It was night in the Wingman City, the cold wind brushing through the castle walls. The torches burned faintly as the clouds moved slow above the moon. Tight security was placed all over the castle — four soldiers guarding every door, their armor reflecting the silver light from the torches. The air was tense, quiet, and heavy. Inside the main gate was Roselle Park, the daughter of Park Lockner.
She sat in her room, her hands moving softly with the pen, the faint sound of ink touching paper echoing gently. It was a form of a letter — her handwriting elegant yet trembling slightly. The light from the candle beside her flickered, glowing across her face, showing her soft yet determined eyes.
She took a deep breath and whispered softly to herself.
Roselle: I hope... that this will make them easy.
She folded the paper gently, pressed a small golden stamp on it, sealing it shut — keeping it from opening. The wax slowly hardened as she placed it carefully inside the small wooden cabin attached to her desk. Her face relaxed for a moment, but then... something felt off.
Her head started to ache — slowly at first, then sharp and sudden. The pen dropped from her fingers. Her vision began to blur, everything spinning around. The candlelight stretched, the walls seemed to breathe, and her breath shortened.
Roselle: What... is happening?
She stumbled back, her knees hit the ground. Blood began to flow from her nose, falling drop by drop onto the marble floor. She tried to stand, but her body refused. The pain grew more unbearable — blood now streamed from her ears, her eyes turning red, her hands trembling as she reached the table for support. But before she could call for help — she collapsed. The sound of her fall echoed through the silent room, the letter she wrote still resting peacefully in the desk beside her.
Her eyes froze open, tears mixed with blood.
Elsewhere...
Trail was sitting alone in his quarters, the candlelight glowing beside him. He was reading an old book — one of the few moments of peace he could ever get. But peace was not meant to last tonight. The candle flame suddenly flickered, then went out — the room sank into darkness. Trail paused, his eyes moved toward it. Before he could react, the flame returned — dim but alive.
He looked again, puzzled. Then, once more, the flame flickered and vanished. When it came back this time, something stood before him — a figure, not human, not ordinary.
A wolf — large, monstrous, with glowing eyes, its teeth sharp like blades, fangs dripping fresh blood that splashed onto the ground.
Trail didn't flinch. His calm was terrifying. He closed the book slowly, stood up, and faced it.
The silence broke with the sound of a low growl.
Suddenly, the castle gates burst open elsewhere. Soldiers rushed in.
"Ms. Roselle!" one shouted — but she was already gone, her body lifeless. The commander's bell rang. Soldiers rushed outside in panic. "Mobilize all troops and track him down!" one yelled. But before they could, a thunderous sound shook the ground — Boom!
The castle wall crumbled like paper. Dust filled the air, shouts echoed. Fear spread like wildfire.
Meanwhile, far from the castle, in a lonely chamber, Trail and the wolf stood facing each other — their presence alone enough to shatter calm. The night had turned to chaos.
Trail gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. His voice was calm.
Trail: Who sent you here?
The wolf grinned, its bloody teeth shining. Then, to Trail's surprise, it spoke — its voice deep and rough.
Wolf: I guess... you've forgotten your old friend. I am Rogard. No one sent me here — I came myself. To give you a small message. But only... if you survive this battle.
Trail's eyes widened slightly. The past echoed through his thoughts — Rogard. A name he had buried long ago.
Trail: A message? From the start, I knew something was suspicious about your disappearance. Your sudden loss... He paused, his eyes narrowed. Write it down in your heart, Rogard. I won't die till I fulfill my duty.
The wolf smirked.
Wolf: Exactly. That's the spirit, Commander.
The air tightened — their gazes locked. The wolf lunged forward, its claws cutting through the mist of the night. Trail moved — fast, precise. Their clash sent waves through the ground. Sparks flew as the sword met fangs. Every hit was a storm. Trail dodged, parried, spun — the wolf relentless, each attack stronger than before.
Then — a flash of red. Trail's shoulder split, blood spraying across the ground. He winced but didn't fall. They backed away, eyes burning in silence.
The wolf licked the blood off his fangs.
Trail: I'll ask again. Who sent you?
Wolf: You still don't understand. I told you... no one sent me. I came to warn you. Starting from today... a war is coming. And this time, Trail, you won't survive it. If you surrender — you'll live. Become one of us. Otherwise... death will be your only peace.
The wolf grinned again, the ground cracking beneath its feet. But Trail didn't respond — his silence was more powerful than any word.
Suddenly, mist enveloped the battlefield — thick, swirling, swallowing the moonlight. Rogard roared, searching for him. Then — a flash. Trail emerged from the mist like thunder bursting through clouds — his blade cutting through the air.
The first strike sliced Rogard's hand clean off. The wolf howled in pain, blood spilling. He staggered back, eyes wide in disbelief.
Wolf: Damn... still that fast...
He tried to regain his stance, but Trail's presence was like a storm closing in. Yet before Trail could finish it, Rogard's voice echoed again — weaker but still proud.
Wolf: I guess... I still need that potion.
Then, before Trail could move, Rogard's form began to fade.
Wolf: Remember my words. The war is near. And when it begins... you'll remember this night.
And just like that — he vanished.
The silence after the battle was painful. The wind blew, carrying the smell of blood and dust. Trail fell to his knees, exhaustion and guilt heavy on his chest. His breathing slowed.
Trail: How can I save lives... when every time I try, someone still dies? Slowly... slowly everything is fading. Maybe... I won't be able to fulfill my promise.
He looked at the sky. The stars were covered by clouds, the rain beginning to fall softly. Far from that place, soldiers gathered around Roselle's body — wrapped in white cloth.
Trail walked back, each step heavier than before. He reached her desk. The candle was still burning. The letter still sealed.
He opened the small cabin — saw her handwriting: "To my parents."
He sighed.
Trail: I will deliver it myself.
He stood outside as the rain poured harder. Roselle's grave stood before him. Everyone else had already left — only he remained, the commander who carried too much pain for one heart.
He crouched, placed a flower gently on her grave.
Trail: Just how many will die more... If only, from the start, she hadn't become an Elite... she probably would still be living peacefully with her parents.
The rain mixed with his tears — though he didn't cry, his soul did. The droplets slid down his face, cold like the silence of loss.
Elsewhere...
A dark chamber.
Zeiris: Wow... you've done a great job. I'm proud of you, man.
Rogard appeared from the shadows, transforming back to his human form, holding his severed arm that was slowly regenerating.
Rogard: Damn... that thing is still powerful. Zeiris, I think I need that potion again.
Zeiris smiled, eyes glowing faintly.
Zeiris: More, you say? Of course... of course. But first, focus. Regenerate your hand fully. We can't afford you weak when the real game begins.
Rogard clenched his teeth and began regenerating his arm. The veins pulsed, the skin grew back slowly until his hand reformed. He looked at Zeiris with a sharp grin.
Rogard: What now?
Zeiris: Now... let's just see what they do. So we can play more cards.
Their laughter echoed into the night — a dark promise of the chaos yet to come.
And somewhere far away, the rain continued to fall over the Wingman City — washing the blood, the pain, and the sins of those who still tried to protect a fading light.