Night draped the world in its ink-stained cloak, fresh and whispering. Shadows danced along cobbled streets as Sylas stepped out of the orphanage. Kael still inside was still packing.
The town slept. No lights besides the street lamps.
Not a soul stirred as Sylas wandered the empty alleys, his boots echoing against stone. Before he realized, he was standing in front of the cleric's lab—an old, weathered door, its wood scarred by years of alchemy and age.
He reached for the handle, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Even this late… Escelius is experimenting.
The moment the door creaked open—
Woosh.
A bottle zipped past his head, smashing behind him into a bloom of white smoke. Glass rained like stars.
Inside, Escelius stood, hair tousled, coat smudged with soot, eyes ringed with exhaustion. He barely glanced up.
"I was just thinking about you," he muttered.
Sylas stepped in, coughing. "What the hell was that?"
Escelius blinked. His eyes lit up. "That? That was new."
He ducked behind his desk and pulled out a glass orb—clear, cold, with dense white gas swirling inside.
"A gas bomb," he said proudly. "Throw it, and vanish in smoke."
Sylas opened his mouth to respond, but Escelius was already rummaging again.
This time, he drew out a sphere unlike anything Sylas had seen. Not black. Not dark. Void. A perfect absence of light, of color—of presence.
"This," Escelius said grandly, cradling the orb like it might vanish, "is my magnum opus.
Null Horizon.
Against this… nothing stands a chance."
He held it out.
Sylas hesitated. "Why give it to me?"
The cleric's smile faded. His eyes darkened—not with fear, but with memory.
"I helped build the orphanage. I won't let it burn. I know you're going after the princess… You'll need to be prepared."
Sylas leaned in. "So you know. They're coming."
Escelius nodded. "Of course. It's nearly common knowledge now."
"Then why?" Sylas asked. "Why are they coming?"
A strange silence followed. Escelius smiled—but not like before. It was a smile dipped in sorrow.
"We don't have the luxury of answers.
The only salvation we ever had… was her.
Mercy. She was our hero. My hero. Our mercy.
When she returned to town, we rejoiced.
Because we no longer feared each time she left.
No longer grieved when she didn't return."
Sylas frowned. "Hero? What do you mean?"
Escelius waved the question away. "Forget what I said."
He pushed the orb into Sylas' palm.
"And while you're at it," Sylas interrupted, "I'll take three vials of healing essence. Poison, too. And something that melts metal."
Escelius chuckled, knowing resistance was futile. "Of course you're like this."
He handed over the items, then paused.
"One more thing. Visit the blacksmith. He has something for you.
Call him Grandpa Forger.
It'll make his day."
Sylas walked through the sleeping city, puzzling over the name.
Grandpa? Are we related...?
He looked up—and found himself standing before the forge.
The clang of steel rang through the air like war drums. Sparks painted the night gold.
Do these people never sleep?
He stepped in. Heat rushed to greet him like a wave. Inside, flames breathed like beasts.
"You called for me?" he asked, hesitating, "...Grandpa Forger?"
The smith paused, his hammer mid-swing. His eyes studied Sylas carefully.
"Did Mercy tell you to call me that?"
Sylas played along. "Yes. She told me… everything."
The smith's brow furrowed. "Everything?
Did she mention Luna?
Did she tell you Luna hated her?"
Sylas blinked. "Hated? Why would the princess hate mercy?"
Forger smirked. "Then you lied."
Sylas stiffened. "Just tell me. Please. I have to know."
The smith turned back to the fire, voice low. "If she hasn't told you… it's not time."
From the coals, he pulled out two glowing daggers, still red-hot.
"You could say this is the best weapon I've ever made."
He held them out.
Sylas flinched. "Aren't they still—?"
"Watch."
The smith raised the blades. The air around them began to compress, warping—then, with a hiss, the pressure vanished. The red glow faded, replaced by a shimmering crystal black.
Sylas stared. "How…?"
Forger simply replied, "Omnimancy."
Sylas narrowed his eyes. "What's Omnimancy?"
The smith only nodded. "You'll understand… soon."
Sylas walked down the night. Examining the blades.
The blade looked strange.
Tiny holes ran along the spine—barely visible, like the weapon was breathing through them.
From outside, Kael's voice broke the quiet.
"Sylas! The Head Nun wants you!"
Sylas turned. The orphanage stood before him like a still frame from a memory.
He stepped inside. Each footstep echoed down the wooden hall, calm and steady, like the house itself was listening.
He reached the familiar door. Pushed it open.
"Welcome back," said Mercy, her back turned. She held a box in her hands, old and carved with faded etchings.
She offered it to him without turning around.
"I kept this for you... for the day you'd need it."
A pause hung in the air like dust.
"I didn't think it'd be so soon."
Sylas looked at the box. The wood was worn, the carvings almost erased by time.
"What's in it?" he asked.
Mercy gave a soft, sad smile.
"Some clothes I made. I thought you'd have more time to grow." Her fingers brushed at her eyes. "And some money I kept—for you and Kael."
Sylas stepped forward, reached out. His hand met hers, still holding the box.
He didn't let go.
"Mother," he whispered, "don't cry. I'll be back before you know it. I'll bring souvenirs—with Luna."
Mercy nodded slowly, trying to smile through it.
"And I'll be here. Waiting."
In his room, Sylas set the box down on the desk.
The room felt smaller than he remembered. Quieter.
He opened the lid.
Inside was a long white coat, folded with care. Next to it, a pouch. It clinked when he lifted it—crescent-shaped silver coins caught the light, bright and clean.
He turned one in his fingers.
"Crescent coin… these go for a lot," he muttered.
At the bottom of the box, something else.
A drawing. Old, edges curled from time.
He had drawn it as a child.
Mercy, holding his hand. Kael standing beside them. All three smiling.
At the top, in messy handwriting:
"My Family."
Sylas stared at it.
And smiled—but it didn't reach his eyes.
"I thought I'd leave with a smile," he whispered. "So why does it feel like I won't see them again?"
The door creaked open behind him.
Kael stood in the doorway, arms crossed.
"It's time, don't you think?"