dies, I'm going down the same road as well...cause there is nowhere in hell I'll try to fight that thing after being pronounced manaless and on top of that lack any defence abilities.'

Ravan carefully gathered his thoughts drawing closer to the old man.

"Stay behind me kid, assuming you don't know how to fight, it's the only choice you have,"the man said his eyes still looking at the monster.

Ravan was able to make out what he was saying by watching his mouth movements closely.

'Already ahead of you old man,'Ravan mumbled to himself.

The one-eyed monster showed its large gaping maw and let out a roar so loud, the trees shook and birds began flying away.

The old man turned to Ravan, his eyes sharp and urgent.

"Hide under the chairs," he commanded, his voice low but firm, cutting through the chaos. The half-demolished carriage creaked and groaned as Ravan scrambled to comply, his heart pounding in his chest.

As Ravan wedged himself beneath the splintered wooden seats, he watched the old man with a mix of fear and fascination.

The old man raised his hand, and in a fluid motion, a gleaming spear materialized in his grip.

It seemed to have appeared from thin air, its polished shaft and razor-sharp tip gleaming ominously in the dim light.

Ravan's eyes widened in astonishment, and he noticed for the first time the ring on the old man's finger, glowing faintly with an ethereal light.

'Wait, could that be a magic artifact?'

Realization dawned on Ravan. The spear had come from the ring—a magic artifact.

Ravan had never seen such a thing before. His father was a swordsman, relying on sheer physical prowess rather than magical aids.

Their family had few magical artifacts, their wealth directed instead toward supporting the Tower Walkers and funding various ventures.

While his younger siblings, Rhett and Ryker, were tutored in the use of mana daily as their father wished, Ravan had always felt like an outsider in a world increasingly dominated by magic.

From his hidden position, Ravan watched as the old man moved with surprising agility, despite his age.

He positioned himself between Ravan and the monstrous beast, the spear held at the ready.

The beast's single eye glared at them, its enormous maw still dripping with blood from its previous kill.

"Stay hidden and stay quiet," the old man muttered, never taking his eyes off the beast.

"This isn't something you want to be involved in."

Ravan nodded, pressing himself further into the shadows beneath the chairs.

He could feel his heart racing, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

'I feel so helpless.'

The old man's presence and the magical spear offered a sliver of hope, but the terror of the situation was overwhelming.

The beast let out another ear-splitting roar, shaking the very ground beneath them.

The trees around the clearing trembled, leaves and branches falling in the wake of the monstrous sound.

The old man stood his ground, his grip on the spear tightening as he prepared to face the horrifying creature.

Ravan's mind raced. He had always known his family was different, caught between the worlds of swords and sorcery, wealth and duty.

But now, huddled beneath the chairs of a shattered carriage, he felt the weight of his own helplessness more acutely than ever before.

His father's teachings, the twins' training—none of it had prepared him for this.

Even though he used to peep in on their tutoring and training, he was doing out of boredom rather than actually being interested.

'Fuck, I should've atleast learned a basic defense move.'

The beast's eye fixed on the old man, a sinister intelligence gleaming within its depths.

It crouched, muscles coiling as it prepared to strike. The old man adjusted his stance, the spear gleaming as if alive with its own inner light.

In that tense moment, Ravan could only watch and pray, the rain still falling in a relentless, chilling downpour, mingling with the blood and debris of the violent encounter.

The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: Ravan was no longer a mere spectator in his own life.

"Come at me, fucking pisser!"

The old man said clenching his acquired spear firmly.

As of heeding to the man's words, the beast launched itself ready to slice of the man's head in one move.

The beast lunged forward with terrifying speed, its massive claws slashing through the air.

The old man met the attack head-on, but the sheer force of the blow sent him sprawling backward.

He crashed into the remains of the carriage, wood splintering around him as he struggled to regain his footing. The spear clattered to the ground beside him, its glow flickering briefly.

Ravan watched in horror as the old man picked himself up, his expression grim but determined.

With a swift motion, he grabbed the spear and charged at the beast, his movements a blur of practiced precision.

The spear thrust forward, aiming for the creature's single eye, but the beast was unnaturally fast, dodging the attack and retaliating with another swipe of its deadly claws.

The fight was brutal and chaotic. The old man moved with the agility of someone much younger, his spear dancing in his hands as he parried and countered the beast's relentless assaults.

The creature's claws tore through the air, each strike powerful enough to rend flesh and bone. The old man ducked and weaved, his experience evident in every motion.

As the battle raged on, the rain continued to pour, turning the ground into a slippery quagmire. The beast's grotesque form was now fully visible in the dim light—a monstrous figure with a single, glaring eye, its body covered in thick, matted fur.

Its belly, where the fearsome maw had appeared, seemed almost normal now, as if the horrifying mouth had never been there.

The old man, his breath ragged, suddenly paused. Recognition dawned in his eyes. "A Valhein," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the din of the storm.

Ravan, too, felt a jolt of recognition.

The name triggered something deep within Ravan's memory. He felt himself slipping into a trance, the present moment fading away as a vivid recollection from his past surged forward.

...

A younger Ravan, no more than thirteen years old, hidden in the closet of his room.

He pressed himself against the back wall, his small body trembling with fear.

Through the narrow gap between the closet doors, he could see a single, monstrous eye peering at him, glowing with a sinister light.

He clamped a hand over his mouth, stifling the scream that threatened to escape.

"Ravan?" a familiar voice called out, the door to his room creaking open. The sound was a lifeline in the darkness, pulling him back from the brink of terror.

"Mom?" young Ravan thought, his heart pounding in his chest.