I remember… the warmth.
Not the fire.
The warmth of her hand in mine.
The sky was bleeding. No rain. No light.
Only black flames, falling like silent tears.
They did not burn flesh.
They consumed the mind.
The Valley of Enoth, cradle of the Ardent Clan a clan of blacksmiths renowned for their powerful weapons and armor was nothing more than a smoldering graveyard. The ground was riddled with hot ash, the trees reduced to charred skeletons. Each step stirred glowing cinders. A child's distant scream mingled with the crackling collapse of a burning beam.
Meanwhile...
Tiama, 19 years old, was running. His heart ablaze, his muscles torn by pain. In his arms, his little sister, Adelie. She no longer cried. Her eyes... too wide. Too empty.
Tiama felt his stomach twist.
He wanted to protect her. He had to. But each scream behind him was a hammer blow to his courage. He slid behind a cracked boulder and nestled Adelie against the stone.
— Stay calm… Breathe slowly… Don't listen…
— They killed Mom… she whispered. And Dad… he…
— Shhh.
They were coming.
Golden silhouettes moving through the ash.
The soldiers of House Solarys.
Shining armor. White masks lined with gold. Weapons inscribed with runes.
But only one drew Tiama's full attention.
A cloak of black feathers.
A mask with a cruel beak.
Eyes barely visible behind the mask, gleaming with a twisted light.
He did not kill for war. He killed for pleasure.
Tiama stood, placing his body between Adelie and the threat. He wasn't a soldier.
He only knew basic stances.
But he had a blade. A real one. A simple sword, forged by his father. Not magical. Not runed. Just pure steel. He drew it from its sheath. His hands trembled.
The soldier stopped.
— You want to protect.
— You don't know how to kill.
— I know who you are… Tiama spat.
— I know what you're doing… And I will...
"FIIIUUU"
In a split second, the soldier lunged at him.
One step. A shadow. An illusion.
Tiama parried by reflex.
The soldier roared. Tiama stepped back. Too slow. Too open. But he held on.
The soldier watched.
Then…
A strange strike.
The soldier black blade sliced the air. And in its wake...
Something vanished.
Tiama staggered.
— What did you do to me…?
— I break you without cutting you.
The soldier raised his hand.
A black rune shimmered in the air.
Ayz! (a magic that burns from the inside out)
Tiama screamed inside.
He struck.
Not with skill
With rage. His blade crashed against the armor. A spark. A feather fell. But it wasn't enough.
Tiama raised his sword one last time. A clumsy swing. The Raven dodged and drove his blade into his stomach.
The blow wasn't powerful. But enough.
Tiama collapsed.
Adelie screamed.
Darkness.
An absolute cold.
A world without light, without ground, without direction.
The Void.
Tiama floated.
Memories drifted by... blurry, distant... unreachable.
He saw himself again, holding Adelie's hand on the stone bridge, laughing as their father danced absurdly around the fire. It was a summer day. There was warm bread and a song about a fox and a red moon.
Then, a presence.
A being with elongated limbs, black skin veined with violet. A lipless smile. Eyeless eyes.
It spoke.
Not with words. With thoughts.
You fought with your heart.
But you were born for something else.
— Who… are you…?
— I am Arch-Vel.
Not a mere spirit. A pact.
Not a tool. But a price.
He held out his hand.
Five fingers, bound in chains of shadow.
— Do you want revenge? I offer you the black flame.
But in exchange... your memory.
Around them...
His mother's laughter.
The warmth of the forge.
His father's gaze.
All those fragments drifted by. Fragile.
— I don't want to forget…
Then stay dead.
Silence.
Then…
A voice.
Adelie.
She was crying. Calling his name.
Tiama clenched his fists.
— I want to live.
— I want to kill them. All of them.
— I give everything. My blood, my name, my memories. Even my soul.
The demon laughed.
A deep, vibrating laugh.
Pact sealed.
Chains erupted. They pierced his mind.
A mark burned on his chest.
Identity rupture. Progressive erasure.
The demon touched his forehead...
...then the blade floating by his side.
I am in you. And in it.
Your blood, your weapon, your forgetting.
The sword pulsed. A black glow enveloped it.
It lived. Its black surface seemed to swallow the light like a bottomless pit. A dull throb echoed through the metal, in sync with his heartbeat. Tiama touched it with his fingers: it was cold, then burning hot.
It breathed with him.
With each use… an emotion will fade.
And in the end… he...
Tiama opened his eyes.
He was alone. Lying in a crater of ash.
His heart beat.
The blade was there.
Stuck in the ground.
Black. Different. Bound to him by an invisible thread.
He grasped it. It answered.
Behind him, a blurred shadow.
The demon… still there. Now inside him.
Tiama stood.
He had forgotten…
The name of his mother's god. The taste of bread.
The sound of his father's voice.
But he remembered one word.
Solarys.
And he knew what he had to do.
— You stole my name.
— I will give you the void.
He walked eastward.
Each step left a cold imprint in the ashes.
The war had only just begun.
Then he collapsed...