The snow fell solemnly, each flake carrying the weight of silence.
Mirabel slowly backed away, shivering under the intensity of the man's gaze.
He lifted his straw hat, the charms dangling from its brim swaying gently.
His eyes were dark, endless, like an abyss that swallowed light.
A white cloak draped over his shoulders, and in his hand rested an odachi painted with waves and rippling water.
His lips were painted white, and his skin bore the pale roughness of a palm tree.
Long black hair, fluid as water, trailed down his back. With slow reverence, he drew his sword and let out a weary sigh.
"I didn't expect this," he murmured. "When they told me of your departure, I thought I'd have much longer."
We had only traveled an hour or two, yet something about him already weighed heavily in the air. From the guard of his odachi hung a single charm, a crow.
"Nicholas Anstalionah," he said in a low voice, "I'm sorry, but I'll need to kill you now."
Mirabel's hand gripped my shoulder. "You planned to fight this monster alone?"
She was right to be afraid. This was no ordinary opponent. He was one of the high seats within the Silent Court, the Crow of Night.
His name was whispered in taverns and among mercenaries like a grim omen, a warning wrapped in superstition.
Those who crossed his path rarely lived to tell the tale, and those who did carried scars far deeper than flesh.
Wherever he completed a task, he left behind a single crow charm on the corpse. Possessing one meant safety from his blade.
That was why Griffin had given me mine… but I wouldn't play that card yet.
I needed him to show me the bloodlust I remembered, the same suffocating, relentless malice that had turned entire battlefields into silent graveyards.
Griffin was an annoying bastard who must have known of the Silent Court's plans, though why he wanted me alive was still a mystery, even to me.
There were too many moving parts, too many half-truths in his words.
If I used the charm now, I might walk away unscathed, but I'd learn nothing. And learning, understanding, was worth more to me than survival.
I could feel it in the way Barlah stood, the quiet patience of a predator certain its prey could never escape.
Fighting him head-on was madness. But sometimes, madness was the only way forward.
I drew my sword and pushed Mirabel back. "Take the driver and get far away. I'll handle this."
Her eyes lingered on mine, torn between doubt and trust, before she smiled faintly. "Alright. I'm trusting you, just this once."
She ran toward the old driver, who was still shivering in the snow, and helped him to his feet.
The swordsman stepped forward, bowing slightly. "Was that wise? I don't sense much power from you."
I chuckled. "Do you know the story of Samael?"
He gave a short laugh, lowering his stance. "Such bold words for someone so unprepared."
Darkness bled from his body, and the sky above turned black, as if even the snow-laden clouds fled in fear.
"I know," I said, resting my hand over my right eye. "They often call me a fool."
His sword moved. It was less like a swing and more like a shadow's whisper. Before thought could form, blood erupted from my chest.
My vision blurred, wings of darkness flared from my back, and black fire burned along their edges.
In less than a heartbeat, I had been killed over and over, hundreds, thousands of times in the span of a blink.
The sensation was impossible to comprehend, yet my body still clung to existence. I collapsed to my knees, the snow beneath me staining crimson.
Barlah stepped back, eyes narrowing. "I'm surprised you're still breathing. I was certain I felt your life leave your body."
Gritting my teeth, I forced my trembling body upright, leaning on my sword like a crutch.
The damage began to reverse, my existence clawing its way back. "The end of myself is not the end of my life. I am merely a vessel."
He raised a brow. "The way you speak, it's almost as if you truly died just now."
"I did," I said, smiling faintly. "And as I said before, death is not the end of me."
This time, his blade struck before I could even blink. My parry barely caught the edge, and the impact sent a shockwave up my arms.
His second strike shattered my defense entirely, tearing a deep gash across my side.
Water surged from my sword's tip, blasting him backward, but he slid through it as if the current welcomed him.
He was on me again in an instant, his blade a storm I could not weather.
One slash caught my thigh, another my shoulder, then a sudden thrust nearly took my heart.
Ink-filled air pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating.
I lunged desperately, water wrapping around my blade, but he slipped past it like a shadow and slammed his palm into my chest.
A wave of ink exploded, sending me tumbling through the snow.
Before I could rise, a spear of dripping black matter hurtled toward me. I rolled aside, but his sword was already at my throat, the sheer force of the strike driving me to one knee.
Barlah chuckled. "I'd scream her name. If you're loud enough, she might hear you."
I laughed through ragged breaths. "Maybe… but my choices led me here. Who am I to undo them?"
He tilted his head. "Why wouldn't you change the past to better your future?"
"Because I am nothing," I said, smiling. "For me to change, the world must change first. And for the world to be, I must come into being."
He stared for a moment, then laughed. "You know what? I'll give you the mercy of knowing my name. I am Barlah."
"I am a fool," I replied.
The next exchange was hopelessly one-sided. His blade carved through my defenses as if they were paper. Every strike was perfect, every feint lethal.
My guard crumbled, my footing faltered, and my body became a map of open wounds.
Yet I pressed on. Water surged. Ink swallowed it whole. My strikes became slower, my vision darker, but still I swung.
A sharp upward slash sent me flying. Ink-orbs spun in the air and pierced through me like needles through cloth.
My body screamed in agony, but I gathered the last of my strength and brought my sword down, summoning a dragon of water that crashed into him with tidal force.
The ground split under the impact, sending snow and stone into the air.
But when the spray cleared, his grin remained.
Through the dragon's body, a thin beam of ink pierced my neck. I crumpled to the snow as he approached, a quill of ink forming in his hand.
"My Regalia allows me to control ink," he said almost casually. "But it grants me something else. I can take over one's nature."
The quill moved, writing my name, then drawing a line through it. Pain unlike anything before tore through me, ink spilling from my mouth.
"All those who stand before me bearing identity," Barlah said with cold satisfaction, "must face that identity being rewritten."
His smile widened. "The true name of my Regalia is Calamus."