Date: 1.5 Years Ago (Flashback)
Location: Hunter's Encampment - Underground Cellar
Perspective: Celia
I blinked, my mind fuzzy. The laughter was gone.
Ryker was frozen, his hand still on my throat, but his head was turned towards the stairs.
"Jax?" he called out. "Soren?"
No answer. Just the creaking of the wooden beams above.
The others at the table started to stand, weapons scraping against the wood.
"What was that?" Garrick asked, his knife held low. "Sounded like metal... tearing."
"Probably just the wind," Zandis muttered, though his voice wavered. "Or a goblin."
"A goblin doesn't rip through iron hinges," Bane grunted, picking up his flail.
I tried to focus, but the black spots in my vision were growing.
Just let me pass out. Please.
But something... something was wrong. The air in the room had changed. It wasn't heavy with lust and cruelty anymore.
It was heavy with killing intent.
A shadow fell over the stairs.
Someone was walking down. Not running. Not sneaking. Just walking. Calm, rhythmic steps that echoed in the sudden quiet.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He stepped into the light.
He was dressed in black. A long coat that seemed to absorb the dim light of the cellar. Black gloves. And on his face...
A mask. White. With a painted, frozen smile that didn't reach the empty black holes of its eyes.
"Who the hell are you?" Ryker barked, tightening his grip on my chest. The pressure made me gasp for hurt….
The masked man didn't answer. He just stood there at the bottom of the stairs, tilting his head slightly to the side. Like a bird examining a worm.
"I said who are you!" Ryker roared. "Answer me or I'll R—"
Thwip.
I didn't see him move. I just heard the sound. A wet, sickening thud.
"AAAAAHHH!"
The pressure on my throat vanished. I gasped, sucking in air, my vision clearing just enough to see Ryker falling back. He was clutching his right arm.
Or... where his right hand used to be.
A black dagger was embedded deep in the wooden table next to my head. And pinned beneath it, severed cleanly at the wrist, was Ryker's hand.
Blood sprayed across the table, warm and sticky on my cheek.
"MY HAND! HE CUT OFF MY HAND!" Ryker wailed, falling to his knees, his face twisted in shock.
I stared at the dagger.
Who...
I looked back at the man. He hadn't moved. He was just standing there, watching Ryker scream with that frozen, smiling mask.
"Kill him!" Zandis yelled, pointing his sword. "Kill him now!"
Five of them charged. Zandis, Mal, Thrak, Garrick, and Lorne. They were seasoned hunters. Killers. They had swords, axes, magic.
The man in black took a step forward.
And then... he vanished.
No. He didn't vanish. He just moved through them.
Zandis swung his sword—a clumsy, angry strike. The masked man caught his wrist mid-swing. There was a sharp snap. Zandis's arm bent the wrong way.
Before Zandis could even scream, the man spun him around, using his body as a shield.
Fwoosh.
A fireball from Thrak meant for the intruder slammed into Zandis's chest, exploding in a burst of searing heat.
The man didn't stop. He shoved Zandis's burning body into Mal, knocking them both down.
Garrick lunged with his knife. The masked man side-stepped—barely an inch—and drove his knee into Garrick's stomach.
Crack.
I heard ribs shatter. Garrick folded like wet paper. The man grabbed the back of his head and slammed it into the nearest wooden pillar. Once. Twice. Garrick dropped and didn't move.
Lorne, the youngest, tried to run. The masked man was on him in a heartbeat. A sweep of the leg, a precise stomp to the throat. Lorne choked, grasping at his crushed windpipe, his eyes wide with terror.
Thrak, the last one standing, was shaking. His hands trembled so hard he dropped his axe.
"Wait!" Thrak stammered, backing away until he hit the wall. "Wait! We have money! Gold! Artifacts!"
He pointed to a chest in the corner, his eyes pleading.
"Take it! Take it all! Just let me—"
The masked man stopped. He looked at the chest. Then he looked at Thrak.
Slowly, deliberately, he raised his black-gloved hand.
And extended his middle finger.
🖕
Thrak blinked. "Wha—"
The man lunged. He grabbed Thrak by the hair and slammed his face into the stone floor.
Crunch.
He lifted him up. Slammed him down again.
Crunch.
And again.
Crunch.
He didn't stop until there was nothing left to smash.
The room was silent again. Except for the wet gasps of Ryker, who was curled up under the table, holding his stump.
The masked man stood over the carnage. He wasn't breathing hard. He wasn't sweating. He just adjusted his gloves, as if he'd just finished taking out the trash.
Ryker looked up, his face pale and sweating.
"P-please," Ryker wheezed. "Spare me. I... I have connections. The towns..."
The masked man titled his head again.
"You want the girl?" Ryker stammered, desperate.
"Take her. She's yours. Use her however you want. Just—"
Snap.
The man grabbed Ryker's remaining arm and broke it at the elbow.
"AAAAHHH!"
He leaned down, his mask inches from Ryker's face. For the first time, he spoke.
His voice was low, distorted, like gravel grinding against steel. But it was cold. Absolute zero.
"You shouldn't have touched her."
Ryker gargled, blood bubbling from his mouth.
The man placed his hand on Ryker's throat. A quick, sharp twist.
Crack.
Ryker fell silent.
I watched it all. I couldn't look away. The blood. The violence. It was horrific.
It should have terrified me.
But as I looked at the man standing amidst the bodies of my tormentors...
I didn't feel fear.
I felt... safe.
My vision finally gave out. The darkness rushed in, claiming me.
...warmth...
I wasn't cold anymore.
...soft...
I felt something rough but gentle wrapping around my ankles. My wrists.
I forced my eyes open. Just a crack.
I was outside. The night air was cool, smelling of pine and rain. I was lying on something soft—a bedroll?
A figure was sitting next to me. The man in black.
He had built a small fire. He was tending to my wounds, wrapping my broken ankle with white bandages. His movements were precise, careful.
He took his coat—the heavy black one—and draped it over me, tucking it under my chin.
I looked up at his face. The mask was gone.
It was dark, but the firelight caught his features. Dark hair. Sharp jaw. And eyes...
Blue.
Infinite, calm blue executioner's eyes.
But they weren't looking at me like I was a target. They were looking at me with a gentleness I had never seen before.
Not from my village.Not from anyone.
He dipped a cloth in water and wiped the blood from my cheek.
"You're safe now," he whispered.
I wanted to ask his name. I wanted to thank him. But my voice wouldn't work.
Who are you?
Why did you save me?
My eyes drifted closed again. The last thing I saw was him sitting guard, his back to the fire, watching the darkness so I didn't have to.
Present Day
"And when I woke up..." Celia's voice brought me back to the cave.
The fire was dying. She was looking at her hands, her expression soft, almost reverent.
"It was morning. I was in a forest, miles away. My wounds were treated. My clothes were mended. And there was a bag of food and water next to me."
She looked up at me, the reflection of the green embers dancing in her crimson eyes.
"He was gone. No note. No name. Just... gone."
"That's how I remember it," she said softly. "That one time... that changed everything."
I looked at her, the pieces finally clicking into place. The blue eyes she mentioned.
The uncharacteristic gentleness from a man known as the 'Con-Artist'.
"Blue eyes..." I muttered, glancing back at the darkness of the cave we were leaving. "I think I understand it now."
It wasn't just about his intelligence. It wasn't just about him being the strongest.
It was about him being the only one.
"That's why he's my King," she whispered, touching the ribbon in her hair. "Because before I was the strongest... he was the only one who was kind to me."
Celia wiped the last tear from her cheek, her expression shifting. The vulnerability was still there, but it was hardening into something new. Something like steel.
"The past can't be my future, Lucas," she said, a small, sad smile touching her lips. "I know that. I can't be that scared little girl forever."
She looked ahead, towards the faint mechanical hum of Aethelgard.
"But I want to build my future with the one who was with me during my weakest. The one who saw me as a person when everyone else saw me as a thing to be killed."
I nodded slowly. It made sense. In a twisted, dark way, it made perfect sense. But there was still one loose thread.
"But why?" I asked, frowning. "Why was he there? In that cellar? He didn't even know you back then, right? You were just... strangers."
Celia stopped walking. She looked down, shaking her head slowly.
"No. He didn't know me. I was nobody."
She paused, her eyes distant.
"We may never know, Lucas. Kaiser... he moves in ways we can't see. He will never reveal it. He doesn't explain himself."
"Yeah," I agreed, realizing the truth of it. Kaiser didn't do explanations. He did results.
"He definitely won't."
Celia looked up at me, the fire in her eyes returning. Brighter this time.
"But it doesn't matter," she declared. "He was there for me then. So I will be there for him now."
She clenched her fist, the red gemstone on her ring pulsing with light.
"I will get strong enough, Lucas. Strong enough that he never has to stand guard for me again. Strong enough to stand beside him."
"We won't stop ascending," she vowed, her voice echoing with the absolute certainty of a Queen.
"We won't stop," I echoed, feeling the weight of the promise.
We shared a look. A look that acknowledged the scars, the trauma, and the vulnerability we had just exposed. We were stripped bare in that cave, but we hadn't broken. We had welded the cracks shut with trust.
Celia punched my arm lightly. "Come on. Pizza."
"Pizza," I agreed. "And gadgets. Don't forget the gadgets."
We packed up our meager camp, the bond between us solidified by the shared silence of trauma and understanding.
As we walked towards the exit of the Hollowed Veins, towards the lights of the gear-city, I couldn't help but think.
Kaiser... who the hell were you back then? And what are you now?
Scene Break
Location: The Royal Capital, Sylvaris
Perspective: Sylvia
Sylvia stood at the railing, her silver hair whipping around her face. Below her, the city was a sprawling lights and shadows, but her eyes were fixed on the horizon.
She held a report in her hand. The paper was crumpled, the ink stamped with the highest clearance seal of the Guild.
"It's close," she whispered, the words snatched away by the wind.
She turned back to the room. A map of the continent was spread across the table, marked with red crosses and black circles. Her finger traced a line to a desolate region in the Crater.
"The resonance is peaking," she said to the empty room, her voice cold and devoid of doubt.
She picked up a communication crystal, her eyes narrowing.
"We cannot wait anymore."
She activated the crystal, the stone glowing with a harsh, violet light.
"Initiate Operation: Mourning Star," she commanded.
"Target confirmed. The S-Rank Cursed Mother has been located. We proceed with the subjugation immediately."
She looked back out at the night sky, a cruel smile touching her lips.
"Let the hunt begin."