Kapitel 7: The Dread Of Life

a boy that could be no older than 16 was standing among the shadows of an ancient, dark forest. His long hair, a mix of rich purple and deep black, hangs in unkempt, tangled strands around his face, reaching just past his shoulders. It's as if the wildness of the forest itself has woven into his appearance, the leaves and dirt clinging to his messy locks. His striking eyes, a vivid shade of violet, seem to glow subtly, hinting at some inner power or mystery, like a hidden light in the dark.

His clothes tell the story of survival and struggle: a once plain shirt now tattered and frayed, with holes and tears running down the sleeves and torso, revealing hints of dirt-streaked skin underneath. His pants are equally worn, with large rips across the knees and ankles, giving them a jagged, uneven look. The fabric is stained from long days in the forest, bearing traces of encounters with rough terrain and perhaps even the sharp claws of monsters lurking in the shadows.

Barefoot, his feet are calloused and dirt-smeared, grounding him firmly to the forest floor. His expression holds a mixture of caution and resilience, a fierce determination in his violet gaze

Theos wandered through the ancient forest, each shadow and whisper familiar yet distant, like echoes of a life he could barely remember. Four years had slipped by since that fateful night, a blur of grief and rage that blurred the lines between reality and his nightmares. He had not stepped beyond the treeline since Roseville had urged him to run, a plea that had shattered his world.

"Run, Theos! Hide!" Her voice had been filled with urgency, her eyes wide with fear as the chaos erupted around them. In a frantic rush, he had gathered their few precious belongings, racing to the cave where he thought they would be safe. It was there that he stashed their memories, his journal filled with sketches, her small collection of rare herbs, tokens of a life built together in love and laughter.

But the moment he returned to their cabin, heart pounding with the hope of finding her alive, everything shattered. The home they had cherished was nothing but ashes, the air thick with the acrid scent of destruction. Roseville was gone, leaving only the remnants of their life and the delicate earrings she always wore, gleaming amidst the charred remains like a cruel relic of the past.

In that moment of devastation, a different voice echoed in the recesses of his mind, dark and seductive. It whispered promises of power and vengeance, weaving through his grief like a shadow. The demon reached out, sensing his pain, offering him a path to strength he had never imagined. "You seek retribution, child of time," it murmured, its tone both tempting and chilling. "I can grant you the power to exact your vengeance. You need only take my hand."

Desperation twisted within him, the anger at the loss of Roseville igniting a fire in his heart. He had always felt powerless against the world's cruelty, but now, the demon's offer was a balm to his aching soul. The darkness

pulsing at the edges of his awareness became an intoxicating lure, promising an end to his suffering. With a deep breath, he reached out, forging a link with the entity that had sensed his sorrow.

The moment their connection was established, a rush of energy surged through him, intoxicating and overwhelming. He could feel the raw power coursing through his veins, a dark gift that twisted with his grief. But it came with a price a tether to the demon, binding him in ways he couldn't yet comprehend. The rage that had taken root in his heart began to grow, morphing into something dangerous and uncontrollable.

Since then, the forest has become both his refuge and prison. Time felt suspended within its depths; days and nights bled together, each moment stretching into eternity. He hid among the trees, feeling their ancient wisdom wrap around him like a protective shroud. Yet deep down, he felt the weight of loneliness pressing against his chest, a reminder of all he had lost.