The world bled slowly.Not from war. Not from plague.But from fear.
Since the fall of the kingdom of Edrian, the land had seemed ill.Crops rotted before ripening.Birds dropped from the sky, eyes burst, bones twisted — as if they were fighting something no one could see.And at night... villages vanished.No warning. No noise. Just absence.
People stopped praying.Not for lack of faith — but because they knew no god listens when even screams disappear.
The Demon King's army didn't march.It spread.
Like pus from a wound that never heals.They rose from the ground.From forgotten caves. From old wells.From the edges of lakes where the water no longer reflected light.
First came the rats.Then, the stench.And then… the bodies.
No orders. No cries.Only the wet sound of flesh on mud,and the dragging of claws far too long.
Some crawled without legs, leaving a slimy trail behind.Others grinned with torn lips and ground-down teeth — still hungry.The dead children laughed.The women cried blood from empty sockets.The men screamed forgotten names, like echoes of a war that never existed.
And the King?He did not command.Did not shout.Did not move.
He waited.
At the top of a castle — a tower of fused bones, petrified flesh, and mirrors that refused to reflect any living form — he remained.
There, Lucas.Or what remained of him.
The capital of Edrian had been buried beneath his throne.Now, in its place, rose a black mountain.The stones bled when it rained.The towers whispered the names of the dead when the wind blew.
There, time did not move.There, the sun did not touch.There, silence had weight.
They say that every time he thinks of his daughter,another city vanishes without a trace.And that if someone dares to dream of him,they wake with their throat sealed from the inside.
The Merchant of ChaosThe storm had just passed when he arrived.Mud still slid through the alleys of Varens, and the sky hung heavy between the end of one curse and the start of another.
The black carriage stopped at the gates.No horses. No wheels. It simply halted, as if it already knew the way.
Kael stepped down.The wide-brimmed hat hid his eyes. The cloak, soaked in shadow, carried the stench of places that never existed.
His feet touched the ground but left no mark — as if the world refused to remember his presence.
On the throne of Aurhan, the king watched.The hall, walled by cracked statues and faded tapestries, seemed to shrink with every step the visitor took.
Kael was not announced. No one dared stop him.He walked forward slowly, holding a small bundle wrapped in pale cloth.
He stopped before the throne. The silence was not solemn — it was thick, almost wet.
The king raised an eyebrow, wary."What do you want this time?"
Kael raised the object in his hands. Unwrapped it.Inside, a child's bracelet, made of red string and small wooden beads, worn by time.
"A gift," he said, in the calm tone of someone offering tea.
One of the generals, armor dull and scuffed, let out a short, dry laugh."That's just a cheap trinket."
Kael turned his head.Slow. Precise.
His eyes met the general's — and stayed there, unmoving, until the man's breath caught.
"Once, a king called this garbage.And today... his kingdom no longer exists."
The hall grew cold.Someone coughed in the back. No other sound dared be born.
The king stood, hesitant."Explain."
Kael lifted the bracelet with two fingers, like something sacred — or radioactive."This artifact is the only thing that can bring forth someone who survives the touch of the Abyss."
"A hero?"
Kael smiled, and in that smile was both mockery... and pity."A hero? No.A necessary mistake."
The king narrowed his eyes."How do you know that?"
Kael shrugged, like one might regret an old song."Because this bracelet...was the last thing left of the Demon King's humanity."
The silence was no longer suspicious.It was fear.The kind that freezes the body but sends the eyes searching for an exit.
"And what do you want from it?"
Kael turned. His cloak brushed the ground like smoke."The man who gave me this… traded everything he had for a chance to return home.I just want to see what happens when the door opens again."
"And did he succeed?"
Kael paused.Without looking back, he replied:"He's close. But the dead have nowhere left to return to. Isn't that right?"
And then, he left the bracelet.No price.No conditions.
"Light the Great Hero's ritual with this.If you have the courage to see what returns," he said, already disappearing into the shadows.
As if the world refused to remember he had ever been there.
The Promise That RemainsIn a faraway land — so distant no map dared trace it — a woman was dying slowly.Lara.
Sunk into the clinic bed, her body no longer felt like her own.Skin paper-thin, glowing under the sterile light.Everything smelled of endings. Of plastic silence. Of waiting far too long.
At her side, Clara.Older now.But still too young to carry so much absence in her eyes.
She held her mother's hand, but her fingers trembled less than they should have.It wasn't pain anymore.It was weariness.
The end of a hope that had rotted too slowly.
"Do you… still believe he'll come back?" Clara asked, breaking the silence.
Lara didn't answer immediately.The hiss of oxygen sounded like a forced sigh.
"'Believe'… isn't the right word," she said at last."But if he's out there… somewhere in the rot of this world…he's still trying."
Clara looked down.The bracelet on her wrist tightened.The one she had made for her father.The only bond that never broke.
"You should rest," she whispered.
Lara squeezed her daughter's hand."When he returns… promise me you won't judge him by what the world says."
"I never judged him," Clara replied, eyes steady."But he left."
Lara tried to smile.Almost succeeded.
"Sometimes… people don't leave.They're torn away."
And then, without warning… her chest stopped.No drama.No sound.Just the end.
Clara remained seated.Holding the cold hand.Eyes wet, but quiet.
The nurse entered, saw, and simply nodded.As if she'd seen that scene too many times to count.
Clara didn't turn."Just let me know… when they come for her."
That was all.
And then, she was alone.With the scent of endings clinging to her skin.
The FractureSomething cracked atop the throne of living stone.Lucas opened his eyes.
The entire castle seemed to hold its breath.As if the world had noticed something missing.
He didn't move.But inside, everything shook.
The Abyss spoke."Did you feel that?"
Lucas didn't answer.
"You don't even know what it was, do you?But some part of you cried.The part I haven't erased yet."
The veins of the hall darkened.The castle pulsed, like it was holding back breath.
And then… she appeared.
Lara.
She stood before him.Dressed like she had been in the final days before the summoning.Hair tousled.Eyes tired — but alive.
Lucas stared at her, speechless.There wasn't enough pain to explain.Nor time to apologize.
She smiled.That same sad smile — the one she gave when she knew he was about to lie and say it would be okay.
"I waited," she said, her voice coming from inside him.
Lucas dropped to his knees.The Abyssal armor cracked like dry bones.
"I tried…" he whispered. "I'm still trying… but there wasn't enough time…"
Lara stepped closer.Her hand almost touched his face.But stopped.
"You have to protect her now," she said gently."Not from our pain. From hers."
Lucas shut his eyes.But her face was already fading.As if it had never been there.
And yet, he knew.She had.
Lucas remained there.Kneeling.Hands trembling.The world too heavy for his body to hold.
The Abyss said nothing.For the first time… it was silent.There was no joke left to tell.