POV Elian
The world around me stopped when we reached the clearing.
From a distance, I could see the body thrown to the ground, hands bound. That body… the body that was once strong, forged by years of hard work tilling the few lands he inherited from his father. The body of the man who taught me to walk, to laugh, to care for what was ours.
Even from afar, his condition was horrible. Part of me feared what I'd find if I got closer. But it wasn't the sight of the body that wounded me first…
It was my mother's scream.
"ARTHUR!" she cried, and the sound sliced through the air like a blade.
In that moment, my feet froze to the ground. She took a few steps forward, but her body gave out. She collapsed to her knees, as if something had ripped the ground out from beneath her. I saw how much she trembled. I saw how that vision shattered her from the inside.
I knew, in that exact second, that she had been trying to stay strong from the very beginning — for me, for Anthony, for Emanuelle. But now… now the barrier broke. All the pain she'd held in, all the fear she'd swallowed, came pouring out in one desperate scream.
My heart burned. A weight rose in my throat, and I almost let myself drown in guilt. Again. But… something inside me shifted.
A calm began to rise. Deep. Cold. Clear. How could I keep blaming myself, when so many people helped me stay on my feet? Especially him… Arthur. To blame myself now… would be to spit on the sacrifice he made for us.
I felt my eyes sting, and then… a golden light flickered.
"Is this the Vigil's Gift?" I wondered.
I'm sure it is. Because in that moment, fear and guilt vanished. Like shadows swept away by a beacon's light.
"No… no… no…" Maria sobbed, her hands buried in the mud. "How could someone do this to you?"
That woman who was once so strong, so full of life… now knelt there, broken. My mother, who always smiled when she saw my father return from work, covered in mud, tired but smiling… now looked upon his body like this. A tortured corpse. Broken fingers. Shattered knee. Deep lacerations everywhere. A dagger buried between his ribs.
Would this be the last image she'd ever have of him?
I clenched my fists so tightly my knuckles turned white. The cold wind blowing from the clearing brushed against me, but even it couldn't cool the fire growing in my chest.
It wasn't guilt. It wasn't fear. It wasn't sorrow.
It was hatred. Rage. The desire to kill.
The urge to destroy whoever did this. To look them in the eyes and end them with my own hands.
I walked toward my mother, fighting to hide the emotions welling up inside me. I didn't want her to see my face. What must it look like now? Twisted by fury? I hoped not. I hoped she wouldn't see.
She embraced me the moment I reached her, drowning in her grief. And there, in silence, holding that trembling body against my chest, I made a promise.
Not out loud. But inside. A promise I now carry as both curse and purpose.
Maybe not today. Maybe it will take years. But I swear by the gods and all that I have left…
These people will pay.
For every tear my mother shed. For every pain my father felt before he died. For every piece torn from our family.
One day… they will bleed for this. And I will be there to see it.
★★★
Elise, who had been silently observing the scene, felt a subtle chill run down her spine.
As Elian, barely a hundred and ten centimeters tall, approached Maria and let her rest her head against his chest, his face did not show grief. There were no tears of a mourning child—only the expression of someone consumed by a deep, seething hatred.
His eyes, already bearing the golden glow inherited from Arthur, now shimmered with greater intensity. A light of pure gold surged within them, as if something ancient had awakened beneath the pain.
Elise watched carefully—every detail. But she chose to ignore it. At least for now.
Gremory, however, did not react the same way.
"Elise… did you see that?" he whispered.
"I did. But now's not the time to dwell on it," she replied, stepping forward into the clearing.
Gremory followed without another word, though his gaze lingered on Elian and Maria with a hint of unease.
None of them—except the owl—knew that Elian had passed through the first tunnel of Qliphoth. And none knew he carried within him the memories of a previous life.
As Elise approached Arthur's body, she knelt beside him.
Her gaze swept across the details with the cold precision of a physician examining an irreversible wound. The broken fingers, the shattered knee, the deep lacerations… She tried to imagine how much he had suffered—but knew she would never truly grasp the extent of it.
"What cruelty…" she murmured. "How could anyone do something like this?"
Even if they later claimed it was the work of mere bandits, everything about the scene spoke of something far darker. It was premeditated. Someone had meant for this to happen.
Gremory stepped forward in silence, crouching beside the corpse. His eyes narrowed as they landed on Arthur's face. He frowned.
"Elise… doesn't it look like he's… smiling?" he asked, almost disbelieving.
She leaned in closer, examining the expression.
He was right. Arthur was smiling.
She nodded slowly, though she didn't understand. And neither would Elian.
Even after meeting again in the ethereal field, none of this had been mentioned. Only the owl had whispered softly that Arthur's final wish had been granted.
And that smile... it wasn't the relief of death. It was something more. Liberation.
Arthur had said his goodbyes. He had spoken the words he needed to speak. And most of all, he had freed himself from the deepest regret he carried—the day he had once wished Elian had never been born.
Now, even if he wouldn't see his children grow, he could depart in peace.
Elise lifted her hands and cast three elemental spells.
With water, she cleansed the dried blood, the filth, and the traces left behind by the body during torture.
With fire, she gently warmed and dried the fabric, giving some dignity back to what remained.
With wind, she pushed away the bitter, suffocating scent of death that hung in the air.
Minutes later, Maria approached with Elian at her side.
She knelt slowly, still trembling, and stared down at her husband with eyes swollen from weeping.
"Who could do this to you… my love?" she whispered, her voice breaking with grief.
Elian, beside her, let a few tears fall—but kept himself composed. His presence was steady, silent, and strong in a way no child his age should ever have to be.
Gremory watched the scene with a furrowed brow. He leaned toward Elise and muttered with quiet curiosity:
"Why isn't that child crying? Did he not get along with his father?"
Elise kept her eyes on Elian a moment before responding:
"He got along very well with him."
"Then… why?"
She hesitated. Part of her didn't want to say it—not here, not now. But Gremory needed to understand.
"Because he's already killed before," she said bluntly. "He killed two children to protect his sister."
Then, without another word, she stepped toward the three.
"Maria," Elise called, her voice soft, careful—not wanting to intrude on a moment so intimate. Even if it wasn't a joyful reunion, she didn't want to come across as cold.
Maria didn't respond at first, still leaning over the body of her husband, her face hidden behind strands of hair soaked in tears. Silence stretched for a few seconds, until Elise continued, gently:
"What do you want to do? Bring his body home… or leave him here?"
Maria stayed quiet a little longer, sobbing softly, until she finally took a deep breath and rose slowly. She wiped her face with the back of her hand—her nose running, her eyes red—and answered, her voice still shaking:
"What do you think? Of course I'm taking my husband's body home."
The response came out sharp, almost cutting. She realized it the moment it left her lips, as if waking from a trance. Her eyes widened slightly and her expression softened.
"I'm sorry, Elise… I didn't mean to speak like that."
But Elise raised a hand before she could go on.
"There's no need to apologize, Maria," she said with calm sincerity. "I understand what you're feeling."
Then she turned and called:
"Gremory, I'll need you to carry his body."
Before Gremory could ask how they'd manage the transport, Elise raised the pendant around her neck—a metallic oval amulet engraved with small rune-like grooves that shimmered faintly under the filtered forest light.
With a small pulse of mana, the amulet opened. A soft light emerged from within, revealing a compact dimensional space. Elise reached in with practiced ease and retrieved two sturdy ropes, a folded thick cloth—commonly used as a protective base for body transport—and a set of collapsible metallic clamps for improvised bindings.
Elian watched everything closely. This was all new to him.
"It's a dimensional amulet," Elise explained, not looking up as she placed the objects on the ground. "Mages and Arcane Swordsmen usually carry emergency supplies in here. Only those with magical affinity can open it—it needs a mana infusion."
"Can't you use a magic stone to simulate the mage's mana?" Elian asked, curiosity briefly overpowering grief.
"No," she answered at once, lifting the last rope. "They've tried in many ways. But the amulet recognizes both the intent and the origin of the energy. It rejects artificial or unconscious magic."
She then stood and looked at Gremory and Elian.
"We need to build a makeshift stretcher," she said, all business. "Gather thicker branches, straight ones. Use the ones tangled in roots—" she pointed toward the side of the trail "—and we'll tie everything with these ropes and wrap the body in the cloth."
Gremory crouched to begin. Elian hesitated, still looking at his father's corpse… then turned silently and began helping.
★★★
Within the hour, they had finished crafting an improvised stretcher from the sturdiest branches they could find in the forest. Arthur's body was placed carefully atop the unfolded cloth, secured with the ropes Elise had provided. It was a heavy, silent image: a body that once carried life, now being carried by love.
Gremory and Maria both offered to pull the stretcher.
Gremory attempted to take the burden upon himself, but Maria refused with unwavering resolve.
"He's my husband," she said, eyes raw from crying. "I won't let you do this alone."
Elian approached and offered to help, suggesting they take turns—but the three adults declined. Maria, especially, was adamant. This was all she had left. She needed to do something. Anything.
The path back was more silent than the one they had taken before—but far heavier.
And unlike the journey there, the way back was not without danger.
From the shadows between the trees, two wild beasts lunged at them—fangs bared, claws outstretched, eyes glowing with savage rage.
Abyssal Wolves. Rank Five.
The creatures towered larger than any ordinary man. Their fangs stretched nearly twenty centimeters, their eyes glowed like live embers, and curved black horns protruded from their skulls. Where tails should have been, flickering wisps of spectral fire swayed and hissed with every movement.
The moment the beasts struck, Maria dropped the stretcher rope and threw herself in front of Elian, wrapping him in her arms. Instinct overcame terror.
She clutched him tightly, as if she could shield him from the world itself. She would not let him suffer the same fate as Arthur. She would not let another part of herself be torn away.
But the attack ended swiftly.
Elise stepped forward, her fingers dancing with arcane precision. With a sharp flick of her hand, a blade of wind sliced through the air like a whisper of steel.
In an instant, both wolves were decapitated. Their heads flew backward, and the bodies collapsed before they even realized they were dead.
The creatures' black blood seeped into the soil, forming hot puddles that steamed briefly before vanishing into the damp earth.
Elise walked over to the corpses and, with a small silver dagger, extracted both of their fangs. She handed them to Elian with an almost indifferent tone:
"These are worth at least three Solars. More than your father would earn selling wheat for an entire season."
Elian accepted the fangs in silence. Their pale, golden hue gleamed strangely in contrast to the dark, grim mood around them.
After that, the group pressed on.
The trail was the same… but the journey had changed.
They had come with hope.
They returned broken.
Elian already knew the truth. He had seen his father's body. He had already faced his mourning in the ethereal field. But that didn't spare him from the agony of watching his mother crumble.
And worse—he still had to watch Anthony and Emanuelle discover the truth.
He would have to hear their cries.
And this time… he wasn't sure if he'd be strong enough to hold them all.