The path to the Underworld was dark and silent, the lantern the only thing guiding Ramien's steps.
He had assumed that only his soul would cross through, that his body would remain behind—but he had been wrong. His body, fully intact, had followed him, tethered to the ritual in ways he could scarcely comprehend.
He walked for what felt like hours before finally glimpsing a gate that towered impossibly high. Its end seemed to vanish into shadow. Ramien approached and raised his hand, the sigil etched in his palm flaring bright red and orange. The pattern pulsed in resonance with the markings on the gate.
The black monolith erupted in a blaze of orange light before swinging open wide enough for Ramien to pass. A dull thud echoed as the gates closed behind him, and the world revealed itself.
The Underworld was nothing like the darkness he had imagined. Glowing artifacts and shimmering sigils cast multicolored lights, illuminating the drifting souls that wandered between towering pillars. Old and young, warriors and innocents alike, some still bearing the marks of their final moments in life, moved quietly through the realm.
Ramien thought of King Renard—but his feet would not halt. The lantern seemed to tug him forward, guiding him through the glowing paths. Soon, he arrived at a throne.
The figure seated there had its back to him, denying him any clue as to who occupied it. The air felt heavier here, thick with anticipation.
Unsure of what else to do, Ramien lowered himself into a careful bow.
"I, Ramien of the Ashen Line, have come to ask a favor of the Queen of the Underworld," he said.
"What favor," a voice resonated, echoing from every corner of the vast hall, "could leave you with no choice but to stand before me?"
"I have come to ask for a soul."
The throne began to turn, slow and deliberate.
Upon it sat a woman of impossible height, draped in shades of black and ash-grey. Her crown should have been that of a queen—but instead, it was the crown of a king, taller, heavier, commanding. Even the very pillars of the Underworld seemed stretched toward her presence.
"Ramien of the Ashen Line," Hades said calmly, "do you believe it is easy to reclaim a soul once it has crossed into my realm?"
"My father claimed to have spoken with you about this," Ramien replied.
"Just because he spoke with me," she said coolly, "does not mean I am obliged to grant his wish. Or yours."
Ramien exhaled slowly. Another trial. Another test written into a life he had never chosen.
"Then… what must I do?" he asked.
"When your father came to me, you were not yet born," Hades said. "Fate had not yet shaped your power. I did not wish to agree—but for reasons of my own, I did."
Her gaze sharpened.
"Now I see what Fate has given you. Necromancy."
She paused.
"That alone grants me every right to deny you any soul."
A chill crawled up Ramien's spine. His eyes dimmed, heavy with exhaustion.
"There is nothing I can do about that," he said quietly. "I never chose my life. I never chose my power. Why… do you blame me for what I was made to be?"
For a moment, the Queen of the Underworld said nothing.
She studied him—and in that instant, she saw how close he was to surrendering not just his request, but his own existence.
Hades blinked once. Then again.
A flicker of astonishment—and something like worry—passed through her eyes, gone as quickly as it came.
"I do not blame you," Hades said at last. "But first, you must tell me whose soul you seek. And then… you will hear the price."
The price.
Of course there was a price for everything in this world.
Ramien hesitated.
He had come for Reinna.
But he had been destined to come for his brother.
His conscience twisted painfully inside his chest.
He had destroyed the royal family.
He had every right to beg for Reinna's soul.
And yet—
Damien was the only true son of their parents.
The heir and the one meant to live.
Ramien… was only an opposite mirror.
Created to carry the blame, created so Damien could ascend.
That truth hurt more than any wound.
At last, he lifted his eyes.
"Reinna of the Golden Bloodline," he said.
Surprise crossed Hades' face. This was not the name Hanny had given her.
"Why her?" she asked quietly.
"Because," Ramien replied, his voice steady despite the pain,
"I choose to fight against my fate."
Hades studied him for a long moment.
"I will not soften this for you, child," she said.
"I have lived since before your world learned to count time. No one has ever escaped the hands of Fate."
She leaned back against her throne.
"There are three prices you must pay for a single soul," she said.
"First," Hades said, her voice echoing through the underworld, "you shall return every undead you raised back to me."
Ramien's words caught in his throat. He opened his mouth to argue—but Hades continued before he could.
"Second, the Tyrant you possess was from here. You shall return it."
"What?" Ramien's heart thudded painfully.
"Third," she said, her gaze sharp, "those you raised shall return with no memory of the one who brought them back. Ramien… are you willing to pay the price?"
Ramien froze, stunned.
"You mentioned Xyldrak being from here?" he finally whispered. "What do you mean?"
"The Tyrants died with Renard," Hades replied. "Your father performed necromancy to revive it. That Tyrant—your companion, your power—belongs here. You must return it."
Ramien's knees buckled. He sank to them, his body trembling.
He had promised himself he would spare no thought in severing the bond.
Yet now—faced with the cost—he felt his heart fracture all over again.
He would have to return every undead—including Damien.
He would lose the Tyrant dragon, his greatest strength, leaving him ordinary, powerless.
He would not even be remembered by the soul he retrieved, robbed of the chance to apologize, to be acknowledged, to matter.
This… this crossed every line he had drawn in his mind.
Ramien closed his eyes, swallowing the pain that burned from the very bottom of his heart.
A single thought echoed through him: What was Father thinking?
"Ramien, do you accept this price?" Hades asked.
"Yes… I do," he whispered.
When his eyes met hers, the blue had dulled to grey, exhaustion etched deep into every line of his face.
"Would you rather I take the Tyrant now, or later?" she asked. "You might need it."
He thought of Victor's warning—the whole world waiting, watching, powerless to stop him. That alone told Ramien that Victor would be forced to act against him.
A blue-red crystal glow radiated from his body—the Heart Calming Pendant pulsed against his chest.
Under the weight of exhaustion, of inevitable loss, a strange peace settled over him. Everything felt distant, inevitable, fated. There was no need to break over it.
His fragile smile curved faintly. "Take it… now," he said. "Let it be done with."
The wind howled into his ears, spiraling around him, yet his smile lingered as he stepped into his Soul Sea for the last time.
Xyldrak's eyes met his from within the storm. The whirlwind tore at the dragon, pulling him outward.
"Master," Xyldrak said softly.
"Any last words?" Ramien asked.
"I might have been a Tyrant," Xyldrak began, "but being with you… I learned that strength alone only brings trouble and isolates one from the world."
Tears welled in Ramien's eyes, but he smiled.
"I apologize for the trouble I caused. What you need most… is peace."
With that, the dragon was drawn out completely. The frozen lake of the Soul Sea cracked and began to collapse into nothingness.
Ramien could do nothing but stand there, tears in his eyes, a fragile smile still lingering on his lips.
As the Soul Sea collapsed before him, he returned to his body, hollow and exhausted.
"Now you must return my undead," Hades' voice echoed, pulling him from his thoughts.
"Of course," he replied with a slow nod.
"Empires are after you. An army waits at your castle. I will not return you there, but to somewhere safer," she continued.
Ramien froze. Hades had never shown mercy in the short time he'd known of her, and yet here she was, offering protection. He barely had time to process before the world around him shifted, and he found himself in a quiet stone room.
"Your progress in fulfilling the price will be monitored by me," Hades' voice resounded, lingering in the air like a chilling promise.
Back at the castle, Ramien's few hours exchange with the underworld had blurred into three weeks in the real world. Victor and his men noticed the Veil closing, but Ramien had not returned.
"What happened?" the second-in-command asked nervously. "Do you think he became a wandering soul?"
"No," the third-in-command scoffed. "Our General tricked us—he helped him escape."
"We've been here together. Everyone knows I did nothing," Victor said coldly, voice low but tense.
"Who will the Elders believe?" the third-in-command sneered. "Even your father, the Western Elder, will never side with you."
Meanwhile, the underworld Veil opened in the Captain Pack's stone room, drawing the attention of the chiefs. When they arrived, they found an ordinary-looking boy, exhausted both physically and mentally, yet faintly radiating the aura of death.
"Who are you, and why are you here?" they demanded.
"I'm a friend to Alpha of the Captain Pack" seeing the wolf eared people, Ramien murmured, trying to keep his composure as his consciousness wavered.
Soon, Alpha and Ace were summoned to the room. Realizing the boy was Ramien, they exchanged a quick, knowing glance—they could not reveal his identity.
"He is our friend, Kael. He's from the human world and wishes to learn Sorcery," Ace said smoothly.
The chiefs nodded but pressed further, asking why he had emerged from the underworld Veil.
Ramien opened his mouth to answer, but his strength gave out. The weight of everything—the Soul Sea, the price he had paid, the lives he had touched and lost—finally overwhelmed him. With a soft thud, he collapsed, fainting into the arms of the world that had become both his refuge and his burden.