The morning wind swept down from the hill, cold and sharp, carrying with it the smell of damp earth and old ashes. It curled around the broken stones of the orphanage ruins as if the place itself still breathed—slow, painful breaths that had never truly stopped since that night.
Kael stood at the front of the ruins, unmoving.
The shattered doorway loomed before him like a mouth frozen mid-scream. The walls were scorched black, vines crawling over them as though nature itself tried to bury the memory beneath green silence. Yet no matter how many years passed, the air here was different—heavy, suffocating, stained with something unseen.
Kael could feel his breath trembling in his chest.
Not from fear.
From memory.
Beside him, Elric stood alert, her hand never straying far from her bow. Her posture was calm, disciplined, but her eyes never left Varyn. Every instinct in her screamed that the being walking so casually ahead of them did not belong in this world.
Varyn, on the other hand, looked utterly at ease.
He walked toward the ruin with light, unhurried steps, boots crunching softly over gravel and broken glass. His golden eyes gleamed with interest, as if he were visiting a place of nostalgia rather than a graveyard.
His steps finally stopped beneath the broken doorframe.
"This is where your life begins, right?" Varyn said lightly, glancing back over his shoulder.
Kael did not answer. His gaze was fixed on the ruin, on the doorway he had been dragged through so many times as a child—too small, too weak, too terrified to understand why pain was his daily routine.
Varyn turned fully to face him, lips curving into something that was almost a smile.
"You thought you were the only survivor of the massacre that night," he continued. "But there were others. A few children managed to run away before the fire swallowed everything."
Elric's eyes narrowed. Kael's fingers curled slowly at his side.
Varyn's smile deepened.
"But they weren't lucky," he added casually. "The cultists found them. Took them away. Continued the experiments somewhere else."
The words fell like stones.
"You mean the cultists still had those children?" Elric demanded, her voice sharp, restrained anger cutting through it.
Varyn flicked his gaze toward her, irritation flashing briefly in his golden eyes.
"Most of them died," he replied flatly. "Their bodies couldn't endure it. From what I heard, only two survived."
Silence crashed down between them.
Varyn stepped closer to Kael, his presence suddenly oppressive.
"My mother," he said without emotion. "And the man you saw in the forest—the one controlling the ghouls."
Elric sucked in a breath. Her grip tightened on her bow.
Kael's chest felt tight, as if invisible hands were squeezing his lungs.
Varyn extended his hand toward him, palm open, almost inviting.
"You're searching for the truth of this place, aren't you? Take my hand. I have information you want. Straight from the Demon Cult."
The offer hung in the air.
Kael did not move.
He lifted his gaze slowly, meeting Varyn's golden eyes with a sharp, unwavering glare.
"I don't want the truth. I just want to find their family."
For a moment, Varyn looked genuinely surprised.
Then he laughed.
It was a clear, ringing laugh—too bright for a place like this, echoing against the broken walls like mockery.
"You're really naïve, Kael!" Varyn sneered. "You think they'll rest in peace just because you find their parents?"
He tilted his head, voice dripping with cruel amusement.
"What will you tell them? That their children died screaming? That they were tortured by guardians right here?"
Elric stepped forward immediately, placing herself between them. Her bow was raised now, tension coiled in every muscle.
"Stop looking down on him," she snapped.
Varyn barely spared her a glance.
"Shut up, human. I'm talking to Kael—not a useless creature like you."
"Stop!"
Kael's voice cut through them—loud, shaking, raw.
Both Elric and Varyn turned to him.
Varyn's lips curled into a slow, dangerous smirk.
"Why?" he asked softly. "You think your guilt will disappear once you meet their parents?"
He lifted a finger, pointing lazily at the ruins behind them.
"You're wrong. Even you—"
His eyes burned brighter.
"—were thrown here by your parents."
The words struck deeper than any blade.
Kael's breath caught. For a heartbeat, the world tilted.
He had forgotten that truth. Or perhaps he had buried it so deeply that he could pretend it didn't exist. That his wish—to find the families, to give meaning to the dead—might have been nothing more than a desperate attempt to ease the unbearable weight of surviving.
The ruins stood silently behind him, bearing witness.
Elric felt Kael's body tense beside her, a barely restrained fracture spreading through him like cracks in glass. She reached out instinctively, fingers brushing his sleeve, grounding him in the present.
Varyn watched it all with keen interest, golden eyes gleaming.
"Oh, Kael," he murmured. "You survived. That alone makes you crueler than you realize."
The wind howled through the broken orphanage, rattling shattered windows like distant sobs, as the past clawed its way back into the present—demanding to be seen, to be answered, to be paid for in blood and truth.
"But, Kael."
Varyn's voice softened unnaturally, like silk drawn over a blade. The smile never left his lips, yet something colder crept into his golden eyes.
"When I think about it again," he continued, tilting his head, "you're exactly like my stupid mother."
The wind seemed to still.
"My mother believed her survival was a sin," Varyn went on, his tone turning eerier with every word. "That it was cruel she lived while her friends were left to rot here. She called it luck."
His gaze locked directly onto Kael's red eyes.
"Just like you," he whispered. "Lucky. Don't you think?"
Kael said nothing.
He stood rigid, spine straight, sword steady in his hand. The presence before him was no longer something he could mistake for human. Whatever Varyn was, whatever wore that boyish face and spoke with mockery instead of empathy—it was something born from hatred far older than flesh.
Then—
A low growl rolled through the air.
Elric reacted instantly, stepping half a pace forward, bow raised. Kael's grip tightened around his sword. The sound was familiar. Too familiar.
Ghoul.
From the shadows beyond the ruined walls, a figure emerged.
Varyn did not turn. He merely folded his hands behind his back, expression calm, almost bored.
"Aren't you feeling it too?" Varyn said lightly, speaking not to Kael, but to the presence approaching. "Come out. There's no need to hide."
Kael's breath hitched.
The man stepped into the light.
Red hair, matted and dull like dried blood. Red eyes—once bright with terror and confusion, now hollow, burning with obsession. His body moved stiffly, as if guided by something unnatural, yet his face was unmistakable.
The boy.
The one who had lost control that night.
The one who had died in front of Kael's eyes.
The man stopped several steps away and slowly lowered himself to one knee.
"Oh, our Pillar," he said reverently. "Sir Dracul."
Varyn's smile finally faded.
"Drop the formalities," Varyn snapped, golden eyes flashing. "Give me back my scroll."
He raised one hand toward the kneeling man.
"You dared to steal from your master," Varyn continued coldly, "just to act out some pitiful revenge over your idiotic past."
"This is not revenge, my lord," the red-haired man replied. His voice was steady, but something inside it trembled. "This is justice."
Kael and Elric remained silent, weapons raised, bodies tense. Kael's eyes never left the man before him. Every instinct screamed that this was wrong—that the dead should not stand, breathe, or speak.
"Where are the disappeared people from the village?" Kael demanded, his voice sharp and unwavering.
The red-haired man lifted his head.
For a brief moment, recognition flickered across his face.
He rose slowly to his feet and took a few steps closer.
"Michael…" he said softly. "You remember me, don't you?"
Kael stiffened.
"I'm John," the man continued, lips curling into a distorted smile. "You remember what happened here. You must."
Kael stepped back.
Steel rang softly as his sword rose, its tip aimed directly at John's throat.
John stopped moving.
"Where are the missing people you're keeping?" Kael asked again, his tone cold, unyielding.
John's smile faltered.
"Why do you care?" he asked, voice shaking now. "They turned their backs on us. They ignored our screams."
His eyes burned brighter.
"Didn't you come here to join me?" John pressed. "To make amends? To punish them for what they did to us?"
He took another step forward.
Kael's sword pressed closer, a thin line of blood forming at John's neck.
"Where are they?!" Kael's voice rose this time, sharp with fury.
John froze.
Then he laughed.
At first it was soft, broken—then it spiraled into something wild and manic, echoing against the ruins.
"They're dead!" John shouted. "I killed them!"
Elric's breath caught.
"Just like our friends died," John continued, eyes shining with madness. "Screaming. Begging. Forgotten!"
Kael's chest felt hollow.
He moved.
The sword lifted—
But before it could fall, something massive leapt between them.
A ghoul crashed to the ground, claws scraping against stone, its rotting body positioning itself protectively in front of John.
Elric swore under her breath as she and Kael both leapt back, weapons raised.
More shadows stirred at the edge of the ruin.
Varyn clicked his tongue in annoyance.
"Tsk," he muttered. "See? This is why I hate when people get sentimental."
The wind howled through the orphanage once more, carrying with it the screams of the past—now twisted, resurrected, and armed with hatred.
And standing at the center of it all was Kael, forced once again to face the truth he had survived…
while others had not.