The first sound was screaming.
Then came the fire.
It devoured the wooden cottages one by one, painting the snow in streaks of crimson and gold. The smell of ash and blood clung to the air, thick and suffocating. Amidst the chaos, three children ran through the burning village—breathless, terrified, clinging to what little remained of home.
"Sydian, this way!" Lydian shouted, her silver hair whipping in the wind as she dragged her younger brother toward the forest path.
Renox followed close behind, his arm bleeding from a slash he didn't remember receiving. "The eastern ridge is clear—we can make it if we—"
A crash cut him off. A house collapsed beside them, throwing shards of burning timber into the snow.
Sydian stumbled but refused to let go of Lydian's hand. His small fingers were trembling, yet his eyes—those strange, frost-blue eyes—were dry. "Why are they doing this?" he whispered, his voice cracked from smoke.
Lydian didn't answer. Because she didn't know.
The men who attacked their village wore no colors, no emblems. Only masks—smooth white, emotionless. Their weapons glowed with runes not of this region. Mercenaries. Hunters. But of what, no one could tell.
They ran until the screams faded into the night. Until only the wind howled through the snow-covered trees.
Then—silence.
They found a narrow cave hidden beneath the roots of an ancient oak. Lydian pressed Sydian against her chest, her heartbeat fast but steady. "We'll wait here. The fire won't reach us."
Renox leaned against the wall, his breath misting in the cold. "They burned everything… even the shrine."
Lydian closed her eyes. "The shrine was what they came for. The relic—Father tried to stop them."
Her voice broke. None of them mentioned what they saw before fleeing: their father's body among the flames, the sacred stone shattered beside him.
For a long while, no one spoke.
Outside, snow began to fall again—quietly, as if the world tried to bury the night's horror beneath a blanket of white.
Hours passed.
Then, faintly, footsteps crunched against snow.
Renox stood, his instincts screaming. "Someone's coming."
Lydian pressed a hand to his shoulder. "Hide the light."
They doused their faint ember. The darkness swallowed them whole.
Three shadows appeared outside the cave mouth—tall, armored, deliberate. A deep voice spoke, calm but cruel.
"Three signatures detected. Two with awakened Aethel. One dormant. Bring them alive."
Before they could move, the world erupted.
Aetheric chains burst through the entrance, glowing blue as they wrapped around Sydian's arm. He screamed as the energy burned his skin.
"SYDIAN!" Lydian lunged forward, slashing the chains with her blade of light. It shattered—but more took its place.
Renox charged, his earth-forged weapon meeting a masked soldier's halberd. Sparks danced between them. "Run, Lydian!"
But she didn't. She couldn't.
She grabbed Sydian's hand, pulled with everything she had—but the chains dragged him toward the snow outside. His nails clawed against the ground, leaving streaks of blood. "Don't let go!" she cried.
"I—I won't!" Sydian screamed, reaching for her.
Another soldier appeared behind her, striking her with the butt of his weapon. The world spun. She fell, her vision blurring as Sydian's fingers slipped from hers.
"LYDIAN!!!"
His voice tore through the night.
Then, only the echo of metal and snow remained.
When Lydian awoke, the cave was gone. The village was gone.
Only Renox knelt beside her in the ruins of the forest, eyes hollow and wet.
"They took him," he whispered. "They took Sydian."
Lydian's breath caught. Her hand trembled as she reached for the sky—gray, heavy, unfeeling. "He's still alive," she murmured, almost to herself. "I'll find him. No matter how long it takes."
Renox lowered his head. "Then I'll help you."
Far away, in a camp lit by iron torches, Sydian knelt in chains.
The mercenaries said nothing to him. They spoke instead to a man cloaked in black, his eyes reflecting violet light.
"The boy's resonance is unstable," one reported. "But his potential—"
"—is extraordinary," the man finished. His voice was soft, like silk over glass. "Take him to the Abyssal Hold. We will shape him into something useful."
---
Sydian stared at the snow falling through the iron bars above him. He thought of his sister's hand—warm, trembling—and how it slipped away.
Something inside him cracked.
The boy who once dreamed of protecting his family closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, the world looked different. Colder.
Years passed.
In the ruins of the north, legends began to spread—of a masked reaper cloaked in ash and silence, wielding a scythe forged from broken light. They called him Ashen, a name whispered by soldiers and sinners alike.
Some said he was a ghost who hunted the guilty.
Others said he was just a killer.
But none knew his truth.
---
And somewhere far to the south, within the golden towers of Ignis Academy, two young warriors trained under the banner of light—the girl with silver hair and the boy who swore to protect her smile.
Their names: Lydian and Renox.
When she closed her eyes, she still heard that night—the scream, the snow, the promise she made to a fading star.
"I'll find you."
---
Fate, however, was already moving.
The wind that once carried ashes now carried whispers.
The reaper and the dawn would meet again—
not as children of one home,
but as forces born of grief and fire.
And when they did…
Veridia itself would tremble.