Amid the warmth and smiles of the crowd, an old woman approached Arion and Amaya.
Her wrinkled hands offered a small box of homemade biscuits, accompanied by a soft chuckle,
as if the two were her own grandchildren. That kindness lit the mood—
for a brief moment, the world felt at peace.
Soon after, a shy little boy stepped up to Amaya,
holding a bundle of wildflowers—simple yet beautiful.
Amaya smiled gently and, without hesitation, removed the tiara from her head,
replacing it with the flowers, tucking them into her hair.
Everyone who saw it smiled; that small moment felt like a living poem.
But—such moments do not last.
Davian, standing not far from them, suddenly froze.
His expression tightened. His eyes turned upward—uneasy.
Then he looked down, tracking a shadow that moved swiftly across the ground.
He knew. Something dark was descending.
A group of Abyss—creatures of darkness from the deepest dimension—
dove from the sky as if summoned by an unseen call.
They weren't attacking at random.
They were hunting.
They were hunting Arion.
"Protect the Prince and the Princess! Get them back to the palace—NOW!"
Davian's voice cut through the air, slicing the joy into panic.
Guards leapt into action, pulling Arion and Amaya away,
pushing through the crowd that now scattered in terror.
Behind them, Davian drew his sword, standing alone to face the horde of Abyss.
Shadows leapt from rooftops, from alleys, from behind walls.
The city had become a hunting ground.
"Go... I'll hold them here," Davian whispered to himself,
before launching into the first Abyss that came roaring like a storm.
But—their journey wasn't over yet.
During their desperate escape, Arion and Amaya came to an abrupt halt.
The path ahead had been blocked.
Another group of Abyss emerged from the shadows,
surrounding them on all sides.
The guards panted heavily.
They weren't Blessed. Not chosen warriors.
Just ordinary men…
And one by one, they fell beneath the claws of the beasts.
Now only Arion and Amaya remained—
standing in the middle of the empty street,
accompanied only by the sound of breath and fallen blades.
"You have a Blessing, don't you?"
Arion asked without turning, his voice low and steady.
Amaya gave a slow nod, hiding the tremor in her chest.
"Do it. Make a path. I'll distract them,"
he said, taking a deep breath.
"At least all that training with Davian… will mean something."
Without waiting, Arion charged forward—
cutting across the dirt path now darkened with shadows.
His movements weren't perfect, but sharp enough
to disrupt the Abyss' formation.
Meanwhile, Amaya closed her eyes.
The gem in her floral tiara began to pulse with soft blue light.
Water swirled around her like a gentle mist—beautiful, yet deadly.
The earth beneath her feet trembled. The air thickened.
But—just as she was about to unleash her power…
Something leapt from behind.
A larger, faster Abyss burst out from the rubble.
Arion turned just in time—
"Amaya—!"
A brutal strike sent her flying.
Her spell shattered.
She fell without a sound.
Her tiara was torn off.
The flowers scattered through the air, then dropped to the bloodied ground.
Arion turned back—but another blow struck him hard.
He crashed to the ground, dust rising in a choking cloud.
Pain flashed like lightning through his bones.
And before he could stand—
They came.
Abyss. A swarm. A flood. Darkness.
The scent of blood and iron choked the air.
They clawed, bit, tore.
Arion fought, kicked, resisted…
But there were too many.
In moments, his clothes were shredded,
his skin ripped, his blood painted the earth in deep crimson.
He never screamed.
The pain caught in his throat.
His chest burned, his lungs refused to breathe.
His vision dimmed.
In the red haze, he saw a figure running toward him—sword drawn,
face stricken with panic.
Davian.
But too late.
More Abyss swarmed in, blocking him, slamming into him,
denying his final steps toward Arion.
"Is this… where I die?" Arion thought.
"Maybe… it's better this way."
"Better than living as the disgrace of my family…"
"If only I had… a Blessing…"
A single tear fell into the sea of blood.
He smiled faintly… bitterly.
His eyes slowly closed—
not from peace,
but from the weight of wounds unseen,
left untreated for far too long.
Yet…
This ending is not the end.
It is the beginning—
of something far, far darker.