Trey struggled.
His hands clawed at the fingers wrapped around his throat—burning fingers, hot enough to sear skin. Tears blurred his vision as he tried to look at the attacker. Through the haze, he finally saw the face.
It was Marina.
His arms fell limp.
Instead of resisting, he smiled at her—broken, relieved, defeated.
But Marina's body suddenly ignited. Flames roared upward, consuming her form until the fire swelled into the shape of another woman. From within the blaze stepped Marina's mother, untouched by the inferno that birthed her.
Her voice drifted through the smoke.
"Do you remember what I told you that day?"
The burning sensation in Trey's throat faded. Even the pain in his lungs disappeared, replaced by a hollow weight in his chest.
"You still have chains that bind you," she continued. "I wanted to kill them all too. Your father. Your mother. I had my own selfish ambitions. We were both trapped. You just wanted to live, didn't you? Who wouldn't?"
Trey stared at her, horrified.
"What do you know?" he spat.
She didn't answer.
"You were a slave!" he shouted, voice cracking. "You ruined Marina's life just by giving birth to her! What right do you have to look down on me? Why are you standing above me?"
As he spoke, the woman rose, drifting higher as though caught in an invisible current.
"I'm leaving this world," she said softly. "Going to a better life."
"Wait!"
Trey reached out, but she was already too far to touch—too far to save.
"Why did you say you'd report what I had done?" he screamed upward. "Why didn't you look away? You hated the villagers! You hated their stares! So why—why would you abandon your child?!"
She gave him a small, weary smile.
"I already carried too many restrictions. I only wanted to be free. But I was afraid—afraid I'd die. Yet you should know better than anyone… fear like that is meaningless. Because every time you abandon someone for the sake of living…" Her gaze darkened. "You become the very thing you tried to escape."
"No… no!" Trey shook his head violently. "How the hell am I supposed to go back after everything? How do I face everyone I've lost? If I stop now… it was all for nothing!"
There was no reply.
She vanished.
A sudden impact struck his back. Trey gasped. A knife protruded from his abdomen. Blood spilled from his lips as he turned his head.
Celtis stood behind him, smile twisted into a cruel crescent.
"Your sins always catch up to you, Trey."
Trey collapsed to his knees.
Ahead of him, the void shifted—two silhouettes stood in the emptiness. As his vision steadied, their identities solidified.
His master.
His student.
"Help…" Trey choked, blood bubbling in his throat.
They didn't move. Didn't speak. Their expressions were unmistakable:
Disappointment.
Two more figures materialized.
His mother.
His father.
Fear warped their faces.
Celtis's voice echoed behind him.
"This is the world you've created. Disappointment in your life. Fear of those above you. Why are those emotions pointed back at you, I wonder? Why do the people you care for all reach such fatal ends?"
Celtis leaned down and whispered with sick delight:
"I'm the reaper here to take the one thing you sacrificed them for—your life. And it's absolutely worthless."
Trey jolted awake, staring up at the high ceiling.
The guest room of the Curteis manor.
He must have fallen asleep after spending the day speaking with nobles and Oriel.
It had all been a dream.
He stumbled to the washroom. His reflection appeared pale, drenched in sweat.
Trey pressed a hand to the sink and steadied his breathing.
"It was just a dream," he whispered.
But his voice trembled.
***
The day of Cecilus's departure arrived quietly.
He made his way to the tavern where his ride awaited. As planned, the large man and his young son sat at a table, finishing the remains of a simple meal.
Cecilus approached. "I didn't catch your names last time."
The man raised a brow.
"Not telling me your own name, yet asking for mine? Rude, don't you think?"
Cecilus paused. "…Fair enough. I won't pry. But how should I refer to you?"
The man snorted. "Relax, I'm only teasing. I figured you'd at least tell us who you are, but I guess secrecy is the theme here."
Cecilus hesitated.
The devil told me my name right after I awakened… and then immediately told me to hide it. Was I really that important before?
"I'm Darrin Holt," the man said. "And this is my son, Finnan. Let's head out."
Cecilus followed them outside. As they walked, Finnan clung to his father's hand, excitement plain on his face.
"I can't wait to see Mother again! This stupid trip took too long!"
Darrin laughed and ruffled his son's hair.
Cecilus watched quietly.
What was my father like? Is he even alive? Even if I ask the devil… he wouldn't tell me. Does it matter? They're strangers to me now.
After leaving the city, Cecilus summoned Xena. The apparition of the pale horse materialized beside him, startling Finnan.
"What magic type does that?" Finnan asked.
"I'm not sure," Darrin admitted. "Why don't you ask our customer? No reason to hide a magic type unless it's rare."
Finnan leaned out of the cart.
"Mister! Mister Elf! What's your magic type?"
Cecilus looked down at him. "Soul magic."
"Oh… never heard of that."
Darrin chuckled. "Elf, I get that you want to keep your identity hidden, but you could've just told him you didn't want to share. Soul magic is one of the six rarest types. Terrible choice of cover story."
Cecilus blinked.
It's that rare? The devil didn't tell me that… But if people don't even recognize it, maybe it doesn't matter.
"Sorry," Cecilus said. "Just teasing him. My real type is… creation."
Is creation even a magic type? Please let this man be clueless.
"Oh! Creation. That tracks. Didn't know they could make horses." Darrin nodded approvingly. "You learn something new every day."
It exists?! That's… not where I expected my luck to go.
They traveled for a full day before making camp.
Under the dim desert sky, Cecilus sat beside the fire while Darrin erected a tent for himself and Finnan.
"We have a spare tent," Darrin called. "You sure you don't want it?"
"No," Cecilus replied.
Finnan wandered over, curious as ever.
"Do you have any cool adventurer stories? You're an elf in the demonic continent and you've got a sword. You can't fool me. You have to be an adventurer!"
Cecilus stared at him silently.
Stories… I barely have memories of a few months. And I'm not telling him the real ones—killing, stealing, surviving. That only loses trust.
Oh. I've got it.
"A month ago," Cecilus began, "I was in the city of Vierfort. I saw a woman being harassed in an alley. I tried to warn the man off, but he bragged he was important—said crossing him would doom me."
Cecilus paused briefly, then said flatly:
"So I cut off his head."
Finnan's mouth fell open.
"So you weren't scared of the consequences?"
No. I needed the money.
"No," Cecilus said. "A real warrior protects innocents despite danger."
"Wow… so things like that happen all the time?"
"Yes," Cecilus replied. "Constantly."
"What happened to the woman?"
"She thanked me," Cecilus said quietly. "And promised not to tell anyone."
"Then you must be a good person, Mr. Elf!"
Cecilus forced a smile.
Finnan eventually drifted back to the tent, and they all slept.
Nearly a week passed before they reached Darrin's village. Sandstorms and harsh terrain slowed their pace, but the journey eventually gave way to a tropical coastline. Palm trees swayed above a small settlement, and a modest wooden dock extended into the blue water where three boats rested.
"I hope you don't mind waiting a week before departure," Darrin said. "I'd like to spend some time with my family before we set off."
Cecilus nodded.
Now he only needed to find somewhere to stay for the seven days ahead.