Grief will never be a patient emotion.
It won't wait quietly until you are ready to heal.It is a storm—consuming without pause, tearing at the walls of your heart.
Where once you felt peace, you now ache with absence. Where once you felt hope, you now see only endings. Your memories betray you—each one a blade sharpened by love. Suddenly, every sound echoes with the voices you've lost, and every silence is a tomb.
You must carry them, though your arms were never made for eternity.
As his vision dimmed, the Demon's claws loosened. The beast staggered, poison finally seeping through its veins. The trap had worked.
Coughing blood, Neptune slowly forced himself to his feet. The pale boy gazed down at the Demon's motionless body, seized a large stone, and lifted it with all his strength.
He crushed the Demon's head. The crack echoed like a cruel hymn through the frozen forest. Blood spilled into the snow, painting a grotesque picture.
Breathing heavily, Neptune sank back onto the cold ground. A wicked smile tugged at his lips as warmth flooded through him, the last Soul Fragments sinking into his being.
At last. He could form his first Soul Vessel.
He had done it. He had killed a Demon. A mere mortal like him, achieving the impossible.
Neptune wanted to laugh. But then— A sharp pain pierced through his chest.
"W-What the hell?!"
He collapsed, clutching at the snow, his fingers clawing through the ice
"Arghhh!"
The burning spread. Every inch of his body felt like it was being roasted alive. His teeth clenched; his mouth opened to scream, but no sound came. Nothing.
"I can't breathe! I can't breathe! Make it stop! Make it stop!"
Tears streamed down his face as the agony intensified. His soul… was it breaking? He had heard of this before: when a soul was too weak, it could shatter.
Seventeen years old, and he didn't want to die—not like this. If the Demon had killed him, fine. But this? To fail at the very moment of triumph?
He had nothing—no home, no family, no friends. Soldiers had raised him in this hell, and most of them were long dead. Now, on the verge of his first Vessel, he was about to perish like the rest.
Neptune fell back into the snow. His lifeless eyes stared up at the gray sky as warm blood filled his mouth and stained the white ground.
"I-I don't want to die… not like this," he thought desperately. He prayed to the gods.
But none answered.
Only silence—heavier than death. No warmth. No voice. No hand from the heavens.Just the cold weight of snow swallowing him whole.
And yet—something inside him refused to break.
Neptune jerked upright, coughing blood. His body still throbbed with pain, tears streaking down his face. Wiping the crimson from his lips, he blinked around in confusion.
How was he still alive?
"F-Fuck…" Neptune rasped.
His vision swam, thoughts hazy from blood loss. Crawling to a nearby tree, he leaned against the frozen bark. The familiar sight of the snowy forest filled his eyes, and for the first time, he felt relief.
He placed a trembling hand on his chest. Beneath his heartbeat, he felt something else. A pulse. A warmth.
His Soul Vessel.
"Finally…"
Forgetting his pain, Neptune tried to access his Soul Arsenal. In the old novels he'd read, heroes usually said things like Status or Profile. He tried it but nothing happened.
Neptune sighs and mutters: "Of course... ."
Closing his eyes, he focused instead on the Vessel. Darkness shifted into light. Before him, a round white orb pulsed faintly with turquoise light, like a beating heart. His Soul Vessel.
Beside it rested a weapon: a long sword, double-edged with a polished silver finish. Its crossguard curved into claw-like extensions. Two-thirds down the blade, a sharp cut-out gave it a menacing look.
Letters appeared beneath the Vessel, strangely scrambled yet, he could read it:
-
Name: Neptune
Soul Vessel: Awakening
Soul Fragments: (0/500)
-
"So I'll need 500 more fragments to reach the next Vessel…"
He looked below the sword:
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Main Soul Weapon: Crownbreaker
Rank: Dormant
Description: The sword grows stronger the more powerful or oppressive the foe—an immortal weapon of resistance.
A grin spread across Neptune's tired face.
"That's ama—"
A low growl cut him off.
His grin vanished.
"Shit... ."