Chapter 4 — Eyes That See Too much
The morning sun shone brightly, casting golden beams over the cobblestone streets of the harbor city. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of fresh bread and saltwater. For most, it was just another ordinary day.
For Aryn, it was another chance to forget what he couldn't do.
He had already been awake for hours, his body aching from the hard floor he'd slept on. The rotting wood of his tiny house didn't give him the comfort of a bed, but it didn't matter. He had bigger things to worry about—like how to make enough coin for the day.
With a sigh, Aryn pulled his coat tighter around him, stepping out into the hustle of the market district. The streets were alive with merchants calling out their wares, the clatter of carts, and the occasional haggling. It was a place where anyone could blend in, and that was just how he liked it.
Today, he worked as a hand for one of the fishmongers, hauling crates and cleaning out the stalls for a few silver coins. It wasn't glamorous, but it was enough to keep him fed for another night. Not that it mattered.
He didn't care about the work itself. The constant noise of the crowd and the slap of fish against wood helped drown out the thoughts swirling in his mind.
As he worked, his mind drifted back to his thoughts from last night. Elaina's face—the strange girl who had appeared out of nowhere—kept resurfacing in his thoughts. Who was she? How did she do that strange, calm magic without even trying? And why did his eyes always see things no one else could?
His Omni Eye flickered again, causing his vision to split briefly, showing him the magic-infused threads weaving between the fish crates, the people, and the stalls. He winced, feeling a dull throb building in his head.
"Oi! You gonna stand there all day, or help me with these?" The fishmonger's gruff voice cut through his thoughts.
Aryn blinked, shaking his head and returning to the present.
"Right, sorry," he muttered, stepping forward to grab another crate.
It was a mundane existence. He'd spent so many days like this—grinding through menial tasks, avoiding the questions that always seemed to follow him.
The truth was, he was tired of being a nobody. Tired of watching the world around him glow with magic that he couldn't touch. But today, like every day, he was just another cog in the machine.
And as much as it frustrated him, he knew there wasn't much else he could do.
The thought of magic—of having a power like Elaina's, like the others who wielded it so effortlessly—lingered in his mind like a forgotten dream. A dream he couldn't chase, no matter how badly he wanted it.
Deep within the thick, enchanted forest of Elforia, where the path to the neighboring continent lay hidden behind ancient trees and veils of mist, the battle was about to unfold.
A fierce wind howled through the trees, whipping the leaves into a frenzy. The air crackled with energy, magic swirling in the clearing where two figures faced off—one shrouded in mystery, the other radiating a divine aura.
The Saintess stood tall, her eyes glowing with a serene, unwavering power. Her robes shimmered like light woven from the very essence of the stars, her staff crackling with the purity of her light magic. She was Elforia's holy protector, chosen by the gods themselves, and she wasn't about to let some masked stranger disrupt the peace of her land.
Opposite her, the man—known only as V—stood calmly, his black attire blending into the shadows, the red "V" insignia glowing faintly across his chest. A mask hid his face, but his sharp eyes, gleaming with intelligence and frustration, were all too visible.
"I don't want to fight," V said, his voice muffled by the mask, but sharp as a blade. "But if you don't get out of my way, I'll have to."
The Saintess raised her staff, her eyes narrowing. "You are no mere traveler. Leave now, before I am forced to act."
V's lips twitched beneath the mask. He flicked his hand, and with a sudden movement, threw a card into the air. It spiraled and landed on the ground, glowing with an eerie light.
In the blink of an eye, V vanished. The Saintess's eyes flared with a flash of light as she instinctively struck with a bolt of divine energy, but the blast hit nothing but air. She gritted her teeth.
"Teleportation... clever," she muttered under her breath.
From behind her, V reappeared, the shadows around him swirling like a living thing. He held a second card in his hand, a tarot card this time—dark and twisted, its edges crackling with violent energy.
"Don't mistake me for a mere magician," V said, his voice growing more intense. He tossed the card into the air again, and this time, lightning crackled from it, striking the earth with a deafening roar.
The Saintess barely had time to raise her staff before the bolt of lightning collided with her shield, sending her sliding backward on the forest floor. She winced, the magical barrier absorbing the brunt of the strike but still leaving her rattled.
"Impressive," she said, recovering quickly. "But it won't be enough."
She twirled her staff, and beams of light erupted from the tip, streaking toward V. But he was faster. With a wave of his hand, he threw another card into the air—a card of silver, gleaming and shifting.
A shield of translucent energy formed around him, absorbing the light blasts like a sponge. The Saintess's magic collided with it, but it held, shimmering in the air like liquid silver.
"You'll need more than that," V taunted, his voice steady as he moved, calculating every step.
With another flick of his wrist, V threw another card. This one was large, black with red symbols twisting on its surface. It spun through the air, creating a swirling vortex of dark energy that pulled at the very fabric of the air around them.
The Saintess narrowed her eyes, realizing the danger. She dashed to the side, narrowly avoiding the pull of the card's vortex. But as she moved, V teleported again, this time appearing directly in her path.
"You're fast," she said, gritting her teeth. "But not fast enough."
With a sweeping motion, she summoned a wave of holy light that cascaded from the heavens, illuminating the entire forest clearing. The force of it was enough to shake the ground beneath their feet, and the trees seemed to bow in reverence.
V's mask tilted slightly, a sign of respect, but his lips curled into a thin smile. "I never said I was just fast."
He threw a final card—a red card, the color of blood, of fire. As it soared through the air, the entire forest seemed to tremble. Lightning and fire collided as it landed, bursting in a conflagration of energy that twisted reality itself.
The Saintess raised her staff, casting an impenetrable dome of light around her. The flames and energy crashed against it with a deafening roar, the forest lighting up like a storm had taken hold of the world.
But V wasn't done. With his fingers flicking the air, he activated a hidden trick. The tarot cards he had thrown earlier began to hum with power, and the air around them distorted as the cards rearranged, forming a hidden pattern—one he had designed, an intricate trap.
"Endgame," he muttered.
Suddenly, the Saintess found herself trapped. The ground beneath her shifted, and vines of shadow erupted from the earth, wrapping around her legs. Her magic flared, but the vines were made of a material she couldn't purify. Her eyes widened in realization.
"You... You're manipulating the cards like a puppet," she gasped.
V's voice was calm, almost bored. "You're perceptive, Saintess. But the game is over."
With a final flick of his wrist, the remaining cards launched themselves like missiles, each card a deadly bolt of magic designed to pierce through even the mightiest shields.
The Saintess's eyes flared with determination. "I won't lose here. Not today."
But even as her staff lit up with holy magic, V's attack came too fast, too precisely timed. His strategy had worked—every move, every card, had been calculated.
With a sickening crack, the Saintess's shield shattered, and the cards embedded themselves into the ground around her.
She fell to her knees, weakened, but not defeated. Her eyes glowed with a final burst of light, and she forced herself to stand, the last of her magic radiating from her body.
"I don't know who you are," she said, her voice strained but defiant, "but this fight isn't over."
V tilted his head, clearly impressed. "You are resilient. I'll give you that." He raised a hand, readying his final card. "But it's too late."
The battle raged on, but for the Saintess, it was becoming clear that this was no ordinary opponent.
This was a strategist. A master of the cards.
And he was about to end this war.
V stood still for a moment, his eyes cold and calculating beneath his mask. The battle had been fierce, but the Saintess's resolve, her strength, was no match for the perfection of his strategy. He had studied her every move, every spell, and now the time had come to end it.
His fingers twitched, and from the folds of his cloak, he drew a single card—black as night, its edges shifting with dark energy. The Black Card. A trump card he kept hidden until the very end. It was a card unlike any other—cursed, dangerous, and infused with a deep, corrupted magic.
"Goodbye," V whispered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the crackling energy in the air.
In a single swift motion, he hurled the Black Card through the air, watching as it sliced through the tension of the battlefield. The Saintess, still trying to summon the last remnants of her power, raised her staff to block the inevitable. But she was too slow.
The card struck her with a force that shattered the very air around her. The impact was like a sudden explosion, an eruption of pure dark magic that consumed everything in its path. The Saintess's eyes widened in shock, but there was no time to react, no time to defend.
Her body jerked violently, her magic cracking under the pressure of the Black Card's power. The once brilliant light that surrounded her began to flicker and fade, replaced by an oppressive darkness. The card's energy tore through her magical defenses like paper, and she fell to her knees, gasping for breath.
"Impossible..." she murmured, her vision blurring.
V stepped forward, his expression unchanged. His eyes locked onto her as she crumpled before him. The Black Card had done its work—its magic absorbed the very essence of her being, the divine power that made her the Saintess, draining it until there was nothing left.
The Saintess gasped once more, her hands clutching her chest as the life drained from her. She was powerless against the magic of the Black Card. The light in her eyes faded, and her body went still, a final gasp escaping her lips as the life force was completely sucked into the card.
V reached down and grabbed the Black Card, now glowing with the absorbed energy. He could feel it—her strength, her purity—now part of him. He absorbed it, savoring the power that pulsed through the card. This was no ordinary kill. It was a ritual, a dark, ancient magic that allowed him to harness the essence of his fallen foes.
The Saintess's body crumpled to the ground, lifeless. The forest around them seemed to still, as if holding its breath. V stood over her, the Black Card now glowing with the power it had stolen from the holy protector of Elforia.
For a moment, he said nothing. He simply watched as the last remnants of her power settled into the card, and he knew that he had won. But this victory was only a small piece of the larger game—a game that would unfold far beyond this battle.
Turning his back on the fallen Saintess, V flicked his fingers, and a small portal of darkness opened before him. Without a second glance, he stepped into it, disappearing from the forest and leaving the silence behind.
The Black Card, still glowing with dark energy, was all that remained of the Saintess.
In the Sanctum Arcane, a grand temple hidden deep within the sacred mountains, the holy knights knelt in solemn prayer. Rows of flickering candles lined the marble halls, casting warm glows across the ancient stone walls.
Suddenly, without warning, the flames extinguished—one by one—until the entire sanctum was swallowed in eerie darkness.
A chilling silence followed.
Then came the realization.
"Where is Saint Seraphine?" one of the knights asked, his voice tight with dread.
"She hasn't returned from her journey... She should've been back by dawn."
Panic spread through the temple like a wave. The disappearance of a saint—and the extinguished flames—could only mean one thing:
Something terrible had happened.
Inside the Sanctum Arcane, the air grew cold. The prayers of the holy knights halted as the candles flickered and died one by one, as if something had torn through the balance of the world.
Heavy footsteps echoed down the stone corridor. An old man in a white-and-gold robe rushed into the main chamber, his breath uneven, his usually calm eyes wide with panic.
"Seraphine…" his voice trembled. "Saintess Seraphine has fallen."
The room froze. A few knights dropped their sacred texts. A young acolyte covered her mouth, stunned.
"She was ambushed at the Elforia border. The enemy… they weren't creatures of the Void. No." The elder clenched his fist. "It was The Seekers."