Rion didn't remember how long he ran—
Only that when he finally stopped, he collapsed against the trunk of a massive cedar, chest heaving, hands shaking uncontrollably.
The forest around him was quiet. Too quiet.
As if even the birds felt the aftermath of what he had unleashed.
He stared at his trembling fingers.
The faint black veins under his skin pulsed once… then faded.
"Azrath…"
His voice sounded small, hollow.
"What was that?"
The demon was silent for long enough that Rion feared he wouldn't answer.
Finally, Azrath exhaled—a low, pained breath that vibrated through Rion's bones.
"The beginning."
The answer chilled him.
"The beginning of what?"
"Of what you are becoming."
Rion squeezed his eyes shut.
His mind replayed the scene again:
the shadows ripping out from his back,
the screams,
the uncontrollable rage in his chest.
"I could have killed them."
"You didn't."
"Not because I stopped it—because you did."
Azrath's tone sharpened.
"If I hadn't intervened, you would have burned your soul out in seconds."
Rion's stomach twisted.
Azrath's voice shifted—no longer mocking, no longer mysterious.
Just… tired.
"You need to understand something, boy."
"The Order does not fear demons."
"They fear what creates demons."
Rion frowned.
"What do you mean?"
The forest dimmed as Azrath spoke, shadows thickening around them.
> "Demons are not a species. We are not born. We are made."
Rion froze.
Azrath continued:
"When a human's soul fractures beyond its limit… when grief, rage, despair, or betrayal becomes too much…"
"A demon is born."
Rion's heart slammed against his ribs.
"…You're saying demons were once human?"
Azrath chuckled bitterly.
"Some of the strongest ones, yes."
"But the Order would burn every scripture they own before admitting that."
Rion tried to steady his breathing.
"So why do they fear you?"
Azrath hesitated.
"Because I am not a demon formed from despair."
"…Then from what?"
A pause.
A whisper.
"I am what emerges when betrayal becomes divine."
Rion's skin prickled.
Azrath wasn't describing corruption.
He was describing punishment.
---
Far from the forest, inside the moonstone walls of the Order's main citadel, Seraphine knelt before the High Council.
The air was thick with incense and reprimand.
Seven figures sat in a half circle above her, faces masked behind silver veils.
A voice—cold, ancient—spoke first.
"Report."
Seraphine swallowed, forcing her voice steady.
"Rion lives. But… he is bound. A demon is fused to his soul."
A whisper of outrage rippled through the council chamber.
The eldest councilor leaned forward.
"And his condition?"
Seraphine's hands tightened.
"…He manifested a form I've never seen. Shadows. Tendrils. His aura… it felt like Azrath's."
The chamber fell to silence.
A different voice spoke, softer but far more dangerous.
"Then our fears were correct."
Seraphine raised her head slightly.
"High Councilor, Rion is not lost. He resisted the corruption. I saw it myself—"
"You saw what he allowed you to see."
Seraphine froze.
Another councilor lifted a scroll.
On it was a black seal—the Order's highest-level directive.
A Death Mandate.
"Seraphine Vale," the councilor declared,
"you are hereby commanded to retrieve Rion Thale…"
Seraphine's breath caught.
"…or execute him if retrieval fails."
Her heart felt like it cracked clean in two.
"No…" she whispered.
"He is not the enemy."
The High Councilor's reply was merciless.
"He is no longer Rion Thale. He is the vessel of Azrath."
"And a vessel must be emptied."
Seraphine bowed her head—
But her trembling hands betrayed her.
Deep beneath the citadel, in a chamber untouched by time, a lone figure knelt in prayer.
Cloaked in white, face hidden behind a veil of blessed chains.
The Silent Saint.
The Order's most feared weapon.
A living miracle.
A human whose voice alone could exorcise armies.
The High Councilor descended the stairs, robes whispering.
"He has awakened," the councilor said.
"Azrath has found a new bearer."
The Silent Saint did not speak—
could not speak—
but the air around him pulsed with pressure, as if reality tightened in fear.
The councilor laid a silver hand over the Saint's chained shoulder.
"Go."
"Find the boy."
"And erase the demon."
The Silent Saint rose.
Chains clinked softly.
Holy light flared under his veil.
No footsteps.
No words.
Just a shift in air—
and he was gone.
Back to Rion
Rion sensed it before Azrath said a word.
A cold wind.
A pressure like a storm approaching.
A presence that felt… holy. But twisted.
Azrath growled—an animal sound full of memory and hatred.
"He's awake."
Rion tensed.
"Who?"
Azrath whispered with dread that made Rion's blood turn to ice.
"The Silent Saint."
The forest seemed to inhale.
The world held its breath.
Azrath continued:
"The only human who ever erased a demon's existence completely."
"The one who ended my first life."
Rion staggered.
"…He killed you?"
"He erased me."
"That is why the shrine remembered my death—yet I did not."
Rion's pulse hammered in his ears.
He wasn't just hunted anymore.
He was being pursued by the one existence Azrath feared.
And somewhere far behind him—
Seraphine, his mentor, held a mandate to kill him.
Rion clenched his fists.
"Azrath…"
"Can we fight him?"
A long, dreadful silence.
Then:
"…No."