The village thrived under Altleno's rule.
The fields, once dry and cracked, now shimmered with life. Wells ran clear, and the forests no longer devoured those who ventured too far. For the first time in years, laughter returned to the air.
Altleno often walked through the village square, his aura calm, his eyes reflecting quiet pride.
But inside him—there was still an emptiness.
> "Power means little if there's no one to share it with," he muttered one night, sitting on the edge of the well.
His mind drifted to Lyra—the guild's receptionist, Guiko's daughter. Her sharp wit and calm composure fascinated him. She was one of the few who never bowed or trembled in his presence.
Altleno admired that.
At first, he'd only glance at her from afar. Then he began visiting the guild more often, asking about reports, supply lists—anything that would let him hear her voice.
The villagers whispered: "Our ruler loves the daughter of his fallen enemy."
But Lyra's heart was cold.
Each time Altleno's gaze lingered, she felt her father's blood burn in her memory.
Behind her polite smile, hatred took root.
> "You think you've made this village better," she whispered to herself one night, staring at her reflection in a cracked mirror. "But you only replaced one tyrant with another."
That night, she began her plot.
Using her influence and quiet charm, Lyra gathered a few who still mourned Guiko. Farmers, former adventurers, and even children of the fallen. They met in secret beneath the old church—the same place where Guiko once prayed for victory over Altleno.
Their goal was simple:
End Altleno's rule.
No matter the cost.
As weeks passed, Altleno began to notice something strange.
Lyra, once present in every corner of the village, had become a shadow.
Her visits to the guild grew fewer, her routes unpredictable.
At first, he brushed it off as coincidence.
But soon, he realized—she was avoiding him.
That realization burned deeper than any wound.
When she vanished from sight, he found himself pacing the village, his aura flickering faintly like restless smoke. He sent out scouts under the guise of "security checks," yet their true mission was singular: find Lyra.
Each time they returned empty-handed, his frustration grew.
> "She hides from me as if I'm a beast," he muttered one night, his hands tightening around a cup until it cracked.
Lyra, meanwhile, moved carefully through the hidden paths of the forest, meeting her followers in silence. She was quick, smart, and patient—her every step a ghost's whisper.
But even ghosts can be betrayed.
One of the men she trusted—a quiet, soft-spoken villager—had been watching her too closely. Tempted by Altleno's growing power, he revealed everything: her meetings, her allies, and where she planned to hide next.
When he knelt before Altleno and told him the truth, Altleno's expression didn't change—only his eyes darkened.
> "You've done well," Altleno said softly, his voice calm but cold. "From this moment… you are my right hand."
The man bowed deeply, trembling between pride and fear.
Altleno dismissed the others and stood by the window, staring into the mist.
> "Lyra…" he whispered, his tone almost mournful. "Why do you keep running from what could save you?"
Outside, the wind howled through the trees.
The hunt had begun.
Lyra sat alone in the dark room, her hands trembling as she cleaned the blade that would decide her fate. Her heart refused to calm. It's almost over, she told herself, but her body said otherwise — her breath shallow, her skin cold. Somewhere deep inside, something warned her this would not go as planned.
The wooden door creaked open.
Altleno stood there, his shadow spilling across the room. His voice was calm, almost gentle.
> "Lyra… stop this. Leave everything behind and come with me."
She didn't answer. Her hand tightened around the dagger's hilt.
Altleno took a step forward, his eyes soft yet desperate.
> "I love you," he said quietly. "You don't have to run anymore."
Lyra turned, her face hardening. The hatred in her eyes was like fire.
> "Love?" she spat. "You killed my father. You took my village. You think you can take me too?"
Altleno flinched, confusion and pain flashing across his face.
Then she stood. Slowly. Calmly.
The dagger gleamed in her hand.
Altleno tensed, thinking she was about to attack.
But what came next shattered him completely.
Lyra's blade never reached him.
With a sudden motion, she turned it inward — pressing it against her throat.
Altleno's eyes widened.
> "No… Lyra—wait!"
The sound of the blade slicing through flesh filled the room, followed by a choked gasp.
Blood spilled down her chest as she fell to her knees, eyes already fading.
Altleno lunged forward, catching her before she hit the ground. His voice broke as he called for help — yelling, pleading, commanding the air itself to save her.
But no one came.
The house remained still, the only sound the shallow rattle of Lyra's dying breath.
By the time anyone arrived, she was gone.
Altleno sat there, drenched in her blood, his trembling hands pressed against the wound that no magic could heal. His lips moved soundlessly — half prayer, half curse — as something inside him finally broke.
The villagers rushed to the scene, breathless and afraid—only to stop cold when they saw Altleno.
He wasn't raging. He wasn't shouting. He was crying.
Tears streamed down his face as he held Lyra's body, trembling, whispering words no one could hear.
For the first time since he took control of the village, they saw not a monster… but a man.
A man who'd lost everything.
Altleno stood slowly, eyes red and distant. He looked at the villagers one by one, their faces mixed with fear, sorrow, and pity. No one spoke. The silence between them said everything.
Then, without a word, Altleno turned and walked away, his shadow stretching long in the fading light.
The villagers gathered around Lyra's body. One woman whispered, "She deserved better." Another muttered, "So did he." Together, they lifted her gently, carrying her toward the edge of the forest—to bury her where the first rays of dawn would touch her grave.
That night, Altleno sat alone in his quarters.
His tears had dried, but the ache in his chest only deepened.
> "Why… why does it always end like this?" he whispered.
"Ru… if you're watching me… please, tell me what I did wrong."
His voice cracked. The silence offered no answer.
He stayed awake until dawn, eyes empty, mind haunted by flashes of everyone he had ever lost.
When the first light crept through the cracks in the window, he rose, weary but determined, and opened the door—only to be met by a trembling villager.
The man bowed low, voice shaking.
> "My Lord… I bring terrible news."