'Solomon Dragonheart… To think he would be here as well—alongside Ragnar Frost.'
Azriel stared at the drone hovering before him, thoughts swirling in his mind.
It was already shocking enough that his father's best friend, Ragnar, was here. But not just him—one of the most talented humans in history stood behind that screen as well.
Ragnar Frost. A rival to his father since childhood. Now the youngest head among the four great clans.
Azriel didn't blame Ragnar for his caution. He would've done the same.
Besides…
'He lost his parents to skinwalkers seven years ago.'
A Grade 1 Titan-ranked skinwalker had murdered Ragnar's mother and taken her place, infiltrating the Frost estate. It slaughtered Ragnar's father and over a thousand humans before it was brought down.
It was still known as one of Asia's greatest tragedies.
1,259 lives. Lost because of a single skinwalker.
Azriel exhaled slowly.
'You never know what might happen in this world.'
Then there was Solomon.
A Grade 2 Saint at the age of twenty-six.
'A monster.'
Azriel remembered the few banquets he'd attended, and Solomon was always there.
Always smiling. Always watching. And, for some reason, always trying to talk to him.
'No. I know the reason very well…'
It was because Azriel was talented.
But he had never tried to show that to the world.
He trained in silence. Alone. Away from the noise.
There was no need to walk the same path as those close to him.
His father had understood that—and made sure Azriel was still more than capable of defending himself if needed.
But that attitude had brought its own problems.
'A lot of misunderstandings came from that.'
People like Solomon had grown curious. Why didn't Azriel show off like his sister, Jasmine? Why did he stay in the shadows?
Whenever he spoke with Solomon, there was always one lingering thought:
'He's terrifying.'
'That fucking creepy smile. And those eyes…'
Azriel shuddered slightly as Ragnar's voice echoed through the drone.
"Azriel, Saint Solomon should arrive at your location in approximately fifteen minutes."
'Fifteen minutes. Good… I'm so damn tired. I just want to sleep. To think all of this happened just because I wanted a glass of water…'
He chuckled weakly.
"I see, that's good to hear—huh?"
His words cut off.
The ground was suddenly blanketed in fog.
"…The fuck?"
"Uncle Ragnar, do you know what's going on?" he asked, eyeing the drone.
Silence.
No response.
A cold chill ran down his spine.
He immediately stood and grabbed Void Eater, clutching the hilt tightly.
'Damn it. What now?'
"Azri… can… hear me!? …sten… un! …ast!"
Ragnar's voice cracked through the drone, broken, distorted.
"What!? I can't hear you! You're cutting off!"
His heart pounded in his ears.
'I should've moved. I should've found another location. Damn it.'
The only sound was the wind howling. Even the drone, despite its advanced tech, was beginning to buzz faintly.
The fog now reached his knees. Cold. Dense. Endless.
His breath quickened.
Then—silence.
No more Ragnar.
No more noise.
'Fifteen minutes… just fifteen minutes. Survive.'
He whispered the words to himself like a mantra.
And then—
"Don't go."
"!?"
A voice.
Right in his ear.
He leapt forward, spinning to face whatever it was—
Nothing.
The drone was gone.
Swallowed by the fog.
"…W-What…"
There was no one behind him.
No trace.
Only the thickening veil of mist.
His heartbeat surged. He clenched his jaw, forcing his trembling legs to stay still.
'Run. I need to run. Just fifteen minutes. Ragnar said Solomon would be here in fifteen minutes. I can't die now—I can't use [Redo].'
He didn't even know how [Redo] worked.
Would it send him back in time? Regrow his body?
He didn't want to find out.
"Azriel, can you hear me!? Azriel!"
Ragnar's voice burst through again—but it wasn't coming from the drone.
It was everywhere.
Surrounding him.
"If you hear me, get out of there immediately! Don't stay in that fog—no matter what!"
That was all he needed.
Azriel bolted into the mist.
But the fog—there was no end to it.
Nothing changed, no matter how far or fast he ran.
'Just keep going. Don't look back. Don't stop.'
And then—
"…!"
He skidded to a halt.
A silhouette ahead.
It was dark… small.
A child?
It sat motionless on the ground, clutching something.
A teddy bear.
It was sobbing.
"Don't go…"
"…Please."
"Please don't leave me."
"Don't go…"
The voice echoed from every direction.
The voice of a little girl. Crying.
Begging.
Azriel's throat ran dry.
Fog.
Cold.
Still.
And then—
"Don't go."
The whisper came from directly behind him.
But he didn't move.
He didn't turn.
He knew—if he turned, he would die.
He clutched Void Eater, white-knuckled, staring ahead without blinking.
'Don't look away. Don't blink. Don't look away. Dammit, how much time has passed!?'
"Don't go." "Don't go." "Don't go." "Don't go." "Don't go." "Don't go."