I crashed into the cliffside.
Stone met skin—then bone.
Everything shattered. My back struck first. Then ribs. Then spine.
Pain didn't just strike. It ricocheted. Like a scream trapped in a bell, bouncing inside me until it had nowhere left to go.
I gasped. My mouth opened wide, but air didn't come. It stabbed in, burning sharp like glass sliding into my lungs.
And then—I smiled. A cracked, bloody smile, splitting across my lips.
"I'm… still breathing."
My voice was brittle. A shard of glass scraping rusted stone. A broken flute forcing itself to hum again.
Then came the laugh. Not joy. Not triumph. The kind of laugh that came when pain stopped being pain—when it grew too absurd, too endless, and the only answer left was madness.
"Damn you… Hex."
I should've raged. Should've screamed into the storm and cursed the System—the same cursed Hex that had torn me from a tower of despair, only to fling me against jagged stone.
But beneath the rage… something else stirred.
A small, slow throb.
Relief.
I was back.
The ravine's wind howled—not soft, not merciful. It screamed across my bare skin like claws of ice. My body—numb, trembling—felt every shred of it.
I looked down.
No armor. No cloak. No gear. Just flesh—bare, bruised, bloodied, painted with dust and shadow. The cold bit deep, and I realized how fragile I was.
I remembered the Hex's words—the last ones it whispered after I defeated the Titan. Words I never understood. A whisper I tried to bury. But it lingered.
A name.
A chain of whispers.
Rune Chronicles:
[Shadow Key], [Forgotten King's Blade], [Dark Shroud], [Everbloom]
My fingers twitched. They burned as if the words themselves had weight. I chose one.
[Dark Shroud]
---
[Dark Shroud]: A shroud gifted by the Forgotten King to his knight.
Blessed with the king's dying will, dyed in the blackening touch of corruption.
Its blessings remain—quiet, waiting.
Enchantments:
– [Willed Form]
– [Hide]
---
[Willed Form]: Forged with the same pre as the Blade. Its will is one with its bearer.
[Hide]: To vanish. Not illusion. Not magic. But by the will to not exist.
A Chronicle born of a corrupted king. Stained in silence. Yet still loyal. That was enough.
I reached inward. Called it.
The shroud answered.
It came like smoke. Wrapped my body layer by layer, as though it remembered me—my shape, my wounds, my blood.
Pathetic armor. Tattered. Torn. Cracked where the gauntlets once met the forearms. Blackened until no light could cling to it.
Seventh Tier? Awakened Chronicle? It looked like it had fought wars, been buried centuries, then dragged out of its own grave.
But the enchantment stirred.
I closed my eyes. Let thought bleed into shape. Not power—warmth. Not glory—truth. And the shroud bent to me.
It twisted. Shifted. Became gauntlets—heavy, familiar. A cloak. Tattered, but whole. Boots I hadn't asked for but needed.
The Chronicle didn't just obey. It knew me.
And then I checked the next one. A Chronicle I didn't remember earning.
[Everbloom]
---
[Everbloom] – A glass forged in ?, by ?. Its true power unknown. What is desired will flow out.
Enchantments:
– [Desired]
– [???]
[Desired]: What is desired will flow.
[???]: —
Rank: —
Tier: —
Type: Utility
---
The description alone told me enough. The Hex hadn't given me a gift. It had left me another blade to bleed on.
I summoned it.
And in my palm formed a glass. Simple. Fragile. Beautiful.
Clear as frozen rain. Thin as a whisper.
I stared—and then, in the corner of my vision, I saw it.
A shimmer.
Faint lines. Curling. A script. Ancient. Living. Still twisting.
It followed me.
No… it had never left.
The Forgotten Spire. The thing I'd found there—the one thing it demanded.
The Script.
But it wasn't the script that haunted me.
It was the question.
Why did Hex send me there? Why did Hex know my memories?
Why did it know my father?
His face rose unbidden. Tired eyes. Scarred hands. A voice that used to say, You'll understand one day.
Pain struck like a blade unsheathed inside my chest.
"I'll find it," I whispered. My words cut my own throat raw. "The truth."
Then steel kissed the back of my neck.
Not rushed. Not wild.
Deliberate.
And with it—her voice.
Soft as silk. Cold as frost. Every syllable honed to kill.
"Who are you?"
The blade slid, biting skin. Warm blood crawled down my neck.
Fear struck. A rogue Awakened—here, now. The thought alone clawed panic into my chest.
I turned. Slow. Careful. My head tilted just enough to survive.
And then I saw her.
Velvet presence. Sweet scent that rotted into poison the longer I breathed it. My body urged me closer. My instincts screamed run.
"Who are you?" she repeated.
Her calm carried weight. A promise hidden inside the stillness.
I couldn't move. The blade traced my pulse.
"You're Marked. I can sense it. But why… here? Why would a Marked Seeker crawl into the Abyss so late at night?"
My lips shook. My throat burned. Words clawed their way out.
"Can… I not answer that?"
The silence bled. Sharp. Crushing.
Then—her words. Quick. Precise.
"Your name."
"Night."
She paused. Just enough to make me choke on the truth.
"I'm serious," I rasped. "Why would I lie with a blade at my throat?"
Her lips twitched. A chuckle. Not cruel. Just… tired.
"So do you think I'd keep it just at your neck?"
Her blade pressed harder.
"Follow me."
Her name was Rosalind.
But she told me to call her Master Rose.
---
She moved fast. Down the cliffside, hair slicing the wind. Never looking back.
At the base: a car. A pink Rolls-Royce, gleaming like an illusion painted into the night.
"In," she ordered.
I blinked. "Where are we going?"
"The Academy. You'll stay until Winter Solace. Leave without permission—" Her lips curved, the blade of her smile as sharp as the steel she held. "And I'll kill you."
The words dripped casual. But the promise inside them could not be mistaken.
I stepped inside.
Why did it feel like I was being kidnapped?
The scent inside the car pulsed. Fluctuated. Too sweet. Too sharp. My instincts howled. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
The car lurched forward, accelerating fast.
Then—sudden stop.
The air snapped.
Her blade flashed again—at my throat.
Her eyes burned. Bloodlust, and something worse—something I couldn't understand.
The silence crushed. Until her voice cut it.
"Who are you? And why were you in the Abyss?"
Her tone didn't rise. Didn't falter. It sliced.
I didn't know what to say. But something was clear.
Any wrong answer… would be my death.