The night was far too cold for summer.A faint fire crackled in the center of the cabin, casting trembling shadows across the wooden walls.In a worn-out armchair, an old man rocked his grandson in his arms.The boy trembled.Not from cold — but from excitement.
"Tell me again, Grandpa.""About the Demon King."
The old man scratched his patchy beard. His gray eyes drifted for a moment into the darkness beyond the window.
"It's late, kid...""Please! The part about the bleeding eyes!"
He grunted, but smiled.A sad smile. Almost invisible.
"Alright... But then you sleep.""I promise!"
The old man cleared his throat.The firewood cracked like old bones.
"They say he was a man.A man like any other.He had a name. A home.He had a daughter."
The boy listened with wide eyes, clutching a torn cloth he used as a blanket.
"But they took her from him.And when they did... something inside him died."
"And that's when he became the Demon King?"
"No.He became silence."
The boy frowned."Silence?"
"Yeah. A silence so heavy the world started sinking with him."
The flame flickered. The light seemed to hesitate.The old man glanced at the door, not turning his head.
"What did he do?" the boy whispered.
"He didn't scream.He didn't cry.He didn't ask for vengeance."
"Then what?"
"He just... waited.Sitting on a throne made of bones and broken promises.And the world started dying on its own."
The boy pulled the cloth tighter against his chest."And the dead?"
The old man nodded, his voice lower now."They came.Not as soldiers.But as memories that refused to die."
"Are they scary?"
"No.They're what's left.Children who never came home.Fathers who swore they'd survive... and failed."
Outside, the wind stopped.The old man froze for a second.So did the boy.
"Grandpa...?""Shhh."
The trees, once rustling, stood still.No leaves. No night sounds.Only silence... too heavy.
"They only walk in the north, right?We're far from there... right, Grandpa?"
But the old man was already on his feet.Slow.Cautious.
He grabbed the axe leaning against the wall.
"Go to the cellar. Lock the door from the inside.""Grandpa...?"
His breathing quickened.
"Now, boy. Go."
The boy ran.The old man shoved the table against the door.
The fire went out on its own. No wind.
From outside,a sound.First, a scratch.Then, something like a body being dragged across the ground.
The old man gripped the axe with both hands.And then... the wall bulged.
As if it were breathing.
"No..." he muttered, stepping back. "Not here..."
The floor trembled.The wood gave way.And from within the boards, something emerged.
Black hands. Stitched bones.Too many teeth for a single mouth.
The old man screamed.Swung his axe.
But it was like cutting rotten smoke.
Downstairs, the boy heard his grandfather's screams.And then... nothing.
Not even sound.Not even wind.Just the weight of a legend that, that night, became truth.
The Hall of ChainsThe chamber was cold, even with the torches lit.Tall walls made of black stone and darkened mirrors reflected the light with a filthy sheen.The ceiling could not be seen — swallowed by smoke, as if the castle itself refused to show what loomed above.
Here, in the heart of Aurhan, the king waited.Seated, crown crooked on his head, eyes sunken from sleepless nights.
Around him, the Circle was complete.Five mages.Five names feared even by their own children.
Each wore a different robe. None showed their face.
At the center of the stone table, atop a pedestal lined with salt and ashes — a bracelet.Simple.Red.Almost childish.
But no one dared touch it.
The king was the first to speak."You all know why you're here."
One of them, the youngest, stepped forward. His voice trembled beneath his hood.
"The legend says the Grand Hero Ritual wasn't meant for this time, Your Majesty."
The king didn't avert his gaze."We are no longer in a time. We're at its end."
Silence.
Another mage, voice rough like burned leather, crossed his arms."This thing..." he pointed at the bracelet. "It's not an artifact.No runes. No magical core. Nothing."
The king smiled."And still... it makes the ground tremble."
They all fell silent.
A third mage, who had not spoken since arriving, murmured:"It was made with love."
The others turned to him."True love.Before it was corrupted.Before it became longing."
The king leaned forward."Love is what brought the Demon King this far.Maybe... it's what will destroy him too."
The eldest stepped toward the pedestal.His hands were wrapped in ritual gloves stitched with children's hair.He stood before the bracelet.Took a deep breath.Then said:
"If this is what Kael claims it is...the world will change today."
"Then change it," the king ordered."Before he destroys what's left."
TransitionIt had been three months since the last "goodnight."Clara now lived with a distant aunt, in a town too small to hide and too big to contain grief.
The room was new.The bed, strange.The food, flavorless.
She didn't talk much.The neighbors said it was because of her mother.
But Clara knew it wasn't just that.
There was something inside her.Something that didn't know where to go since Lara closed her eyes for the last time.
At night, sometimes, she dreamed of fire.Of shadows.Of a hand trying to reach her through the mirror.
She would wake up with the bracelet squeezing her wrist,as if it were trying to hold her by itself.
She never took it off.Not even to bathe.
It was all she had left.
Where Chaos RestsThe hall remained silent.No screams. No orders.Just the stillness of a world that had stopped breathing.
Lucas still sat on the throne.Motionless.
But his eyes were open.
And then, it came.The Abyss.It slipped free.
Like a rotting memory slithering between ribs.Like a wound that refuses to close.
It slithered out of Lucas's chest,twisting into tentacles and shapes that should not exist,until it took something resembling a body.
It smiled.Too wide.
"Our army's doing lovely work out there."
It cracked its neck with bone-snapping pops.
"Farhen fell yesterday.Today, Cazryn.The villages are melting like butter under a dead sun."
It walked toward the throne, locking eyes with Lucas.
"Soon, we'll have enough power to turn this world into silence.Sweet... warm... irreversible."
It made a theatrical bow. Mocking.
"And of course...You'll see your little girl again."
It said that as if offering hope.But every syllable dripped with poison.
"How about a walk, hmm?Stretch those legs?Destroy a kingdom or two... knock the rust off?"
Lucas didn't respond.But the tightening grip on the throne arms made the stone groan.
The Abyss tilted its head, pleased."Aha... there he is."
Then it returned to where it came from.It didn't vanish.It slid back between the ribs —as if it had never left.