They called him a god....
Not with reverence...
With fear.
Whole kingdoms collapsed at the whisper of his name. Armies threw down their blades when the black sun appeared above their skies. Saints bled from the eyes when he passed.
And yet…
There he stood.
Hidden beneath a hood of shadows.
In the corner of a forgotten crowd, watching a boy with a wooden sword practice in the training fields of the Celestine Church.
Ren. The Dread King. The Flame That Spared No One.
Watching.
Smiling.
Dying.
The boy was older now.
Taller.
Hair as dark as Ren's once was. Eyes full of light.
But there was something… missing behind them.
The spark of defiance. The fire. The pain of memory.
Ren clenched his gloved hand and whispered his name like a prayer.
"…Kaito."
The training master barked. The boy moved. Fast. Too fast for a beginner.
He didn't know why. The priests told him it was "natural talent." That he was blessed.
But Ren knew better.
That speed was instinct.
That stance — it was his.
Ren stood still for thirteen hours.
Didn't blink. Didn't breathe. He watched every twitch, every fumble, every smile.
And it was the smile that hurt most.
It wasn't fake.
It was free.
He turned to leave.
And that's when he saw her.
A Sister of the Church. Pale robes. Golden eyes. Lips moving in chant as she approached Kaito with a censer of white smoke.
Ren froze.
The incantation was old. Not healing. Not protection.
Erasure.
"Memory sanctification," he hissed. "You bastards... you're still wiping him."
He was across the courtyard before the wind noticed.
No one saw him move.
He didn't need portals.
He was the space between.
In a blink, he stood behind the Sister.
One hand brushed her shoulder.
She turned.
And the next moment —
She wasn't.
Not gone. Not dead.
Just… erased.
A perfect circle of nothing hovered in the air where she once stood. Not ash. Not blood.
Absence.
Kaito blinked.
Looked around.
Confused.
"Where… did Sister Elira go?"
The priest beside him frowned. "Who?"
Kaito stared a moment longer.
Then laughed, and went back to swinging his sword.
Ren was already gone.
Later, in the hollow of a ruined bell tower overlooking the Church citadel, Ren stared down at his hands.
They weren't shaking.
That scared him more.
He didn't want to get used to this.
He reached into his cloak and pulled out the one thing he had never shown another soul: a broken wooden charm. Shaped like a flame. Kaito carved it when they were kids.
Ren held it to his chest like a blade.
"I'll keep you safe," he whispered.
"And if I have to become a demon so you can stay human…"
He looked at the stars that no longer spoke to him.
"Then so be it."
Elsewhere: A Meeting of Thrones
Far across the continent, twelve crowned kings gathered in a temple built atop a slain god.
A priest entered, trembling.
"We found traces of him," the priest said. "Near the Church. Near the boy."
The kings fell silent.
One finally spoke.
"Deploy the Seraphim Engine."
The room shook.
"But it will burn half the region—!"
"Then it will burn. We were promised a Hero. Not a reunion."
That Night
The sky screamed.
White fire rained down.
Villages vanished.
Forests turned to glass.
The Church was not harmed. Not directly.
But hundreds of "unregistered" towns nearby ceased to exist.
Casualties: 3,041.
Mission success: 100%.
Hero: Unaware.
And on a blackened mountaintop miles away, surrounded by the stench of divine warfare…
Ren stood.
Cloaked in living shadow, framed by a crescent moon bleeding through ash-choked skies.
In his hand: the severed wing of the Seraphim Engine, still dripping golden blood.
He hadn't arrived to stop the attack.
He had arrived to remember.
A thousand years ago, in this very region, fire had devoured everything.
The smell was the same.
The screams. The sky. The betrayal.
He had died here.
Holding his little brother's burned hand, whispering a promise he couldn't keep.
And now — here he was again.
Alive. Wrong.
And the gods had dared to return his brother to the same world, without even a memory of that night.
He laughed.
Quietly. Brokenly.
"You really are cruel," he said to no one. "But I'm worse."
That night, Ren stood atop the obsidian ridge overlooking the Holy City.
From this distance, Kaito's laughter was faint. Innocent. Pure.
The Hero trained with others in the moonlit fields, unburdened by the past.
He didn't know.
Didn't remember.
Didn't scream like he had, when their village burned.
Ren gripped the charm in his palm — a wooden flame, charred black.
It was all that remained of his first life.
He clenched it until blood ran through his fingers.
"I died once to save you.
I'll burn the world to keep you safe this time."
The moon trembled.
And far above, the gods watched — but did not speak.
They remembered him now.
He would make sure of it.