Caelum and Elara smiled faintly as they saw Sylas vanish into the swirling space rift. They knew the cost. They knew they might not survive this day—but their son was safe. That alone made the pain bearable.
Blood gushed from the deep wounds where Bermond's shadowy tendrils had pierced them. As the tendrils withdrew, the air was thick with the metallic tang of blood, mixing with the cold scent of rain. Caelum's breathing was ragged, Elara's lips trembling as they looked at each other for the last time.
They slumped to the ground together, bodies collapsing into the mud and shattered debris. Rain pelted their faces, washing away the crimson streaks, but could not erase the stillness creeping into their limbs. Their fingers intertwined, holding each other even as their final breaths escaped into the storm. Above them, their sigils materialised—one a radiant crimson flare, the other a pale, swirling white—hovering in the air like the last fragments of their souls.
"Death is the ultimate result of deserters." Bermond's voice was low but laced with venom, his eyes narrowing with a cruel glint.
The once-cozy one-story house was gone—razed to splintered wood and rubble. Black smoke curled in the rain, hissing where the downpour met dying embers.
Bermond flicked his wrist, signaling to his two subordinates. Herath and Selvat stepped forward, each retrieving a container from beneath their cloaks. The cylindrical vessels were crafted from dark, rune-etched metal, their surfaces faintly humming with containment magic.
The two approached the lifeless bodies. With a sharp twist, they opened the lids. Instantly, the hovering sigils quivered, drawn into the containers as though by an invisible vortex. The air rippled, and with a final flicker of light, the sigils were gone. Herath and Selvat closed the lids and returned to Bermond.
"Now then, let's take the bodies wi—" Bermond stopped mid-sentence. His expression hardened. A cold, instinctive dread gripped him. Without hesitation, he activated the ring on his right hand, the engraved runes flashing. A circular portal of shifting darkness tore open behind him.
"Move!" he barked, grabbing Herath and Selvat by their arms and pulling them into the portal. It snapped shut a heartbeat later, leaving only the sound of the rain and the whisper of wind over broken ground.
A few seconds later, a lone figure descended from above, landing lightly where they had stood.
He was a man in his mid-fifties, tall and lean, his frame honed by years of disciplined movement. His presence carried a quiet but undeniable authority, like someone who had walked through centuries without ever bowing to them. His angular face and high cheekbones gave him a stern, almost regal bearing, while his storm-grey eyes—deep-set and sharp—held the weight of one who had seen too much. Fine lines at their edges spoke not of frailty, but of endless hours spent watching and waiting.
His hair, streaked with silver, was swept back from a broad forehead, with a few strands swaying as though in an invisible breeze. He was dressed in a sharply tailored dark suit, the fabric cut so precisely it seemed immune to the rain, with a tie whose hue shifted subtly depending on how the light struck it. His shoes, though splattered with raindrops, shone faintly in the dim light.
On his right hand rested a ring of unidentifiable metal, its surface etched with ever-changing symbols that seemed to drift and rearrange when looked at too long. Even standing still, there was a subtle distortion around him—moments seemed to stretch or compress under his presence, as if time itself bent slightly to accommodate him.
His gaze fell upon the broken bodies of Caelum and Elara. A flicker of sadness crossed his face, quickly hidden beneath calm resolve.
I came too late.
He moved closer, crouching beside them. A faint hum—barely perceptible—emanated from Elara's body. It wasn't life… it was something else. A ripple, a residual connection to a hidden dimension.
Sensing it, he extended his hand over the bodies. With a single sweeping motion, a transparent, shimmering curtain enveloped them, its edges dissolving into the rain. Closing his eyes, he reached forward into empty air, his fingers curling as if gripping something unseen.
The fabric of reality before him tore open with a muted rip, revealing a vertical rift of shimmering starlight. Within its depths, cosmic currents swirled, endless and silent. Without another glance at the ruined battlefield, he stepped through, carrying the bodies with him.
The rift sealed shut behind them, leaving only the falling rain and the hushed ruins to bear witness.
***
Sylas, consumed by anguish, drifted helplessly through the endless shimmer of stars. His body refused to obey him—only the pull of gravity drew him downward into the void.
Suddenly, a jagged crack split the space beside him. A hand shot out from within and seized his arm. Before he could comprehend what was happening, he was yanked violently into the rift.
With a heavy thud, he hit solid ground. Gasping, he looked around—he was in a dim, cavernous space, the air cool and smelling faintly of stone. Before him stood a man in his mid-fifties, tall and composed.
"Grandpa Austin!" Sylas cried, recognizing him instantly. Since childhood, Austin had been a steady figure in his life, though always surrounded by an air of mystery.
Tears blurred Sylas's vision as he spoke in a rush. "Grandpa, some people are attacking Mom and Dad! Please—you have to save them!"
Austin's expression darkened with quiet sorrow. Instead of answering, he stepped aside. The motion revealed two figures lying motionless on the stone floor. Their bodies were covered in deep wounds, their clothes soaked in crimson.
Sylas froze. Words deserted him. Slowly, he stumbled forward, each step heavier than the last. Kneeling beside them, he reached out—his trembling hands met only the unyielding chill of death.
"Mom! Dad! Please… wake up!" His voice cracked as he shook them, desperate for any sign of life. But the silence was absolute.
"Child… they are gone," Austin's voice came from behind, firm but gentle. The words shattered the fragile wall of denial Sylas had been clinging to.
"Aaaaaahhhhhh!" His scream tore through the cave as he pulled their lifeless bodies into his arms. Tears streamed down his cheeks in an endless flood.
Austin didn't interfere. He simply watched, knowing that grief, when caged, only festers. Minutes passed in sobs and broken murmurs—until Sylas noticed something horrifying. His parents' bodies were… dissolving. Wisps of light drifted from their skin, scattering like dust in the wind.
"Grandpa! What's happening?!" Sylas's voice rose in panic. "Why are they disappearing?!"
"It is the consequence of their choice, child," Austin said, his tone grave.
"Then do something!" Sylas's voice broke into desperation. He tried to grab at the vanishing fragments, but they slipped through his fingers like smoke. In moments, they were gone completely, leaving only empty air.
"No… no, no!" His thoughts spiraled wildly. Is this a nightmare? Why won't it end?! Who were those people? Why did they kill them?!
Anguish curdled into rage. I'll kill them. I'll destroy them. I'll wipe their existence from this world.
Something deep within Sylas awoke. His pupils darkened to a deep, searing crimson. Behind him, a sigil burst into being—
It burned in vivid red, a core of molten light at its center, woven with dense, crisscrossing lines like the heart of a fiery bloom. From it, twelve curling arms unfurled, each one flickering like living flame. Layers of wave-like shapes rippled outward, forming a perfect, mirrored mandala of embers against the black void. Every twist and curve was both sharp and fluid, alive with the hunger to consume.
The cave quaked under the crushing destructive aura that poured from him. Lightning cracked in the air, and the very stone groaned in protest.
Austin's eyes narrowed. He appeared behind Sylas in a flash, summoning a luminous shield to contain the force. But the raw, untamed energy buckled the shield, its edges warping under the strain.
Three white sigils flared into existence behind Austin. The spirals shone like galaxies, their centers wound tight with delicate, threadlike lines twisting like captured smoke. From the cores, countless branching arcs radiated outward, curving like frozen lightning. Layered rings of light overlapped endlessly, pulling the gaze inward to infinity.
Two of the sigils ignited fully, flooding the space with calm, purifying light. Slowly, the destructive force radiating from Sylas diminished, until it was nothing but a whisper. His body slackened, and he collapsed into unconsciousness.
As the darkness claimed him, a single murmur reached his ears, almost too faint to catch:
"Everything that exists carries within it the seed of its own destruction."