Last Night…
Aeron stood again in that ruined city, the one from his haunting dreams. The sky was crimson, ashes floating like snow. The same blurred figure stood beside him—appearing like Allesio.
"Why are you showing me this again?" Aeron asked.
"Because you're the one who can stop this mess," the blurred Allesio replied.
"You're not really him, are you?" Aeron narrowed his eyes.
The figure shifted—morphing into Aeron himself.
"I'm Allesio. I'm Aeron. I can become anyone you want," the mysterious being said, voice calm but layered in something deeper—something ancient.
"What do you mean I'm the one who can save everyone from the Demon King? I don't even have mana. I'm not even that good at fighting," Aeron said, his voice cracking with doubt.
"But you possess something no one else does," the being said.
"You mean my ability to slow down time?" Aeron asked.
"No. That's only the surface," it replied, eerily wearing Aeron's face. "You haven't even scratched the surface of your true power."
"Then tell me... what should I do?" Aeron pleaded.
The figure changed again—back into Allesio.
"Find Allesio. He's one of the keys to unlocking your potential."
"Where is he?" Aeron asked, his voice rising.
"He's somewhere in Moltenforge town," the figure replied. "But if you don't hurry… he'll be in danger."
Aeron shot awake, heart pounding.
"Why does everything keep circling back to him?" he muttered, frustrated.
Present Time…
"Did you tell him what you learned about the Black Troops?" Julian asked Zorayel as they watched the carriage vanish into the distance.
"It's better he stays out of this… for now," Zorayel replied, his tone heavy.
"Sooner or later, he'll be dragged into it," Julian warned.
The Previous Night…
Zorayel stood in front of his master in the dimly lit cabin.
"The dragon in Moltenforge—its heart exploded when we killed it," Zorayel explained.
"Could've been a triggered enchantment. Someone powerful, perhaps," the old man said.
"You know which dragon I'm talking about," Zorayel said firmly. "You broke the spell on that cursed chain. You know how powerful it was."
"That explosion... it cracked it," Zorayel continued. "It felt like something the Black Troops would do."
"They haven't been seen for three years," the master replied slowly.
"They're hiding. Perhaps plotting their next move," Zorayel insisted. "And if it's anything like last time, we won't survive it."
"You intend to stop them before they act again?" the master asked.
"I have to," Zorayel said. "Too many lives are at stake."
"You always had that fire in you," the master said. "Do what you must."
"I need you with me, master. Not just in spirit… on the battlefield," Zorayel said, desperation creeping into his voice.
The master sighed, looking away. "In this old body? I'd only be a burden."
"And… I can't fight my own son. No father should ever be forced to do that."
"If you speak to him—scold him—maybe he'll stop this madness and disband the Black Troops," Zorayel suggested.
"I wish it were that simple…" the old man whispered.
At the Same Time…
In a far-off land, deep inside a cavern lit by eerie torchlight and dark magical runes, black-robed figures chanted in unison. The very air pulsed with sinister energy.
At the center of the cave, atop a throne of jagged obsidian, sat a man in his early thirties. Dareth Grimsoul, the leader of the Black Troops. His appearance was sharp and shadowed—pale skin, crimson eyes, long black hair tied behind. His presence was cold but unnervingly charming.
One of the robed men approached him, trembling.
"Sire, the dragon we implanted with the mana heart—it was slain. And the explosion... the energy readings were massive."
Dareth's eyes flickered.
"How many died?" he asked.
"N-none, sire." the man stammered.
Dareth stood. With a flick of his hand, dark flames engulfed the messenger, who screamed before turning to ash.
"I need more power," Dareth said, his voice echoing through the cavern like thunder.
He looked toward a dark altar glowing with energy. "How's the preparation?"
"It should be ready within a week," one of the chanting mages answered.
Dareth clenched his fists. "This time... I'll destroy that pathetic little town my father admire so much."
He raised his hands and let out a sinister, booming laugh, shaking the cave to its core.