Outside the woods, in the city of Elaria, the air itself seemed to tremble. Something had changed. The world began to bubble with magma as fiery veins split through the streets. Steam and smoke burst upward in violent clouds as the once-solid ground glowed with molten cracks, stretching like scars across the city.
Buildings shuddered, windows rattling until glass exploded outward in showers of shards. Towers leaned under the pressure of the shaking earth, their steel frames groaning like wounded beasts.
Panic rippled through the people. Cars collided in the chaos; horns blaring, metal screeching against metal before the vehicles were swallowed into yawning fissures of molten heat. Some abandoned their cars, scrambling across the pavement with trembling legs, while others weren't fast enough dragged screaming into the boiling earth.
Bridges snapped like brittle twigs, their supports melting in the inferno below. The waters that once cooled the city boiled and churned, rivers releasing thick waves of steam. Even the great sea beyond Elaria no longer offered solace, its once cold depths churned and frothed, turning the shoreline into a cauldron.
Voices filled the air; shouts, sobs, and questions tumbling over each other in desperation.
"What's happening?"
"Where do we go?"
"Is this the end?"
The city had transformed into something unrecognizable, a nightmare of heat and ruin.
Screens lit up in every shop window and living room. News reporters, faces pale with fear, spoke rapidly over trembling footage. Words spilled like broken glass: "Unexplained catastrophe… reports across all districts… roads collapsing, bridges failing… is this another disaster?"
And then, the name whispered and repeated, louder each time:
"Fiel Ashenhive. The demon returned. Is he behind this?"
---
Inside the government chambers, the city's chaos echoed faintly through the stone walls; distant sirens, muffled screams, and the low thunder of collapsing buildings. Yet here, in the heart of power, silence reigned heavy.
Five great bodies of authority from Aderfel had gathered in the main court:
The Legislative Council – lawmakers of the realm, suited in deep grey, forms and records clasped in their hands like weapons of order.
The High Judiciary – judges and arbiters of law, their silver emblems gleaming in the firelight, faces carved in stern lines of judgment.
The Grand Ministry – overseers of trade, knowledge, and civil order, their suits marked with golden linings, the weight of commerce and civility on their shoulders.
The Military Body – uniformed commanders, scarred and battle-worn, their presence filling the chamber with an unspoken threat of steel.
The Local Assembly – chosen voices of the districts, one drawn from each of Aderfel's four great cities, their plain garb a reminder of the common people now screaming in the streets.
Four figures had come from each body; the Council, the Judiciary, the Ministry, and the Military each fielding four, while the Local Assembly's ranks were pieced together from across the land, one from every city to remind the chamber that all of Aderfel was at stake.
Also present were two from the Hunters Department. One was Ms. Lowlan, an S-ranked hunter whose reputation spoke louder than words. The other was Weynof, a Special Grade Exo-hunter sent in place of the Shinkari since none had returned from overseas, and of the only two available, Toro was never an option.
They sat beneath the vaulted ceiling of the court, its pillars trembling slightly with each distant quake. Torches flickered nervously against the marble walls, their flames casting shadows that danced like restless spirits.
They had gathered to address the matter at hand to wrest answers out of uncertainty and forge solutions before the city itself crumbled. The first question gnawed at all of them: What had caused this? The second followed like a shadow: Who among the nations still stood as an ally in this battle that none of them understood?
A hush settled as a single figure stepped into the circle of power.
"Only five eastern countries were severely touched by the Malgeds during their first invasion," the man began, his voice sharp, carrying across the court. "And of those five, Aderfel was the very heart of the chaos."
The chamber stirred uneasily. Many of the officials knew him, some too well as Saelrix. His name carried the weight of rumor, distrust, and fear. To me, it carried something more personal: the memory of cells and shadows. He was the man who had orchestrated my kidnapping the first day I had wandered the city's streets, and took me to the doctors who tried to cut clean the seal mark on my back.
Now he stood in the middle of the government court, framed by flickering torchlight. His navy-blue coat hung neatly over his tall frame, the fabric brushed with travel dust. But it wasn't his clothes that drew eyes, it was his yellow eyes, glowing faintly in the dim light, predatory and unblinking. A reminder that he was not entirely human… and perhaps never had been.
Every word he spoke was weighed down by years of scouting, gathering knowledge in silence while the rest of the realm forgot the Malgeds had ever walked this earth. His tone was calm, but beneath it coiled the cold certainty of a hunter who had seen too much.
The air seemed to tighten as his words lingered. The officials leaned forward; some out of curiosity, others out of fear as though waiting for the strike that always followed when Saelrix was in the room.
Behind him, a towering screen flickered to life, illuminating the chamber with pale light. A sweeping geographical map stretched across it, the known world carved in bold lines of mountains, rivers, and seas. At the far right edge glowed Aderfel, the beating heart of the chaos, encircled in crimson. Around it pulsed the five neighboring countries, each scarred in their own way by the first Malged invasion.
Saelrix's voice cut through the silence, sharp and deliberate.
"Aderfel is bordered by Dravenloch in the north." His long finger traced upward across the map until it rested on the jagged line where the two nations met. "Here the borders touch the Adafio Woods, a land riddled with Malged dungeons like festering wounds that never heal. The people of Dravenloch rarely step into our realm, partly because of the language barrier, but more so because of their hatred. They have never forgiven us for birthing the catastrophe sixteen years ago. They will not forget where the fire began."
The chamber stirred, uneasy glances flickering between military commanders and ministers.
Saelrix pressed on, unbothered. "When it comes to hunters, Dravenloch has no shortage of talent. Their elite hunters surpass ours in skill and discipline. But they lack something we still cling to; Exo-hunters. In that, they are crippled."
The glow of his yellow eye swept across the room, pinning each delegate in place before he turned back to the map.
"To the east of Aderfel lies Xyzew." He pointed, the map shifting to highlight the land, its outline jagged with rivers and mountain ridges. "A land sparsely occupied. The invasion hollowed it out; cities abandoned, villages scattered. Their people fled: some into Aderfel, others north into Dravenloch. What remains is a shell of a nation."
He let the silence stretch before continuing, voice laced with quiet contempt.
"Their hunters are not forged by Malged blood. Since the invasion, they have never faced the threat again. Instead, they roam their wilderness, chasing unique Beasts for sport and survival. They look inward, not outward. To them, the world beyond their rivers means nothing."
A murmur rose in the court; some nodded grimly, agreeing, while others shifted in discomfort. The fate of their neighbors, whether ally or liability was not an academic question. It was survival itself.
He continued, his voice steady, measured, as if he were reciting a sentence of doom rather than a report. He's finger moved again, sliding northward across the glowing map. "To the north of Xyzew, and east of Dravenloch, lies Grenchimsponk, a land that barely brushes against Aderfel. This is the only country rumored to be untouched by Malgeds or Netherkins. Some say it is a land favored by fate."
The room shifted uneasily.
"It is said that their people are the most gifted of all in Generation abilities." He went on, his yellow eyes glinting, "In Grenchimsponk, evolution comes quicker. Children grow into power faster than our hunters can train. They walk paths we have not even begun to glimpse."
Brows furrowed, coats rustled, a few whispered, but the sound died quickly in the heavy air. Suspicion and curiosity gnawed at them all, but still, they held their questions, waiting for the report to run its course.
"They sealed themselves away from the outside world," Saelrix added, his tone darkening. "They built Igrim barriers; a wall layered sevenfold around the mainland, with smaller barriers woven around each city. Their defense is absolute. If an outsider dares cross, it is said their body does not crumble, nor burn, but turns instantly to ash."
Gasps slipped out before they were smothered. Eyes darted across the chamber, searching for someone else's certainty. The weight of his words pressed like iron chains, binding their tongues in silence.
Saelrix held himself still, shoulders squared, one fingertip resting on the console waiting for their questions as the chamber's murmur thinned to a taut.