Chapter 1 – Invisible Eyes
The flicker of a ceiling fan greeted me as I blinked open my eyes. My hand—rough, pale—drifted into view. Another morning. Another breath I never asked for.
My room was cold. The walls were stained with time, and the only window let in a dull gray light from a sun I hadn't really seen in years. I sat up carefully, not daring to meet the eyes of the figure in the corner—a hunched, red-eyed thing, watching. I didn't scream. I wouldn't. Because I wasn't supposed to see it. And I didn't.
I shuffled through my tiny house, brushing my teeth with stale water, sliding into a worn-out school uniform. My reflection in the cracked mirror looked tired—older than my age. Ugly, they said. Cursed. And maybe they were right.
Outside, the street buzzed—not with life, but with whispers. Real and otherwise.
I walked to school with my head down, my body invisible in the crowd, yet somehow more noticeable than ever. I saw them. The twisted shadows. Yokai. Spirits. Ghosts. They prowled like stray dogs—under benches, in doorways, clinging to backs. No one else noticed. I ignored them too. Like always.
At school, I saw her—my ex. She laughed with her friends like I never existed. Maybe she wished I hadn't. I remembered the moments we shared… how it all ended the day she saw one of them hovering behind me. Since then, she avoided my gaze like everyone else.
Class passed in a blur of words I didn't absorb. I walked out before the final bell.
On the way home, I felt them again—not the yokai, but people. Real ones. Eyes like daggers. Whispers sharper than knives.
"That's the cursed boy."
"His parents died in that fire."
"He's still alive… somehow."
They didn't say it loud. But they never had to.
My parents died when I was just four. A fire tore through our home. Everyone said it was a gas leak. But I knew the truth.
That night—as flames devoured the rooms and smoke choked the air—I saw it.
My first yokai.
From the ash and fire, a tall figure emerged, wrapped in black rags and bone. It had no eyes—just hollow sockets glowing faint blue—and a jagged grin carved into a skull-like face. It stood in the ruins, watching me. Smiling.
I couldn't move. Couldn't scream.
And then… nothing.
I was found days later, alive under broken beams.
They said I was lucky.
I wasn't.
I was cursed.
Since that day, the yokai never left me. On trains. In alleys. At school. I saw them. Whispering. Watching. Crawling. But I acted like I didn't.
Because that's the only way to survive.
Now, finally, I had reached my home—away from those people. Dinner was a pack of stale bread from yesterday's trash bin. The mold didn't matter. I was full—full of silence, of memories, of shadows.
That night, I walked alone. Down that narrow street with flickering lights. The silence was so deep, it felt alive—like even the wind held its breath.
The crescent moon hung above like a cracked smile.
And I jumped.
The cold of the river hit me like a thousand knives. I sank. Deeper. And deeper.
Then—crack. A sound like glass shattering.
The world tore apart.
Chapter 2 – Her Shadowed Sky
I opened my eyes.
But it wasn't to the cracked ceiling of my old house. This one... was carved wood. Polished. Decorated. I lay on a silken bed, softer than anything I'd ever known. For a second, I thought I had died. Maybe this was the afterlife.
But no... I could still feel the weight in my chest. The ache in my limbs. The cold sweat clinging to my back.
I sat up slowly.
The room was massive—tall, sunlit windows, white curtains gently swaying. Gold accents. A chandelier. Walls painted with stories I didn't understand.
"Where… am I?"
My fingers dug into the mattress. This was real. Too real.
Then I saw her.
Outside the window—in the palace gardens—stood a girl.
No... not just a girl. A princess.
She looked no older than me, yet held a presence beyond years. Her long white dress shimmered with blue patterns like frozen waves. Her hair was silver-blonde, kissed by the wind. And above her—
My breath froze.
A shadow.
Not a normal one.
It loomed like smoke given form. Fangs. Eyes that didn't blink. A body that pulsed with something ancient and violent. It wasn't looking at me—but I felt it watching.
I couldn't move. I trembled. My knees gave out beneath me.
"T-that thing…!" I gasped, crawling back on the bed like a wounded animal.
"Ah, so you are awake."
A calm voice cut through the chaos.
I turned.
A man stood at the door. Mid-thirties. Black suit. Posture perfect—the kind of man who wouldn't flinch even with a blade at his throat. His eyes were cold, but not cruel. Just… measured.
"She found you," he said, stepping closer. "On her way back to the palace. Princess Annya."
I tried to speak. Nothing came. My voice was dust. My heartbeat still hadn't slowed.
The shadow outside moved, curling above the princess like a crown of smoke. It didn't attack. It simply existed—a curse so powerful it made my soul feel like glass.
The butler followed my gaze. But his expression never changed.
That's when she turned.
The princess noticed us. Her eyes met mine through the glass.
I flinched.
But she… smiled.
She walked into the room moments later, her presence gentle like a snowflake landing on skin. And yet—that thing still floated behind her, like a silent guardian of nightmares.
I could barely keep myself from collapsing again.
"T-that thing… above you..." I stammered. My voice cracked. Cold sweat dripped down my neck.
She paused, a hint of amused curiosity in her eyes. Then, softly, she said:
"You can see it too?"
Those words stopped time.
She stepped closer, placing a hand on her chest.
"It's a curse," she said. "Not from this world."
Her voice didn't tremble. Not once.
"I lost my family because of it. Ever since then, Jonathan has raised me like his own."
I looked at the butler—Jonathan. He simply nodded, as if that explained everything.
Then it happened.
Her body faltered—like a doll losing strings.
"Princess Annya!" Jonathan rushed forward as she collapsed, catching her before she hit the floor. The shadow above her flared—rising tenfold in size and malice. My head throbbed just being near it.
He didn't hesitate. Holding her close, he whispered spells I couldn't understand, his hand glowing with soft blue magic. The curse, as if lulled by his voice, slowly calmed and coiled again into stillness.
He carried her out without saying a word. I sat alone, stunned.
Minutes passed. Or hours. Time didn't exist in that room.
Then the door opened again.
Jonathan stepped inside, his expression unshaken. He sat beside me on a wooden chair, arms crossed, eyes scanning me like an old clock measuring time itself.
"I can tell," he said, "you've been through it too."
Those words—they shattered me.
I didn't cry. I broke.
My shoulders shook. My hands covered my eyes. Tears—hot, endless—rolled down my face.
But Jonathan didn't mock me.
He didn't leave.
He didn't even flinch.
For the first time in 13 years…
I felt something warm.
Not fire.
Not rage.
But comfort.
I didn't know when I fell asleep from exhaustion.
Chapter 3 – The Glass That Remembers
I woke again.
Same room. Same polished ceiling. Same soft bed and scent of old wood and lavender.
But something had shifted.
The window was open. Morning light streamed in. The air felt colder, sharper—like the world outside was watching.
A knock echoed against the door.
Before I could speak, Jonathan entered—composed as ever. In his hand, a tray with warm bread, fruit, and a ceramic cup of something that smelled sweet.
"You should eat," he said, placing it at my bedside. "Your body's still recovering."
I didn't touch it. My thoughts were still trapped in yesterday—on her.
"Is… the princess okay?"
He paused. For just a second, a crack flickered in his perfect mask—something human.
"She will be," he said. "She always is."
I looked at my trembling hands.
That thing—that curse—it wasn't just following her. It was her shadow.
"I saw my first yokai the day I lost everything," I said quietly. "Our house caught fire. My parents died. And from the ashes… I saw it."
Jonathan stood silent, listening.
"It was grinning… hollow-eyed… sitting in the flames like it belonged there. And I…"
I stopped. My throat locked.
"I ran."
Silence.
Jonathan moved to the window, voice low and heavy.
"You survived," he said. "That's not weakness. That's proof."
"Proof of what?"
"That you can still walk forward."
I had no answer.
"Why am I here?" I asked.
He turned, gaze sharp.
"That night, you reached a boundary," he said. "The river you jumped into—it's not just a river. It's a gate."
"A gate?"
"To a place between this world and the next. Very few find it. Fewer survive it."
I stared, confused. "You're saying this palace… it's not real?"
"No," he said. "It's more real than anything you've known. Because here, the truth doesn't hide."
He walked to a shelf and pulled out a book covered in blue runes.
"You've seen them your whole life, haven't you? Yokai. Curses. Spirits no one else acknowledges."
I nodded slowly.
"Then you have two choices," he said, placing the book in my lap. "Go back to your world and pretend. Or stay. Learn what you are. What she is. What the world hides."
I looked at the book.
Its title was carved in a language I couldn't read… yet a part of me understood.
"Why me?" I whispered.
Jonathan tilted his head.
"Because she smiled when she saw you," he said. "And that curse didn't devour you."
The door creaked open again.
Princess Annya entered—pale, but standing.
She didn't speak right away. She just stood beside me, eyes gentle.
Then, softly:
"I want you to stay."
I looked at her.
For the first time… I didn't feel like I was falling.
Chapter 4 – My Place Beside the Flame
The next few days passed like a strange dream.
I stayed in the palace—not because I was forced, but because I had nowhere else to go. And maybe… because I didn't want to go.
Jonathan became my reluctant guide.
He didn't smile. He didn't praise. But he taught me how to dress like a proper servant, how to walk without echoing, how to blend into halls older than most cities. I was terrible at most of it. My balance was off. I spilled tea. I tripped during bows. My posture was… awful.
But I could sew.
That, I didn't fail at. Jonathan noticed.
"I want you to be in charge of repairing the Princess's gowns," he said one evening.
I blinked. "Isn't that a little… important?"
"You didn't ruin a single stitch. I trust you more than the tailor."
I didn't know if it was a compliment. But it felt like one.
That night, I was given access to the sewing room—a chamber of sunlight, warm threads, and cloth that shimmered like woven moonlight. As I stitched, I remembered my mother's hands. Her hums. The way she'd hold my shoulders when I messed up.
For the first time in years, my fingers moved without fear.
But not everything was peaceful.
It happened during a shopping trip to the capital.
Jonathan and I took a horse-drawn cart to the marketplace, gathering rare silks. My first time outside the palace walls.
It was beautiful. White stone roads. Canals lit with magic. Floating lights that followed children like fireflies.
Then I noticed the stares.
Not at me.
At him—Jonathan.
Whispers. Sneers. Eyes like daggers.
"Why are they…?" I began.
He didn't flinch. "They blame me. For raising her."
"What?"
"She wasn't supposed to survive," he said. "Let alone inherit."
It hit me.
Princess Annya. The last of her line. The court must've hated that she lived—and more, that a commoner like Jonathan raised her.
"She was a cursed child," he added. "Most people would've let her die. Maybe… I should have."
I stopped walking.
"Don't say that."
He looked at me. "You wouldn't understand."
"Yes, I would," I snapped.
People turned. I didn't care.
"I know what it's like to be blamed. To be hated just for existing. After the fire, they whispered, 'Why did the boy survive?' 'He must've started it.' I was six."
Jonathan didn't react.
But something in him shifted.
That day, I swore something.
I would protect her—Annya. Her smile. Her peace. Even if the world hated me.
Because she had smiled at me when she shouldn't have.
Because her shadow didn't scare me anymore.
Because maybe… I belonged here.
Not as a hero.
Not as a knight.
But as someone who sees what others refuse to see.
Her curse.
And her.
Chapter 5 – The Fire Behind Her Eyes
Night draped the palace in silence.
The stars above were clearer than I'd ever seen — untouched by smoke or city lights. And yet, I couldn't sleep. Not after what I had seen… not with that thing still floating behind her like a crown of sorrow.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the ornate door. The silence wasn't peaceful. It was heavy. Like something unsaid lingered in the air.
Then—
Knock knock.
A soft, deliberate rhythm.
"Come in," I called out, unsure if I wanted anyone to.
The door opened. It was him — Jonathan. Still dressed in his pristine black coat, not a wrinkle out of place. He stepped in slowly, closing the door behind him.
He didn't speak at first. Just walked over, pulled a chair beside my bed, and sat.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, with a voice like stone finally choosing to speak, he began.
"You saw it, didn't you? The shadow behind the princess."
I nodded.
His eyes darkened. "Then I think you deserve to know the truth."
He folded his hands. The moonlight touched his face, highlighting the weight behind his calm.
"She wasn't always like this," he said quietly. "There was a time… when Princess Annya was the light of this kingdom. Adored by all — not just for her beauty, but her kindness. Her laughter used to echo in these halls."
I could barely imagine it.
"One day, she visited a remote village. A small place with strange legends — I warned her not to go, but she insisted. She came back… different."
He looked away. For the first time, his composure cracked — just slightly.
"She grew sick. Pale. Fevered. Nightmares. And then… the curse showed itself."
I leaned forward. My hands trembled.
"But her family didn't abandon her. Not at first," he continued. "They tried everything. Rituals. Mages. Exorcists. But nothing worked. And then, one night…"
His voice dropped.
"I was outside, training my healing magic — I was young, barely a servant then. The king and queen… they had taken me in when no one else would. Treated me like a son."
His hands tightened.
"I felt the heat first. Rushed back to find the palace burning. Screams. Flames. Guards… gone. Everything devoured by fire."
My chest tightened. Every word felt like a mirror.
He swallowed hard. "And at the center of it — untouched by flame — was her. Annya. Standing alone. Hollow-eyed. Not a single burn on her skin."
Silence.
"They blamed her, of course. Whispers turned to shouts. The girl they once adored… became a monster in their eyes."
I couldn't breathe.
"I never believed it," he said. "Not even for a second."
He looked at me then — really looked at me.
"I stayed. Raised her. Trained to control the curse. To protect her from the world… and from herself."
Tears slipped down my cheeks. I didn't hide them.
Because his story… was my story.
A fire. A child who survived. A world that chose to blame instead of understand.
My voice came out barely above a whisper. "She's… like me."
Jonathan nodded.
"I knew it the moment I saw your eyes," he said. "You've been through it too."
I clenched my fists.
That night, something inside me changed.
Not because of the curse.
But because of the girl behind it.
The one who smiled despite the shadow.
The one who stood alone in a world that feared her.
And the man who chose to stay.
"I'll protect her," I said aloud.
Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "You?"
"I swear it," I whispered. "I'll protect her smile… no matter what. I'll give her the family I never had."
He didn't smile. But I thought I saw something soften in his eyes.
He rose to his feet.
"Then you'd better start by waking up early. I don't train lazy butlers."
He left without another word.
I sat there — eyes wet, heart burning.
For the first time in years…
I wasn't alone.
Chapter 6 – The Smiling Mask
Three weeks passed.
The palace no longer felt like a dream. It was still too big, too perfect, too quiet — but the fear had faded. The nightmare I once called life had dimmed, replaced with silver mornings and whispered winds.
I had a place now.
Even if small.
Even if forgotten.
I was the boy who repaired dresses. Who fetched thread. Who lingered in shadows — just far enough to not be noticed, just close enough to hear her voice when she sang alone.
Princess Annya.
She rarely spoke unless spoken to. Yet when she smiled — gods, when she smiled — it broke something in the silence. Like sunlight breaking through frost.
But no one else seemed to notice.
Everyone saw the curse. Floating behind her like death's twin. Guarding her like a chained demon. They feared her. Even the maids, even the soldiers. They bowed — yes — but their eyes trembled.
Even Jonathan.
He loved her, I could tell. But sometimes, even he flinched when the shadow stirred.
And sometimes...
So did I.
It happened on the fourth full moon since I arrived.
A banquet was held in her honor — the "Dawnlight Ceremony," they called it. A ritual that marked her right as heir, passed down in silence by a court that didn't want her, but couldn't deny her.
I wasn't supposed to be there. Servants like me didn't attend royal ceremonies.
But Annya requested it.
"I want the boy who sews my dresses to be present,"
she said, simply.
The court murmured. Disapproved. But no one said no to the cursed princess.
So I stood there — against a marble pillar, dressed in borrowed silk, heart pounding louder than the orchestra.
And I saw them.
Nobles. Lords. Generals. Dignitaries from kingdoms I couldn't pronounce. All smiling.
All fake.
Like masks painted gold.
Annya stood at the center — radiant, elegant, untouchable.
But I saw the way her hand trembled inside her sleeve.
I saw the flicker in her eyes when someone smiled too wide.
I saw the way the shadow behind her darkened with each lie that danced past a golden goblet.
Because that was its food, wasn't it?
Lies. Fear. Rejection.
And this room was full of them.
Then came the moment.
A noble — tall, draped in red silk, with a voice like buttered poison — raised his glass.
"To the princess who bears our future…
and her charming little pet monster."
Laughter followed.
Sharp. Cold.
Like glass cracking in winter.
The music faltered.
And then it began.
The lights dimmed — not by torch or candle, but by something wrong in the air. Like joy itself had been sucked out of the room.
The shadow stirred.
I felt it — like a scream pressed against the inside of my skull.
A soundless pressure. A growing hunger.
Then it rose.
Not like a ghost or a wisp, but like a tidal wave of darkness tearing free from a prison of silk.
It surged behind her like a great winged serpent, made of ink and anguish.
Eyes — too many eyes — opened within it, glowing faint red like coals smoldering in snow.
The chandelier flickered.
The wind vanished.
The room went still.
Annya's smile cracked.
Her breath hitched.
Her knees buckled.
And no one moved.
Except me.
I didn't think.
I ran.
Across polished marble. Past frozen guards. Past Jonathan's wide-eyed stare.
I reached her just as she began to fall.
She collapsed into my arms, feather-light, cold as winter breath.
The shadow snarled — not in sound, but in sensation.
The air trembled.
The pressure became unbearable.
It towered above us now — a dark god made of grief and rage.
And every noble, every soldier, every polished puppet in that room — they all screamed.
Guards drew blades.
Jonathan shouted something. Too far. Too late.
And I…
I held her tighter.
"STOP!" I shouted, as the shadow curled like smoke about to strike.
"She's not the one losing control — you are!"
It froze.
Then it looked at me.
No — into me.
I saw my fire again.
My parents' voices swallowed by flame.
The yokai I had ignored.
The faces of everyone who looked through me like I was ash.
The shadow showed me everything I had buried.
But I didn't let go.
I didn't blink.
I whispered, even as my hands trembled, "I'm not afraid of you."
And somehow…
That mattered.
The monster's gaze softened — or maybe it blinked.
The swirling darkness paused, uncertain.
And then…
A laugh.
Not cruel.
Not evil.
Hers.
"…You're shaking," Annya murmured, her voice barely audible.
"I'm still holding you, aren't I?"
Her breath caught.
Then she laughed again — tired, small, but real.
The shadow sighed — a soundless wind — and folded back into its chain, curling like smoke around her shoulders. It became still again.
People didn't cheer. They didn't speak.
They watched.
And feared.
But we… we were still there.
Together.
That night, I was summoned to Jonathan's chamber.
He didn't speak for a long time. Just poured tea and handed me a cup.
Then he said:
"You saw it, didn't you?"
"…I did."
"And you didn't run."
"…No."
He studied me. Silent.
Then said:
"She's stronger than you think. But even strength has its limits."
I didn't argue.
"I'm not here to save her," I said.
He raised a brow.
"I'm just… staying by her side."
Silence.
Then… a smile.
Faint. But warm.
"She'll need that more than a sword," he said.
And this time…
I believed him.
Chapter 7 – The Blade That Bleeds
They called him "The Blade Demon."
Jonathan, the ever-composed butler, whose presence was as silent as falling snow — was once a swordsman so feared, entire battalions laid down arms when they saw him step onto the battlefield.
I never imagined he'd be the one to train me.
But he did.
Not with kindness. Not with encouragement.
But with clarity.
"A sword isn't something you wield," he told me on the first morning, beneath the plum blossoms, wind dancing through fallen petals.
"It's something you become."
He showed me how to move — not like a fighter, but like someone surrendering to the rhythm of death itself. Blade to hand. Breath to steel. Step to silence.
It was beautiful.
And it hurt.
Each day, my bones screamed louder.
Each night, my arms trembled too much to lift a spoon.
But still, I trained.
Because if I was going to protect her — Princess Annya — I had to go beyond limits.
I had no magic. No power. No destiny.
So I carved one through pain.
Jonathan never mocked me. Never pitied me.
Sometimes, when I collapsed in the training yard, he'd carry me silently inside.
Healed me with his hands — warm, steady, glowing with quiet power.
Hands that once killed kings now mended my broken body.
And when I couldn't walk, he walked for me.
When I couldn't breathe, he stood by my side without a word.
Not as a friend. Not as a mentor.
Just as a man who understood what it meant to be broken — and still choose to stand.
Then one evening — during meditation — I felt it.
A presence.
No, not a presence.
A will.
Dark. Ancient. And pulsing through the hilt of my training blade like blood through veins.
It stared at me — not with eyes, but with the weight of a thousand battles.
My spirit.
The one waiting inside the sword.
Waiting for me.
"You feel it," Jonathan said from the steps. He hadn't come closer.
"You're not ready."
"Then I'll never be," I whispered.
"Because I don't have mana. I can't bind it with magic."
"Then it will kill you."
"Let it try."
That was the first time Jonathan looked afraid.
He didn't stop me again. He just watched.
The Trial.
No ceremony. No circle. No incantation.
I simply walked into the training grounds at midnight — barefoot, blade in hand, heart pounding like a funeral drum — and said:
"I challenge you."
The world vanished.
I stood in a field of ash.
The sky was red.
And before me rose a figure — tall, jagged, blacker than void, with burning cracks across its skin like molten scars. No face. No voice. Just rage made flesh.
The blade spirit.
My blade spirit.
And it wanted blood.
The First Strike
It moved faster than sound — its blade cleaving through air as I barely ducked, rolling in the dust. Sparks exploded where it struck.
Pain shot through my ribs — I'd been clipped.
I gasped.
Dodged again.
Slashed once — but my blade bounced off its hide like paper on stone.
The Second Strike
A kick to the gut sent me flying.
I crashed into stone, coughing blood.
My vision swam.
My hands trembled.
My sword slipped.
Get up.
I heard my own voice.
No — my will.
I grabbed the blade again. Stood.
Staggered forward.
The Third Strike
I feinted low, then aimed for its neck.
It caught my strike — with two fingers — and drove its sword straight through my shoulder.
I screamed.
Agony unlike anything I'd ever known.
But I didn't fall.
I twisted my body — pushed into the blade — and headbutted the thing square in its mask-like face.
It reeled.
And I grinned.
Blood poured down my chest.
But I wasn't done.
The Breaking Point
Minutes? Hours? I couldn't tell.
I was limping. Blind in one eye. My fingers numb.
But I kept fighting.
Each blow more desperate. Each dodge more instinct.
And the spirit… it didn't finish me.
It could have.
But it watched.
Judged.
Every move.
Every breath.
Every scream.
Until I finally dropped to my knees, gasping, sword falling from my hands.
I whispered:
"I don't have magic."
"I don't have strength."
"But I'm not giving up."
The spirit raised its blade.
And paused.
Then knelt.
Slowly.
Respectfully.
I understood, then.
It wasn't a test of power.
It was a test of resolve.
It had never wanted to kill me.
It wanted to know me.
And I passed.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the training yard.
Jonathan knelt beside me, pressing glowing hands to my wounds.
His eyes were wet.
"You idiot," he muttered. "You stupid, reckless… idiot."
"…I won, didn't I?"
He didn't answer.
Just tightened the bandage around my ribs and stayed until dawn.
That was the first time I saw him smile.
And the first time I realized:
Even without magic… I was no longer weak.
Chapter 8 — The Blade That Burned
Part 1: Orders Carved in Blood
The days after forging the contract were a haze of agony.
My bones felt like they'd been shattered and reassembled with fire. Every muscle screamed. My skin still bore the seared scars of that trial. I couldn't lift a blade, let alone protect anyone. But I breathed. Somehow, I still breathed.
On the second night, she came.
No guards. No attendants. Just her.
Princess Annya stepped into the room like a ghost, the flicker of dying candlelight dancing in her silver eyes. Her gaze didn't meet mine at first. It lingered on the bandages, the blood. Then she sat beside me on the floor. Quiet. Still.
"You don't need to do this…" she whispered.
"You'll just die. I'm cursed. I don't need saving."
My throat was dry. But I turned my head. Looked into her eyes.
Eyes that had seen too much. Eyes that reminded me of flames and loneliness.
"…So am I," I rasped.
A beat.
"And I'm not saving you because you need it. I'm staying because I choose to."
"Even if it kills me."
Something flickered across her face. Doubt. Fear. And then, for just a heartbeat, a real smile—fragile, trembling. Like ice about to crack. Like glass that had never known warmth.
And then—
BOOM.
The world shattered.
The sky itself roared as explosions tore through the palace walls.
The window behind us shattered inward with a shriek of steel and wind.
The floors quaked beneath our feet.
Then came the screams.
Screams of guards being cut down. Maids slaughtered mid-run.
Dark figures poured into the halls—hooded assassins and rogue mages, cloaked in smoke and red lightning.
The air stank of sulfur and blood.
I moved before I could think. My legs screamed in protest, but I stood. Sword in hand.
And beside me, like a shadow unleashed—
Jonathan.
The Blade Demon.
He was already drenched in blood. Not his own. Not yet.
His crimson blade gleamed like a demon's grin under the burning chandeliers.
He didn't speak. He just stepped forward—and hell followed him.
The hallway turned into a killing field. Steel clashed with steel. Magic ripped stone from the walls. I fought beside him, but I was slow. Weak. My arms shook with every strike.
He—he was a monster. A hurricane.
But there were too many.
A spear—engraved with glowing runes—tore through his chest.
The impact made the stone beneath his feet crack.
He coughed blood.
Didn't fall.
An axe swung—took his eye.
He screamed. Swung back. Took off the attacker's head.
Another rogue surged from behind—cleaving off his left arm at the shoulder.
Blood sprayed in a fan across the walls.
Still…
He. Didn't. Fall.
One-eyed. One-armed. Chest torn wide.
He held the line. Sword dragging. Gritting his teeth. Breathing like a beast choking on its last breath.
And then—
"TAKE HER AND RUN!"
His voice—
It wasn't a shout. It was a roar. The kind that makes the world freeze.
I had never heard him raise his voice before. Not once.
And it shattered something in me.
"I SAID GO!!"
I froze. Annya stood trembling behind me, paralyzed.
Jonathan turned slightly—blood pouring down his face, into his mouth, dripping from his sword.
"You want to protect her? Then RUN! Don't let my death be for nothing—MOVE!"
That was his last command.
The command of a warrior who knew death was already on his heels.
Tears blurred my vision. But I obeyed.
I grabbed Annya's hand. Pulled her with me.
And ran.
I didn't look back—
Not yet.
But behind me, the sound of his dying battle still echoes like thunder inside my skull.
Chapter 8 — The Blade That Burned
part II
The night was thick with blood and fire.
As I ran, carrying Princess Annya in my arms, the bitter wind of betrayal and ash clawed at my face. Behind us, the echo of clashing steel, snarling magic, and the groans of the wounded grew fainter—yet it tore deeper into my chest than any blade ever could.
Jonathan…
The Blade Demon…
My teacher… My family…
He was still fighting. Still standing. Even with blood pouring from the gaping hole in his chest. Even with one eye crushed and his arm ripped from its socket.
He had become a wall between death and the girl we both swore to protect.
And I… I was the coward who ran.
No.
No—I wasn't a coward.
I was doing what he ordered.
But that didn't stop my legs from trembling. It didn't stop my heart from fracturing with every step I took away from him. Away from the man who taught me to wield a blade, not as a weapon—but as a will.
"Don't look back," he had shouted—his voice breaking through the chaos like the last toll of a funeral bell.
But I looked back anyway.
For one second.
Through the smoke and flames, I saw him—still standing. Knees buckling. Sword dragging through stone. Surrounded. Battered. Broken.
But not defeated.
He looked at me with that one remaining eye—filled with rage, sorrow, and pride—and mouthed something I'll never forget:
"Live. For her."
And then… the flames consumed him.
A dozen mages struck at once. A single explosion lit up the courtyard like a second sunrise—searing everything in white fire.
My legs gave out.
If it weren't for Annya softly whispering my name, I think I would've crawled back there…
…and died beside him.
But I didn't. I held her tighter and ran. Through torn gardens. Through splattered halls. Past the corpses of the servants who had once smiled at us.
The palace was falling.
Every scream was a nail in the coffin. Every collapsed pillar was a memory crushed. Every step forward felt like walking over shattered glass barefoot, but I kept going—because his last order still rang in my bones like thunder:
Protect her.
Chapter 8 – Part 3: The Demon That Never Left
I was running.
Running with Annya clutched tightly in my arms—past the bleeding palace corridors, through the shattered gardens, over the corpses of servants and knights. The once-proud marble walls were painted with gore, and the air reeked of burnt flesh and betrayal.
And then—
We reached the village.
But it wasn't a village anymore.
It was a graveyard sculpted by nightmares.
Limbs—ripped clean off—lay scattered like broken toys. Villagers were butchered, their stomachs torn open, their intestines coiled like ropes across the mud. Children… charred down to dust, barely human, their fingers still reaching out for help that never came.
Heads. Dozens of them. Jammed onto wooden spikes and wagon wheels, their mouths frozen mid-scream. And the fires… they weren't just burning homes.
They were consuming souls.
It was hell. Hell on earth.
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. My legs gave out, and I dropped to my knees, choking on the thick, iron-tasting air. My vision blurred, not from smoke—but from something far worse.
Because there, in the heart of the inferno…
He was waiting.
The demon.
The same one I saw thirteen years ago, in the flames that stole my parents, my childhood, my soul. That twisted silhouette with eyes like burning hatred and a presence that crushed the world into silence.
His aura hit me like a sledgehammer.
I couldn't scream. I couldn't think.
All I felt was my heart tearing itself apart inside my chest—trying to escape the monster I could never forget. Every cell in my body screamed to run, to die, to disappear.
And I would have.
But then—
"...Hey."
Her voice.
Annya's voice.
Soft. Human. Alive.
She dropped beside me and wrapped her arms around me. I was shaking, drowning in fear—but her embrace pulled me up from that endless pit.
She didn't flinch. She didn't fear me.
She just… held me.
And for one stolen moment, in that burning world of death…
She became my dawn.
We ran again. Into the forest. Deeper and deeper, the darkness closing in behind us.
But fate wasn't finished.
They caught up—the executioners.
Dozens of soldiers. Mages with their staffs glowing. Assassins with blood-soaked blades. And their eyes all said the same thing:
"Kill her."
"Just die already, you cursed witch!" one spat, his face twisted with hate.
I snapped.
I stepped forward—trembling, broken, furious—and screamed:
"WHO decides what's right and wrong?!
WHO dares to judge who's cursed and who's not?!
WHO the hell gave YOU the right to decide who lives—
and who should fucking DIE?!"
They sneered.
One of them hurled a fire spell straight at Annya.
The instant he moved, his arm exploded—torn apart mid-cast, reduced to a red mist. He didn't even have time to scream before he hit the ground, convulsing in agony.
I didn't remember moving.
I didn't remember thinking.
But something had awoken.
Something… that should've stayed buried.
My skin cracked. The air around me collapsed into silence. A wave of black energy erupted from within, swallowing the very light. The grass died beneath my feet. The wind reversed.
The world itself… backed away.
An aura—so monstrous, so drenched in rage, grief, and agony—it silenced even death.
Annya stepped back.
She, who had faced curses. She, who had touched darkness.
She sweated cold.
Her eyes were wide.
She whispered, voice barely a breath:
"...What are you…?"
Even she couldn't recognize me.
Because I wasn't me anymore.
I was what they turned me into.
I was every scream I'd buried.
Every corpse I'd stepped over.
Every tear I never cried.
And then—
Darkness.
When I opened my eyes again…
The sun was rising.
The cliff was painted red.
And they were all dead.
Every last one of them.
Torn to ribbons. Crushed. Eviscerated.
Some had been split in half. Others had their faces caved in by something monstrous. Blood soaked the earth like rain. Limbs hung from branches. Eyes stared from the dirt—still wide with terror.
This wasn't a fight.
This was slaughter.
And I… I had done it.
Annya stood beside me, untouched, unharmed… but trembling.
She didn't say a word.
She just stared at me.
Not like a savior.
Not like a friend.
But like I was the thing the world should fear.
And in that moment…
So did I.
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