Cassia heard the voice again.
It slithered into her dreams like a cold hand wrapping around her throat, pulling her deeper into an abyss that had no shape, no direction, no sense of reality. Just darkness. Endless, suffocating darkness.
Then came the whisper — layered, doubled, echoed, as if multiple beings were speaking in perfect unison.
"You can't stop this…"
The void rippled beneath her feet. She felt weightless. Wrong.
"Your suffering shall be the agony of agonies…"
The voice was beautiful and monstrous, melodic and depraved. Each word sank into her skin like a needle, vibrating in her bones.
"The death of deaths…"
Something moved in the black — something colossal, something unseen, something old. She tried to run, but the ground stretched with her steps, endlessly, mockingly.
"And yet…"
A pale light flickered, revealing a silhouette towering far above her. Wings—no, not wings. Tendrils of divine smoke twisted and curled behind it.
The symbol on her hand blazed.
"You'll find yourself unable to resist."
Cassia gasped awake.
Cold sweat. Ragged breath. The world blurry and shaking.
The mark on the back of her hand glowed—brilliant, pulsing, alive. Violently alive. She grabbed her wrist, trying to steady it, but her whole arm trembled.
"Cassia?" Achilles' voice broke through the haze.
She stumbled out of her bedroll, still half in the nightmare. Achilles and Jules were already crouched beside her, studying the symbol with wide, worried eyes as it burned a faint blue-gold.
Jules muttered, "…It shouldn't still be active."
"It wasn't like this yesterday," Achilles added. "Does it hurt?"
Cassia shook her head, though her hand was still twitching. "N–No. It just… feels wrong. Like something's calling me."
Achilles frowned. "Divine influence, maybe."
Jules sighed. "But from what? We've already dealt with the beasts of this region. This… doesn't match anything I know."
They exchanged looks — uncomfortable ones, the kind adults share when they're worried but don't want the child to notice.
Cassia noticed anyway.
They didn't understand it.No one did.
Achilles finally stood, brushing snow from his cloak. "We'll figure it out later. Let's keep moving. The mountain winds are getting worse."
Jules nodded, giving Cassia a small pat on the head. "Stay close. If anything changes, tell us immediately."
She nodded weakly.
But the nightmare lingered.
And the mark throbbed.
The group packed their gear and resumed their trek through the frozen wastes. The Northern Ruinia Mountains loomed in the distance like jagged teeth, wind howling between them.
Cassia walked silently behind the adults, boots crunching in fresh snow. The world was white. Empty. Quiet.
Too quiet.
In the isolation, her thoughts wandered—drifting back to a place she once called home.
Aerinaelia.
Warm lanterns. Crowded streets. The smell of roasted grain and wood smoke. She remembered holding her mother's hand, weaving through bustling markets. The occasional soldier marching past. The tall obsidian bell tower that overshadowed the central plaza.
Aerinaelia wasn't perfect. It wasn't kind. But it was hers.
All gone now.
Her throat tightened.
She clutched her dagger—the only piece of Aerinaelia she still carried.
She missed it.She missed… being normal.Being a child.
Before gods and hunters and divine beasts.Before nightmares and symbols that branded her as something she never asked to be.
As they walked, the wind grew harsher, sharp as blades slicing her cheeks. The path narrowed between dead trees and shattered stone pillars, remnants of an ancient kingdom buried under centuries of frost.
By nightfall, they reached it.
The snowstorm thinned just enough for its silhouette to appear.
A massive, ruined citadel carved into the side of the mountain—frozen banners hanging in tatters, towers broken and half-swallowed by ice. Vast gates of rusted silver creaked in the wind. The air hummed with a faint, ancient melody.
Achilles whistled under his breath. "This is it. The palace of Ariel."
Hailey frowned. "Doesn't look like much."
Jules shook his head. "Ariel wasn't a king. He didn't need luxury. He needed a sanctuary for his grief."
They stepped inside.
The entrance hall was enormous, pillars carved with scenes of battles long forgotten. Snow drifted in through shattered windows. A faint sound—like humming—echoed through the empty corridors.
The deeper they went, the stranger it became.
Golden feathers lay crushed beneath ice.
Divine script glowed faintly on walls.
And the humming grew louder.
When they entered the throne room, time itself seemed to hold its breath.
The ceiling was collapsed in several places. The floor was cracked. Frost clung to everything like a veil of death. At the far end stood a throne made of pale stone and broken glass.
And seated upon it—
Ariel.
The Sixth Divinity.
His armor was dark, almost obsidian, forged with delicate ivory inlays resembling broken wings around the chest. Frost clung to every plate, and his cloak—once ceremonial white—was now blackened and torn. His greatsword, nearly as tall as he was, rested against the throne, its blade veined with glowing silver cracks.
He sang.
A low, mournful melody. A lament.
Cassia felt the mark burn.
Ariel's voice was beautiful and broken—filled with centuries of grief.
"Yrael…Seradin…Krythos…Elunai…"
He listed their names like cherished memories, each one trembling with loss.
"My friends…My brothers…My sisters…"
His voice cracked.
"I am the last.Only Vryel remains… and even he is fading."
He finally lifted his head.
His eyes—dim, wet with grief—met theirs.
And snapped into rage.
"You," he whispered, voice trembling. "You are the ones who shattered them. Who hunted them. Who carved their divinity and sold their remains."
Achilles stepped forward cautiously. "Listen—"
"No," Ariel hissed. "I listened for centuries. I listened as mortals begged for mercy. As my siblings cried in their final moments." His hand gripped the greatsword. "I listened as our world crumbled."
The sword ignited with divine frost.
"You will listen to me now."
He lunged.
Directly toward Hailey.
Cassia backed away instantly, falling to the ground, scrambling like a terrified animal — her mark blazing violently.
Achilles grabbed his sword. Jules raised his staff. Artorius began charging a spell.
But Ariel's blade was already mid-swing—
A hair's width from Hailey's neck.