Marina's life was already slipping away. Her arms flailed weakly against Trey's unrelenting grip, her eyes wide with fear and disbelief. The sound of her choking breaths filled the ruined hall, each gasp thinner than the last.
Trey's mind had already shattered under his rage. Whatever reason he once had had burned out long ago, leaving only a murderous intent that devoured him whole.
Then, without warning, a light flashed behind him.
He turned—
—and froze.
Cecilus stood beside him.
Trey hadn't heard footsteps. Not a sound. One moment the boy was nowhere; the next, he was simply there. Cecilus's eyes were half-lidded, his expression distant and unfocused, as though he wasn't truly awake. His posture swayed slightly, drained and unsteady, but an aura unlike anything Trey had ever felt emanated from him.
"How the hell—"
Before Trey could finish, a low, tearing sound cracked through the air.
Cecilus's back arched. Purple light bled through his clothes, veins glowing beneath his skin. His body trembled violently, but his face remained slack, eyes empty—as if something inside him had taken control.
A deafening blast followed. The explosion hurled Trey across the chamber and shattered what remained of the manor's walls. He hit the ground hard, coughing through the dust.
When the smoke cleared, Marina was still in the air where Trey had held her—suspended by a strange force. A blackened mark scorched her neck, but her chest still rose faintly.
Cecilus stepped forward and caught her in his arms, holding her with care so delicate it seemed unreal against the ruin around them.
Then, from his back, white light burst outward—forming wings.
They were enormous and ethereal, neither flesh nor illusion. They shimmered like the surface of water under sunlight, translucent yet solid, each movement scattering motes of light into the smoky air.
Trey staggered upright, stunned by the sheer pressure emanating from Cecilus. His voice broke with disbelief.
"How are you able to do this, Cecilus?"
There was no answer. Cecilus didn't even look at him.
Shit! Trey's eyes widened. I should've killed him earlier! How the hell did he get wings?
But his panic came too late.
With one resonant flap, the wings unleashed a shockwave that scattered the debris. In a single motion, Cecilus vanished through the ruined ceiling, piercing through smoke and flame into the dawn sky.
The force knocked Trey to his knees. He stared upward, squinting through the settling dust, and saw nothing but faint traces of light fading into the clouds.
He rushed outside, stumbling over rubble. The morning air was cold, the manor behind him ablaze. High above, a distant figure disappeared beyond the sunrise.
"Dammit!" he roared.
"No. No, no, no, no—NO!"
He kicked a rock, sending it skidding across the snow.
"Why?! How did this happen? What's going to happen to me now?"
His breath fogged in the frigid air, his mind unraveling as the last of the flames behind him died into embers.
***
A wagon creaked along the snow-covered road miles away. The wind carried the scent of smoke, faint but unmistakable.
At the front sat a weary man, guiding a tired horse through the frost. Behind him, an old woman lay bundled in blankets, her face pale with fever.
"Don't worry, Mother," the man said softly. "Celtis is a good doctor. We'll make it before nightfall—you'll see."
His voice trembled from exhaustion. Days without sleep had left his hands shaking, but he pressed on, driven by desperation.
Every winter, the sick made pilgrimages to the small village where the physician Celtis lived. For those in the borderlands, he was often the only hope.
As the wagon rolled past a road sign pointing toward the duke's estate, the man frowned.
"I smell smoke," he muttered. "We're downwind… must be coming from the border."
The road wound through white hills until it abruptly opened into a blackened plain.
There, where the Crow Manor once stood, was nothing but ruin.
He stopped the horse, eyes widening. "What the hell? Was there a fire?"
Cautiously, he urged the wagon closer, but unease grew with each step. The silence was absolute—no movement, no voices.
"Why are there no people here?"
The village came into view, and his stomach turned. Bodies were scattered across the snow, the stench of blood and smoke thick in the air. It looked like a battlefield.
He covered his nose and stepped down from the wagon, forcing himself to move. Before bringing his mother in, he had to understand what had happened.
He made his way through the street and into Celtis's home. Inside, the cold air was heavy with decay. The physician's body lay slumped over his table. A blood-scrawled message was smeared on the wall beside him.
It was Trey.
The man whispered the name. "The knight? Why would he—"
Pain cut his words short.
A blade burst through his abdomen.
His breath hitched as he looked down at the steel protruding from his chest, then slowly turned his head.
A voice spoke behind him, low and calm. "He did it because he wanted to. Nothing more to it."
The man collapsed before he could see his killer.
Trey stood over the corpse, his expression unreadable.
"So that's why Cecilus wasn't surprised," he muttered. "I had thought he saw through my thoughts despite my calm demeanor. Seems like he didn't."
He crouched beside Celtis's body, studying the half-frozen blood message. "I guess money wasn't enough to keep your mouth shut, huh, Celtis?"
He dipped his fingers into the fresh pool of blood and smeared it over the message until it was unreadable.
"Well," he sighed, "I wouldn't take a bribe in exchange for my life either."
He turned toward the wagon outside, his boots crunching over the snow.
A faint smile crossed his lips when he saw the horse. "I needed a new one anyway. My last one decided to eat poisoned grain."
He climbed into the front seat, then glanced at the back. The old woman still slept beneath her blankets, her breathing shallow.
He frowned. "Honestly, killing you quickly would be the nicer option. It's cold… and fever's a cruel way to go."
He raised his left hand, shaping it into a finger gun.
"It's a shame I wasted so much energy burning the manor," he said softly. "Otherwise, I could've shot that brat out of the sky." His eyes darkened. "At least the elf was taken. That was the important part."
A spark flickered at his fingertip—then a crack of blue light.
The bolt struck the woman's chest, stopping her heart instantly.
Trey exhaled, lowering his hand. "A painless death. The best I could give you."
He took the reins and guided the horse back onto the main road. Behind him, the smoke from the borderlands faded into the horizon as he headed toward the capital.
***
Thirteen years ago.
A young boy stood before a vast obsidian throne. Shadows crawled across the walls of the chamber, cast by the faint flicker of crimson fire.
On the throne sat a creature too large to be mistaken for human. Its skin was gray, its horns curling white against the darkness. The air trembled with its presence.
A demon.
The boy spoke first, his voice small but steady.
"Are you sure he has returned?"
The demon's yellow eyes glowed faintly. "The White Devil has shown itself. Ramon hides his soul well, but his creation cannot hide from me."
The boy swallowed hard. "Then… the plan has begun?"
The demon rose, its seven-foot frame towering over him, shadow blotting out the firelight.
"The White Devil's rebirth marks the first move," it said. "Ramon's designs unfold, and the flow of time will not show me when or where they end."
"But you can stop him, can't you?"
A rumbling chuckle shook the air. "If he approaches me, yes. But intercept him? Never. That is your burden to bear, future king—Valter Ascension."
The demon's grin widened, revealing rows of sharp teeth.
By the time Valter blinked, the chamber was empty.
***
An hour passed before Cecilus began to falter. His wings trembled under their own weight, each beat weaker than the last.
He had flown farther than he could comprehend—perhaps half the continent by now. His speed had carried him through clouds and storm winds, but exhaustion crept through his bones.
Marina remained limp in his arms, her body warm but motionless. He checked her pulse—still there. A faint heartbeat. It was enough.
Pain bloomed suddenly in his forehead, sharp and blinding. He gasped, clutching his head.
The wings started to dissolve into mist.
He descended rapidly, crashing through the treeline until he hit the snow-covered earth.
Marina slipped from his grasp as he stumbled forward, dazed and disoriented. The world spun, his thoughts scattering like ashes in the wind.
Without caring he began to walk aimlessly for what felt like hours, until he found a small pond frozen under a thin sheet of ice.
Thirst pulled him closer. He knelt and broke through the ice with trembling hands, scooping the freezing water to his lips.
The surface beneath reflected his face—white hair, purple eyes rimmed with exhaustion. The image shimmered and warped as drops of water fell, distorting his reflection.
He touched his cheek and felt wetness that wasn't from the pond. Tears.
"Why am I crying?" he whispered.
No answer came. His mind was blank, stripped of memories, names, meaning.
"What… am I doing here?"
The question hung in the air, lost to the silent wilderness.
He stared again at the reflection—the white-haired elf with hollow eyes looking back through the ice.
"Who am I?"
The wind whispered through the trees.
The pond stilled.
Cecilus stood there looking at his reflection, confused and alone.