Seventeen-year-old Harun had always been a shadow in the light of others.
His days passed in silence, lost between his mother's fading breaths and the cold absence of a father he never knew. The village boys mocked him. The girls ignored him. His mother, bedridden and coughing blood, was the only reason he still woke up each day.
In this world—ravaged five hundred years ago by a celestial rift—magical stones began falling from the sky. These stones, known as Dravils, held ancient, unknown magic. But they were not mere objects. Each stone bore a will of its own. They chose their users, not the other way around.
Only the chosen could awaken the power within. And only the worthy became Dravilians—beings of immense strength, feared and honored alike.
When rumors reached Harun's rundown neighborhood that several Dravils had been discovered in the Blackvale Caverns just a few miles away, a strange hope flared in his chest.
Maybe this was his chance.
He ran through the fog-laced woods, heart pounding, feet bleeding. He reached the cavern hours later, panting and shaking.
But it was too late.
The cavern was filled with villagers and young warriors, each glowing with newly-formed DRAVILLIAN AURA . The stones had already chosen their users.
All... except one.
It lay deep in a cracked basin, scorched black and veined with red like molten lava. It looked burnt, ALMOST.....CURSEDDDD!!!!
And yet, as Harun approached, the burnt Dravil shivered.
In front of dozens of people, the stone rose—floated gently in the air—and placed itself against Harun's chest.
A violent pulse. Then silence.
Everyone waited. But nothing happened.
No aura. No light. No sound. Nothing.
Whispers started. Then laughter.
"Yeh jo har jagah loser hi nikla".
"Stone bhi ise chor raha hai".
"He'll always be nothing".
Harun stared at the black mark left on his chest by the Dravil. Cold. Dead. Silent.
That night, as he sat alone beneath the dying stars, clutching the stone and holding back tears, he fell into a restless sleep.
But the dream that came was no ordinary one.
In the center of a burning red realm—floating above cracked black earth—stood a creature that looked exactly like Harun. Same face. Same voice. But his eyes burned with crimson fire, and his smile was not kind.
"I CHOOSED YOU HARUN" THE DREAM-DOUBLE SAID.
"But your time has not yet come. When the world screams and the sky turns black... then, and only then, shall your TRUE DRAVILLIAN AWAKEN BEGIN".
And then Harun woke up—sweating, heart racing, the burnt Dravil glowing dimly beside his bed.