The streets of Valeria shimmered beneath the dawn haze, market stalls opening one by one, merchants stretching as they prepared for a day of trade. But Serena walked among them unseen, her presence veiled by silence and instinct.
Her cloak was worn and dirt-streaked. No longer dressed like a noble daughter, she passed through crowds like a shadow. She had no money. No allies. No time. And what she needed couldn't be earned.
It had to be taken.
She stood before a shop nestled between two smithing halls: Iron Fang Armory. Unlike the louder forges nearby, this one was old—its wooden sign worn, yet its windows spotless. Inside, weapons of every kind lined the walls—blades, spears, axes, even throwing daggers. Gleaming, dangerous, and pristine.
Serena stepped through the door, and the air shifted.
It smelled of oiled steel and burned metal. The scuff marks on the floor told stories of countless cultivators who'd come searching for weapons to match their ambitions.
But her eyes weren't drawn to the swords or spears.
They found it at the far end of the shop—resting against the wall behind a case of locked glass.
A scythe.
It was unlike anything else. The metal shaft was jet black, lined with wind-etched veins. Its blade curved like the crescent moon, wide and sharp. Dust covered its edge, but even neglected, it radiated danger.
A small plaque below it read:
"Unclaimed – Forged 213 years ago by an unknown cultivator. Unwieldy. Unwanted."
Perfect.
She glanced around. No one.
Then her eyes caught him—the old man behind the counter, half-asleep, white beard cascading down his chest. But his breathing was too steady. His hands too still. He was no ordinary shopkeeper.
She moved anyway.
With a faint hum, the system whispered:
> ⟨Silent Core activated: Nearby onlookers disregard your presence. +3 Vengeance Points⟩
Her hand reached for the glass.
She didn't break it. She phased her elemental wind through the edges, lifting the pane just enough to slide her hand through.
And then she had it.
The moment her fingers wrapped around the scythe's grip, the room stilled. The weapon pulsed in her hand—faint, like a breath long held and finally released.
She turned to leave.
The old man didn't raise his head. Not until she stepped outside and vanished into the street mist.
Then, his eyes opened—golden and ancient.
"It's Finally Chosen," he murmured. "May the storm she brings with it be one this world remembers."
---
Hours later, she stood before Limeleaf Apothecary, a bustling alchemy shop run by a cheerful merchant known for overcharging nobles and underestimating orphans.
Serena walked through the side alley, the scent of crushed herbs strong in the air. Through a cracked rear window, she spotted racks of pills—healing, energy-restoring, and even two mid-grade Wind-type fortifiers.
Exactly what she needed.
She climbed up using the wall pipes, slipped through the window, and crawled over the shelving. Her scythe stayed wrapped in cloth on her back, hidden.
> ⟨System Alert: Unauthorized access detected. Activating Stealth Field (Temporary). Duration: 3 minutes⟩
In one breath, she swept the pills into her pouch. Another moment, and she was out.
A nearby guard yawned, glancing around the alley, but he didn't see her. Her steps made no sound.
---
By sunset, Serena had returned to the abandoned warehouse where she'd been hiding. She laid the scythe across her lap and unwrapped it fully for the first time.
It gleamed in the twilight.
She remembered the ancient book she'd read the night before in House Valen's dusty corner of forgotten texts. A scythe manual with no name, no author. Only a single passage stood out:
"The wind does not knock. It cleaves. It does not beg. It howls. And in its howl lies a name—Zephyrdemon."
She repeated it now.
"Zephyrdemon…"
Not a title. A warning.
The wind around her stirred.
---