"Forgive me."
A fractured glimpse of a memory surged through his mind, sharp and haunting, before vanishing into the void once more. A single teardrop fell onto the back of his hand—cool, heavy, and silent. He stared at it, yet remained strangely numb to its touch.
Izochi turned his gaze toward the window.
The world outside had surrendered its brilliance; the sky was a bruised expanse of charcoal clouds, suffocating the morning sun.
It bore the hollow promise of rain—a phantom storm that had teased the horizon for months but never dared to fall.
"That dream again…"
The question of its meaning clawed at his soul, but as always, the silence offered no reprieve. He shook the shadows from his thoughts, bracing himself for the weight of the day ahead: his induction into the Exorcist Society.
"Good morning, brother!"
A voice, melodic and untainted by the world's gloom, drifted into the room. It was Akari. The warmth in his younger brother's greeting stood in stark contrast to the coldness settling in Izochi's chest.
"You are already up, Akari?"
Izochi turned, a practiced smile masking the fracture in his heart. He looked at his younger brother, hiding every ounce of his suffering behind a mask of calm.
The year was 1392.
At the heart of it all lay Forth Land, the District A Capital—a place etched in history as the Land of the Chosen Ones.
Among the eleven regions of the world, it stood as a titan, ranking sixth in population and third in its vast, sprawling size.
Two great rivers, the Sealis and the Aola, carved the land into three distinct territories, their currents carrying the weight of ancient secrets.
For millennia, this world had been a fragile dwelling place for three coexisting lives: the Humans, the restless Spirits, and the shadow-shrouded Engimas.
Though each of the eleven regions was governed by its own laws, they were all bound by a single, unbreakable thread—the Exorcist Society. Even Etopia, which shared a massive land border with Forth Land, had to respect this power.
The Society operated through a single chain of command, a sovereign entity that answered to no government, standing free from the control of kings and politicians alike.
8:37 PM.
Izochi stood on the edge of Raygin, a city of concrete giants. Beside him was Marco, a senior by three years and his first official partner.
"Raygin used to be alive,"
Marco remarked, gesturing toward the hollow skyscrapers.
"But the paranormal rot grew too fast. Now, the eastern district is nothing but a ghost town—an abandoned relic."
"Spare me the history,"
Izochi interrupted.
"What's the task?"
"Task?"
Marco muttered.He flicked a lighter, the flame dancing in the dark as he lit a cigarette. After a deep pull, he exhaled a cloud of smoke and pointed.
"See that building?..
Clear the sixth floor. Once you're done, stay close and accompany me for the rest."
"Okay,"
Izochi answered in a flat, quiet voice, as if the task meant nothing to him.
"By the way,"
Marco said, watching him closely through the haze of smoke. "What's your Chroniclle?"
"Error."
"Now go."
In the blink of an eye, Izochi vanished. He didn't just move fast; he was gone, reappearing inside the dark threshold of the building as if space itself had folded to his will.
It wasn't just a trick of the light or Marco's eyes playing games. It was real. Izochi had teleported.
Watching the empty spot where the boy had stood just a second ago, Marco took another slow drag of his cigarette. A thin smirk played on his lips.
"Amusing," he whispered to the silence.
On the second floor, a swarm of low-level Spirits lunged at him from the shadows. Izochi's expression didn't flicker; he remained as cold and indifferent as ever.
To a witness, it would have looked like he teleported behind each of them simultaneously, flickering through the air like a ghost.
But this time, it wasn't teleportation. It was pure, raw speed.
He didn't just move past them—he sliced through their very existence in an instant. Before the Spirits could even register his presence, their forms shattered, unable to keep up with a movement that seemed to defy the flow of time itself.
Apart from the second floor, the levels that followed were far from easy. With each passing second, the atmosphere grew toxic, and Izochi's madness increased simultaneously,
and so did the threat.
He was no longer just a cold strategist; he was becoming a whirlwind of violent instinct.
As he tore through the third, fourth, and fifth floors, the cost of his speed began to show.
His body started to break, to bleed. The sheer force of his own movements was tearing at his muscles, and the jagged claws of the Spirits began to find their mark.
Blood streaked his face, mixing with the sweat and the grime of the abandoned building, but the agonizing pain only served to feed the fire in his mind.
He cleared all.
But this rhythm didn't last long. Entering the sixth floor, he felt something mysterious. The air grew so heavy that it became nearly impossible to inhale, the pressure crushing his lungs.
Along with Akari's interruption, Izochi snapped out of the cold grip of his questionable dreams. The transition was sharp, pulling him from the distorted sixth floor back into the heavy silence of his room.
Getting off the bed, Izochi washed his face with trembling hands.
As he wiped the water away, he stopped. In the dim light of the mirror, the thin, jagged scratches on his face were still noticeable—raw marks that shouldn't have been there if it was just a dream.
"It was real," he whispered, his voice sounding hollow. "It wasn't a dream... so why can't I remember the end?"
He stared at his reflection, searching for a trace of the madness he had felt. But the killer was gone. The seriousness, the killing spirit, the manic energy—none of it remained.
He looked like an innocent boy who was simply lost, a facade so perfect it was terrifying.
But deep down, he felt a cold, rhythmic pulse that didn't belong to him. It wasn't just a hidden side of his mind; it was an Entity lurking behind his eyes, watching the world through his lens.
He looked innocent, but he was a vessel for something far more sinister.
And he knew it.