Chains of the Godslayer

The morning sun filtered weakly through the trees, its light barely warming the mist that curled above the riverbank. The boy stood at the edge of the water, staring at his reflection. The faint glow of the chains beneath his skin pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, like a living thing trapped inside him.

Behind him, Sylra watched silently from the hut's porch, her silver hair catching the faint light. The master sat nearby on a rock, whittling at a piece of wood with his dagger, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular.

"You're distracted," Sylra said finally, breaking the silence.

The boy's hand tightened around the hilt of his rusted blade. "I'm not distracted. I'm just… tired."

Sylra tilted her head slightly, her sharp gaze seeming to pierce through him. "Tired? Or afraid?"

The boy bristled. "I'm not afraid."

Sylra's faint smile was knowing. "That's the problem. You should be."

---

The master's voice cut through the quiet. "She's right, boy. You can't break what's inside you if you don't understand what you're fighting. Right now, the chains are holding you down, but you're still pretending they don't exist."

The boy spun to face them, frustration flaring in his chest. "What do you want me to do? They're there—I feel them every second of every day!"

Sylra stepped forward, her gaze calm but unyielding. "Then stop avoiding them. Today, we confront what lies inside you."

The boy's eyes narrowed. "How?"

Sylra pointed to the river, its surface unnaturally still now, the mist rising like silent whispers. "The water remembers. It reflects more than just faces. You will see what you carry—and what you fear."

---

The boy hesitated, staring at the river's glassy surface. It felt… wrong. The air around it was colder, and the whispers he had heard in the forest seemed to echo faintly here, just beneath the sound of flowing water.

The master stood, sliding his blade into its sheath. "If you're going to break the next chain, you need to face it directly. The deeper you look, the clearer you'll see what binds you."

Sylra gestured toward the water. "Step into the shallows. Let the river show you."

The boy swallowed, his throat dry. He could feel the chains pulse more insistently now, as if sensing what he was about to do.

"What happens if I don't like what I see?" he asked quietly.

Sylra's voice softened, though her words were heavy. "Then you'll know where the real battle begins."

---

The boy stepped forward, his boots sinking into the soft riverbed as the cold water lapped at his ankles. The mist thickened around him, wrapping him in a shroud of silence. The surface of the river was still, unnaturally smooth, reflecting his face perfectly.

The golden glow beneath his skin flickered, brightening and dimming with every heartbeat. He could feel the weight of the chains thrumming louder now, as if they were alive—waiting.

"Look closer," Sylra's voice drifted through the mist.

The boy exhaled sharply, kneeling in the shallows as he stared into the water. At first, he saw only his reflection—pale and gaunt, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. But then the image shifted.

The water rippled, and another face stared back at him—his own, but twisted. His eyes glowed with golden fire, his face contorted in a cruel smirk. Around his neck, the chains pulsed, not as burdens, but as weapons—alive, writhing, feeding on his very soul.

"What… what is this?" he whispered.

The reflection tilted its head, its voice a mirror of his own but darker, colder. "I'm what you're becoming. I'm the power you want—the power you're too afraid to take."

---

The boy recoiled, stumbling backward into the water. The reflection laughed, the sound rippling through the river like a bell tolling in a deep cavern.

"You're afraid," it sneered. "You think breaking the chains will set you free? They're not holding you back. They're holding me back."

The chains in his chest flared violently, and the boy gasped as searing pain shot through him. The mist closed in tighter, and the reflection reached out, its hand breaking through the water's surface.

"No!" the boy shouted, gripping his blade instinctively. The rusted weapon flared faintly, its dull edge catching the misty light.

The reflection's smirk faded, its voice turning to a hiss. "You can't escape me. I am you."

---

"Pull yourself out!" the master's voice cut through the mist like a blade.

The boy gritted his teeth, struggling to his feet as the reflection's hand reached farther, golden chains twisting around its arm like serpents.

"You're stronger than it," Sylra shouted. "Don't let it pull you under!"

The boy's mind raced as the whispers grew deafening, the reflection's words echoing louder and louder. "I am you. You are me. The chains will never break."

"You're wrong!" the boy yelled, his voice raw. He gripped his blade with both hands, the faint glow at its edge brightening.

With a sharp cry, he swung the weapon down into the reflection, the water exploding outward in a surge of golden light. The chains in his chest pulsed violently, and he fell to his knees, gasping for air.

---

The mist slowly began to clear, the water settling into stillness once more. The boy staggered to his feet, his breathing ragged. He could feel something different—one of the chains had loosened, though it remained unbroken.

The master stood at the river's edge, his arms crossed. "Not bad," he said, though his tone was gruff. "You saw it and didn't let it take you. That's the first step."

Sylra approached, her expression unreadable. "It fought back, didn't it?"

The boy nodded weakly. "It… it was me. But not me. It said the chains were holding it back."

Sylra's gaze hardened. "The chains don't just bind you—they bind the parts of you you're afraid to face. Power without control is destruction. If you want to break the next chain, you need to learn to master what's inside you."

---

The boy looked back at the river, the faint glow of his chains flickering in his chest. For the first time, he understood: the chains weren't just prisons. They were barriers keeping something darker—something stronger—contained.

"I'll face it," he said quietly, his voice steadier now.

Sylra nodded approvingly. "Then tomorrow, we begin your training. You'll need more than strength to survive what's coming."

The master smirked faintly, his arms still crossed. "You've taken the first step, boy. Just don't stumble when the path gets steeper."

The boy turned away from the river, his fingers brushing the hilt of his blade. The chains inside him hummed softly, their presence still heavy—but for the first time, he wasn't afraid of them.

The shadows of the forest were still there, but now he knew he could fight them.