The town lay in shattered silence, the air thick with the acrid bite of smoke and the metallic tang of spilled blood. Rubble strewn like broken promises across the streets, the once-vibrant stalls and homes now cleaved ruins, their halves slumped in defeat. Ezmelral stood amid the devastation, her small frame trembling as she scanned the empty horizon, the roots having dragged the last of the Praexers into the earth's unforgiving depths.
"Are... are they all gone?" she asked, her voice a fragile whisper, eyes wide with a mix of hope and lingering terror.
Raiking shook his head, his crimson gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the wreckage. "No. One escaped."
She turned, staring at the sundered buildings, the clean cuts from his impossible strike still fresh in her mind. "How? How could anything survive that?"
"The Praexar Overlord fled at the moment of rebirth," he replied, his tone even, as if recounting a simple fact rather than a harbinger of greater doom.
Overlord? Ezmelral pondered silently, her heart skipping a beat. If the Commander—the twisted remnant of the slave seller—had been a nightmare made flesh, then an Overlord, a rank above, must be something far worse: a storm of shadows, a devourer of light. Aloud, she pressed, "Who was it? And why flee?"
Raiking paused, his expression unreadable. "Rain only pours downward," he said cryptically, the words hanging heavy in the air. "Who else could allow such rot to fester unchecked?"
Her mind raced, landing on the village mayor—the one who turned blind eyes to whispers of injustice, who pocketed bribes while preaching unity. Him? The pieces clicked, a chill seeping into her bones.
"The Overlord fled to guard the source," Raiking continued, turning away from the ruins. "They are the strongest among their kind—the final bulwark before the true heart of corruption."
Ezmelral's eyes widened. "A source? To the Seeds of Corruption?"
He nodded, beginning to walk toward the town's outskirts, his strides measured against the fading light. "A very long time ago, a cosmic war raged at the universe's core—Eden, the cradle of all creation. The Godking, in his conquests, battled there. With each fallen Entity, cosmic blood rained upon the Sacred Tree. In its grief, the Tree sought to purge all corruption from existence. The Seeds were its decree... and I am its scythe."
As he spoke, Ezmelral caught a rare flicker on his face—a shadow of sorrow, deep and ancient, like a crack in eternal stone. It vanished as quickly as it appeared, but it lingered in her mind, a glimpse of the weight he carried.
"Is... is that story real?" she asked, hurrying to match his pace, her voice soft with awe.
He glanced skyward, where stars began to prick the twilight veil. "Whether real or myth, it changes nothing. My mission endures."
She clutched the bird pendant at her neck, its warmth a reminder of her father's unyielding light amid the encroaching dark. "What about my father? He wasn't corrupted—he didn't transform. Surely death and destruction aren't the only paths?"
Raiking paused on the path, the forest's whispers fading into the weight of her question, his crimson eyes reflecting the fading light like distant stars. "There are some who tread the path of discipline," he said, his voice steady as an ancient oak rooted against the storm. "Like any mortal, they hear the whispers—the voices urging them toward ruin, a road of no return. But unlike the others, they resist. They forge their minds into unbreachable fortresses, tempering their will until no Seed of Corruption can ever take root."
A spark of joy flickered in Ezmelral's chest, warming the chill of her grief. She knew her father—strong, courageous, sometimes infuriatingly self-righteous with his endless lectures on honor and restraint. But in spite of it all, his soul had remained pure, untainted. His life, his nagging endurance... it had been worth something after all. She clung to the bird necklace tighter, its wooden edges biting into her palm like a lifeline.
"Is there no other solution?" she asked again, her voice laced with fragile hope.
In the shadowed depths of Raiking's mind, Eidolon's voice stirred, a cool undercurrent like wind through void. How similar they are, it observed. Their souls, their looks, their unyielding spirit.
Raiking's response was sharp, a mental blade. Enough.
Eidolon pressed on, undeterred. You cannot keep fleeing fate just because she failed.
"ENOUGH!" Raiking bellowed aloud, the word exploding from him like a thunderclap, shattering the forest's hush.
Ezmelral startled, flinching back a step, her heart leaping into her throat. It was the first crack in his armor—the first time she'd seen emotion ripple across his eternal facade. Through the Praexers' carnage, the village's ruin, the endless deaths... he'd been a statue, unmoved. Yet now, speaking of solutions, something had ignited a spark of raw feeling, making him seem almost... Exar. Something happened to him, she thought, a puzzle piece clicking into place amid her confusion. Something that still haunts him.
"I'm... I'm sorry," she stammered, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "For asking so many questions. I just... I need to know the truth."
Guilt twisted in Raiking's chest like a thorn—he hadn't meant to lash out at her, the innocent caught in his internal storm. He drew a deep breath, centering himself, the air filling his lungs like a calming tide. "A solution is a fool's delusion," he said finally, his tone regaining its steady timbre. "Only purging the filth will make amends."
"Amends?" she echoed, tilting her head, the word hanging between them like unfinished business.
"To those who have fallen," he replied, his gaze distant, as if peering into graves long filled.
Her brow furrowed, the implications sinking in. "Will there be no end, then?"
Raiking extended his hand, palm up, and in a shimmer of ethereal light, an orb materialized—translucent and glowing faintly, like a captured star cradled in mist. It hovered there, pulsing with an inner warmth that drew her eyes, unlike anything in her village tales or scribbled books. Surprise flared in her chest, but weariness dulled the shock; wonders were becoming routine in his shadow.
"What is it?" she asked, leaning closer, mesmerized by its soft radiance.
"The souls of those who resisted temptation," he explained. "Once the filth is cleansed from this planet, the innocent will reincarnate—to inherit what's left, to rebuild from the ashes."
Her heart quickened. "Is... is my father among them?"
He nodded solemnly.
"Can I see him again?" The words tumbled out, laced with desperate longing.
"Yes," Raiking said. "But he won't be your father anymore. A new life, a clean slate."
The answer hung bittersweet, a fragile comfort amid the ruins of her world. That's enough, she told herself, resolve hardening like tempered steel. To know he's out there... somewhere. Ezmelral sank to her knees in the dirt, the cool earth pressing against her skin like a indifferent witness, her small hands clasped together in desperate plea. "Please—take me as your disciple."
If reincarnation is truly possible, she thought, her mind racing through the haze of grief, then the sooner this madness ends, the sooner I can meet my father again.
As her words hung in the air, Eidolon stirred in Raiking's mind, its voice a sly whisper coiling like smoke. History repeats its cruel cycle, it murmured. Will you forsake this orphaned girl, or shoulder the responsibility for the path you've set her on?
Raiking stared down at her, his crimson eyes unreadable—until a flicker crossed his vision, an after-image superimposing over her small form: another face, smiling with the same earnest hope, the echo of a voice long silenced asking, So, will you? Will you take me as your disciple?
Guilt crashed over him like a tidal wave, mingled with regret and a sorrow that clawed at his ancient heart. The words burst from him, unbidden and raw: "I will."
Eidolon's mocking laugh echoed in his mind, sharp as shattering glass. Foolish is the head that wears the crown, it taunted, the sound fading like a dying wind as the spirit dissolved into silence.
Ezmelral's head snapped up, her face breaking into a bright, radiant smile—one that pierced Raiking's chest like a blade, twisting deeper than any wound. He turned abruptly, striding onward to escape the sting, his cloak swirling in the breeze.
She scrambled to her feet, rushing to catch up, her steps light despite the shadows clinging to her heart.
High in the trees above, crows perched like silent sentinels, their black eyes glinting as they watched the duo depart. The girl's voice carried on the wind: "Where to next, Master?"
His reply was simple, laced with quiet resolve: "To train."
One crow cocked its head, then took wing, soaring toward the distant ruins of the town they'd left behind, a dark omen against the fading sky.