The birds chirped, and the river gushed, their melodies blending into a heavenly harmony.
Near the river's shallow edge stood a large rock, wide enough for two.
There sat Hound, his small feet splashing in the cool water as he gazed at the sky, a pure, carefree smile on his face, untouched by the world's worries.
"Anik!" called Kanaz, his childhood friend, as she approached him slowly.
"Kanaz... what are you doing here? If Uncle Ton sees you again—"
"It's fine! I'm the Village Madman now, just like you—remember?"
Hound studied Kanaz's face, and then a memory flickered in his mind.
Right… I taught her the prayer my grandfather taught me.
"Anik..." Kanaz's voice was soft, almost pleading.
"Can we leave this village now? Just... travel the world together?"
Hound turned to look at her—then froze.
Before his eyes, Kanaz's features shifted, morphing into the face of a grown woman.
A strange, unsettling realization settled in his chest.
"Yeah..." he murmured, his voice deeper, rougher—no longer a child's.
"We can leave now. I'll stay with you... forever."
His hand reached out, brushing her cheek—but his fingers were no longer small and smooth. They were a man's hands, calloused and strong.
Then—
—darkness.
The air thickened, the light draining away as if swallowed by the night.
Kanaz's sweet smile twisted, her teeth sharpening into jagged fangs, her eyes burning crimson. The hand gripping his wrist withered, flesh peeling back to reveal bone.
"Then be with me in the afterlife too, Anik."
Terror seized Hound—this wasn't Kanaz.
He scrambled to his feet and bolted toward the village, heart pounding.
The forest loomed black around him, yet his home blazed unnaturally bright ahead.
At the village center, where the great bonfire roared, a massive stake stood—a shadowed figure bound to it.
His tribesmen knelt in eerie unison, their bodies marked with the same crimson sigils that had once stained his own skin during the Prayer of Death.
Their eyes wept blood, glowing red as they prostrated themselves before the burning pyre.
"Let death be the start of a new beginning," they chanted, voices hollow.
"Let death be the start of a new beginning."
To his horror, Hound understood the words—the same ancient tongue his grandfather had whispered with dying breath.
Step by step, he forced himself forward, dread coiling in his gut—
—until the flames revealed the truth.
His father.
Bound.
Burning.
Yet smiling at him through the fire.
"Live..."
Hound's scream tore from his throat.
"NO!"
He lunged toward the blaze, but the ground betrayed him.
Each desperate stride only dragged him farther away, the bonfire stretching into an impossible distance.
"NO!!"
His voice shattered the night—useless, fading.
"NO!!!!"
…
Days bled together within the Bone Orchards' cursed expanse. The caravan endured wave after wave of lethal encounters—each skirmish thinning their numbers but never delivering the killing blow.
Behind them trailed a gruesome procession: the corpses of fallen comrades, left unburied, serving as sacrificial offerings to appease the night's relentless predators.
Yet this grim economy sustained them.
The butchered remains of slain beasts became their sustenance, their putrid meat passing between cracked lips.
Most disturbing of all were the Hungers—their emaciated forms now satiated, their caged existence almost peaceful despite the surrounding horrors. Their contented expressions seemed perverse amidst the carnage, like flowers blooming in a slaughterhouse.
It was late in the afternoon when Hound jolted awake, his body drenched in cold sweat, the echoes of his tribe's destruction still searing his mind.
Beside him, Lily stirred—she had been curled against him, her arms wrapped protectively around him. His sudden shout had roused her.
"What happened, little brother?" Her voice was soft with sleep but laced with concern.
Then she saw it—a single tear carving a silent path down his cheek.
Without another word, she sat up and pulled him into her arms, cradling him tightly.
"Shh... it's alright now. Your big sister won't let go."
But Hound didn't sob.
He didn't wail.
His tears fell in a relentless, soundless stream, as if his very soul were bleeding through his eyes.
His face was empty—no grief, no anguish—just an endless, hollow spill of sorrow.
"Kanaz... Father..."
And then—he smiled.
The memories of Kanaz burned bright in his mind, as vivid as the day they were made.
Their shared dreams—
Kanaz, yearning to wander the world beyond...
Anik—no—Hound, wishing only to walk beside her wherever she went.
But fate had twisted their hopes into cruel mockery.
Now, all of it was ash. As if none of it had ever been real.
Live...
His father's final command clung to him, a specter in every near-death moment—a curse as much as a plea.
Survive...
Ton's voice whispered in tandem, relentless.
"Lily..." Hound's voice was barely audible, frayed at the edges.
"How... do I start anew?"
Lily said nothing.
She only held him tighter, her arms a fortress against the storm inside him.
She understood—the hollow ache of losing everything.
The agony of breathing when the world had turned to embers.
"Hound... you can't truly start anew," Lily murmured, her voice heavy with quiet understanding.
"All you can do... is learn to carry it. To accept that everyone leaves... because that's what life is."
She tightened her arms around him, her next words soft but unshakable:
"So keep living. Not just for yourself... but for those who can't anymore."
A broken whimper escaped Hound's lips, the sound small and shattered in the dim room.
Lily held him closer—her embrace a shelter, her warmth a silent vow.
She cradled his fragile heart, piece by piece, as if her own hands could mend what fate had fractured.
…
The caravan pressed onward without pause—not by choice, but necessity.
To stop meant death, whether by the fangs of roaming beasts or the whims of the Demon Lady lounging indifferently inside her carriage.
Perched on the edge of the wagon, Hound gazed out at the darkened horizon. The moon, veiled by thick, roiling clouds, cast no light upon the wasted land.
A familiar fire stirred in his chest—the raw, clawing rage toward the creatures that had slaughtered his kin.
Compared to that carnage, even enslavement by the Raiders felt trivial.
I must keep living...
A faint, resolved smile touched his lips.
And when my time comes... Kanaz, I'll tell you of all the wonders you dreamed of seeing.
Beside him, Lily idly twirled a lock of his long, snow-white hair between her fingers.
"Hound," she teased, tugging gently,
"with hair like this, why aren't you a girl?"
Hound remained oblivious to Lily's playful antics with his hair, his attention lost in the storm of his thoughts.
But when she plucked a single black-red feather from his solitary wing, it jerked him back to reality like a lightning strike.
A primal fury surged through him—his body tensed, hands twitching with violent intent as he whipped his head toward her. The murderous glare in his eyes would have frozen most people in terror.
Yet Lily simply tilted her head and beamed, utterly unfazed by the dangerous aura radiating from him.
Her carefree smile mocked his barely-contained rage as she cooed,
"Oh my little brother... you're just too adorable when you're angry..."
Lady Rose's face lit up with genuine warmth as she watched the sibling-like banter between Hound and Lily.
Her gaze then settled on Hound, turning more instructive.
"You must master controlling your wing," she advised, her voice carrying the weight of experience.
"As a True Blessed of Death, you should be able to summon and retract it at will. This will give you an edge against equally matched opponents."
Hound met her eyes with quiet resignation.
The past was immutable—time's relentless flow carried all things forward, whether mundane or legendary. Weak as he was now, he needed guidance to grow stronger.
Strength would buy him the years needed to craft an epic tale... one he could someday share with Kanaz when they met again beyond the veil. Lady Rose's promised power was simply a means to that end.
"Remember this too, Hound," Lady Rose continued, her tone turning grave.
"Conceal your Death abilities. The Churches of Light and Life exterminated the Death Church long ago, and they won't hesitate to purge its remnants—including you." A wry smile touched her lips.
"Your white hair provides perfect cover though. Many would assume you're only a Berserker—they're uncommon but not unheard of in the eastern mercenary companies.
"Though," she added with mild amusement,
"you are rather young for that reputation."
Lily suddenly interjected with cheerful pragmatism,
"Mother, think about it—we may not have found the Death Church's lost Relic yet, but we've gained something even better: an actual Blessed of Death!"
The mention of some forgotten Relic barely registered with Hound, who dismissed it from his thoughts as irrelevant to his current path.