A night swallowed by darkness… rain poured without mercy, drenching the world in an endless downpour. The sky roared with thunder, each strike sounding as if the heavens themselves were cracking open. Lightning flashed violently, illuminating the streets for mere seconds before plunging everything back into shadow.
Streetlights flickered weakly, some dying out completely, while others struggled to stay alive against the storm.
In that deserted street, only one sound echoed—the frantic rhythm of footsteps splashing through rainwater.
Aarin was running.
His clothes were completely soaked, clinging tightly to his shivering body. His hair stuck to his forehead, water dripping down his face like tears. His breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, his chest tightening with every inhale. His legs burned with exhaustion, but fear drove him forward.
He didn't dare stop.
"Catch him! Don't let him escape!"
The voices cut through the storm.
Four shadowy figures chased him relentlessly, their silhouettes barely visible through the sheets of rain. Their footsteps grew louder, closer… more dangerous.
Aarin glanced back, panic flashing across his face. His heart pounded violently against his chest.
Who were they? Why were they chasing him?
He had no answers.
He was just an ordinary orphan, someone who had spent his life surviving quietly in the shadows. He had nothing—no family, no power, no reason for anyone to hunt him like this.
Then why?
The distance between them was shrinking.
Aarin pushed himself harder, his feet slamming against the wet road. But the rain made every step unstable.
Suddenly—
His foot slipped.
He lost his balance and crashed hard into the mud, his body hitting the ground with force. His hands slammed against the cold, wet surface, the impact sending a sharp pain through his arms.
For a moment, everything felt still.
Then—
Lightning split the sky.
The blinding flash lit up the entire street.
And in that instant… something impossible happened.
A strange heat spread through Aarin's right hand.
At first, it was faint—a subtle warmth crawling beneath his skin. But within seconds, it grew stronger… hotter… unbearable.
It surged through his veins like fire itself.
Aarin gasped, his eyes widening as he looked down.
Flames.
Real flames burst out from his palm.
They flickered wildly, dancing against the rain, refusing to be extinguished. The water around him hissed and evaporated instantly, turning into thick clouds of steam.
The ground beneath his hand began to dry and crack under the heat.
Aarin froze, staring at his hand in pure disbelief.
"What… is this?" he whispered, his voice trembling.
"Fire… from my hand?"
The men chasing him stopped abruptly.
Their confident pursuit came to a sudden halt as shock overtook them. They stared at him, their expressions hidden but their hesitation clear.
What they were witnessing… wasn't normal.
Was this even human?
Aarin's breathing became more erratic. His fear intensified—and with it, the flames grew stronger.
They rose higher, burning brighter, feeding off his panic.
The heat became overwhelming.
"I… I can't control it…"
The power inside him surged violently, like a storm breaking free.
Then—
It exploded.
A wave of energy burst outward from Aarin's body, spreading like a shockwave through the rain.
One of the men ahead was lifted off his feet and hurled through the air. He slammed violently into a nearby wall, the impact echoing through the empty street. His body collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain.
The others stumbled back, instinctively retreating.
For the first time… they were afraid.
Aarin stared at what had happened, his body trembling uncontrollably.
"I… did that?"
His voice broke.
He never wanted to hurt anyone. He wasn't a fighter. He wasn't a monster.
So why did this power feel like one?
"What's happening to me…?" he whispered, his thoughts spiraling.
A heavy weight settled in his chest.
Guilt.
For the first time, it took root within him, growing rapidly.
A power that could have made him something greater… something heroic…
Now felt like a curse.
Something dangerous.
Something he didn't understand.
High above, on the rooftop of a distant building, a lone figure stood motionless in the pouring rain.
Unlike everything else, he seemed untouched by the storm.
In his hand was a sleek device, its screen glowing faintly. It recorded everything—Aarin's movements, the flames, the explosion—with perfect clarity.
The figure's eyes were fixed on Aarin.
Watching.
Studying.
Waiting.
A slow smile spread across his face.
"At last…" he murmured.
"We've found him."
His gaze sharpened, filled with certainty.
"He is the Aandavam."
Back on the street, Aarin struggled to his feet, his legs shaking. Fear pushed him forward once more.
He ran.
Away from the chaos. Away from the men. Away from himself.
The streets faded behind him as he reached the outskirts of the town, where the buildings gave way to darkness and trees.
He entered the forest.
The rain began to weaken, softening into a gentle drizzle. The sound of thunder grew distant, replaced by the quiet rustling of leaves.
But the silence felt… heavy.
Unnatural.
Aarin slowed down, his breathing still uneven.
Then—
A sudden flash filled his mind.
A memory.
A face.
A young girl appeared before him—blurred, distant, almost like a dream slipping away.
"Aarin…" her voice called softly.
It echoed in his mind.
Flames surrounded her, rising dangerously, threatening to consume everything.
Aarin's eyes widened.
"No… who are you?"
The vision vanished.
He snapped back to reality, his heart racing uncontrollably.
"Who was that? Who is she?" he whispered desperately.
The forest responded with silence.
Then the wind shifted.
Leaves rustled. Branches creaked. The trees swayed gently, as if reacting to something unseen.
Aarin felt it.
That presence.
A strange, chilling sensation crept over him.
As if someone… or something… was watching him.
He turned quickly, scanning the darkness between the trees.
Nothing.
And yet, the feeling remained.
Exhaustion finally took over.
His body gave in.
Aarin collapsed beneath a large tree, his back resting against its rough bark. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he tried to steady his breathing.
Rainwater dripped from his clothes, pooling around him.
His hand trembled.
And there it was.
A small flame still flickered in his palm.
Even now… it refused to die.
Aarin stared at it, his expression filled with confusion, fear, and doubt.
Everything had changed.
Nothing made sense anymore.
"Who… am I?" he asked softly.
The flame responded.
It slowly began to rise, growing brighter in the darkness.
Its light flickered across his face, casting shifting shadows around him.
Then—
From somewhere deep within the darkness…
A voice emerged.
Low.
Heavy.
Terrifying.
It echoed through the forest, as if coming from everywhere at once.
"He… is the beginning."
Silence followed.
But something had already begun.