Year 932, End of 3rd Month – Aetherwyn Calendar
Mist clung low to the forest floor, curling between roots and brambles like hungry spirits. Shafts of dull grey light pierced the dense canopy above, revealing an endless sprawl of gnarled trees and thorn-veined undergrowth.
Two figures moved along a moss-laced trail.
General Suren led the way in silence—his back straight, every motion precise. His grey cloak barely stirred, even as the biting wind hissed through the trees. Behind him, Elias trudged wearily, sweat beading on his brow, his breathing loud and uneven.
"You're distracted," Suren said without turning.
"I'm trying to keep up, Master," Elias muttered. "I know I need to regulate my breath, but still…"
Suren halted beside a crooked tree; its trunk warped like a man twisted by age. He finally looked back, his expression unreadable.
"How long have you trained under me, and still, you forget the first lesson?" His voice was calm, but each word cut like a blade. "Breath is the anchor of all cultivation. Without it, you're just breaking your body instead of forging it. Pain, struggle, discipline—these do not transform you. They strip you bare. Only then do you see what's left."
Elias looked down, ashamed. "But what if there's nothing left underneath?"
Suren's gaze hardened.
"Then you die. Or worse—you survive as something empty. A shell chasing power with no purpose."
He plucked a leaf from the tree and held it against the dim light.
"Everyone thinks cultivation is about stages. About reaching higher realms faster than the rest. But it's not. It's about will, disciple and self-shaping. You either forge yourself—or the world shapes you into its tool."
Elias frowned. "But Master, my friends are already at the Essence Manipulation stage. I'm barely at Body Refinement."
Suren dropped the leaf.
"Your friends have their path. You have yours. Some race ahead only to stumble later. Others start slow but endure long after the rest fall."
Elias nodded quietly. The words sank into him.
They walked for a while in silence, until Elias spoke again.
"But Master… where are we going? It's been nearly a month since you dragged me from the capital, saying I needed to broaden my horizons. All we've done is wander through jungles, scavenge like animals. You haven't even helped me once. I've been living like… like a Varnak."
Suren smirked faintly. "The Varnak survive where even the beasts starve. You'd do well to learn from them."
He stepped over a tangled root, then turned slightly.
"Every breath you take in unfamiliar soil sharpens you. Every hardship reveals the cracks in your armor. By meeting new people, facing new lands, you begin to understand how they survive—and how you do not. This is cultivation, Elias. Not sitting in a hall waiting for Essence to obey you."
Elias groaned. "I still don't see what's so exciting about the Eastern Desolate."
"What did you say?" Suren's tone snapped like a whip.
"Nothing, Master!"
"Then move your legs faster. We're only week away from now. You should be excited."
Elias muttered under his breath again but kept his mouth shut this time.
Suren walked on, steady and silent as ever. The forest watched them pass, its mist curling tighter.
…
The cafeteria buzzed with early-morning hustle. Voices tangles in the thick air—laughter, footsteps, the scraps of bowl—but underneath it all was a quiet tension. If one listened ling enough, watched closely enough, they'd see it: the stiffness in shoulders, the glances over shoulders, the fear everyone was too proud to admit or too coward to acknowledge.
And why wouldn't they be afraid?
The city had changed these past few days.
The city lord had locked down the inner gates. Patrols moved in threes and fours, sweeping through alleys like hounds off leash. People whispered about a predator, a serial killer, they said. Slipping through shadows, killing folks and vanishing like smoke.
Nathan stared down at his bowl. His spoon floated in a broth that was barely soup. A few flecks of green, a chunk of something soft. No meat. He sighed, not because of the soup but everything else.
If I was stronger… If I truly had someone…Then maybe Kev wouldn't be gone.
Then maybe he wouldn't be sitting here alone, eating fear with every spoonful.
He'd asked that girl, the one he reported when he first got here. She always gave the same answer.
'We're looking.'
Nathan took a long breath. If there is no word in a few days, I'll storm Harkan's place myself.
But what if Kev wasn't there? What if what Harkan said was true? What if, as Dren said, Kev had left him behind?
No! Kev would never do that. He couldn't…
Nathan clenched his jaw and forced down another mouthful of broth. His resolve tightened with every bitter swallow. He would grow stronger. Whatever it took. For Kev, for himself. For revenge.
Footstep approached—quiet, but deliberate. Nathan didn't need to look.
He felt Dren before he saw him.
He hunched further over his bowl as Dren dropped into the seat beside him, casually as if they were old friends.
"You always eat like you're hiding from the food." Dren said, voice low, dry amusement curling in his tone.
"Leave me alone, Dren!"
"You fought Tiller and Feris, didn't you? Thought they'd snap your spine but you're still breathing. I heard even Meryn got impressed and gave you a bracelet. Quiet a lucky one, aren't you?"
Nathan kept eating. Quiet.
Dren leaned in, lowering his voice. "I heard some girls were even willing to follow you in the night."
Finally, Nathan looked up. "What do you want?"
Dren tilted his head. "Want you to stop sulking and do something useful."
He pulled a folded scrap of cloth from his pocket and tapped it on the table.
"Salvage job, east zone."
Nathan narrowed his eyes. "Why me?"
"Well! Nothing serious," Dren said with a half-smirk. "Think of it as paying off an old debt. Kevin helped me out once when I was in a real bind. And you…"
He paused, glancing sideways.
"I like you. You've got that quiet bite. Reminds me of someone I knew."
Nathan nodded. "Alright."
Dren nodded back and replied, "Meet me at the exit in half an hour after you got everything ready."
…
The street was near silent, save for the occasional clatter of a guard's boots echoing from some alley far off. Nathan crouched beside Dren behind a collapsed stone wall, breath sharp and short in his chest. With them were three others, all clutching tools—shovels, pickaxes, anything that could dig through rubble.
"The warehouse is three blocks down," Dren whispered, eyes flicking between shadows. "Sil, head south and keep watch. Bren, east. We came in from the west, so no need. That leaves north—Jack, that's yours. Once the area is clear, meet us at the site. Then we dig."
"Guards checked it, sure," he added, grinning. "But the collapse went too deep. Wasn't worth the effort for them. For us? It's a damn treasure trove."
He scanned their faces. "Move fast. The quicker we're done, the quicker we vanish. Nights ain't safe anymore… to many ghosts out for blood."
With nods and low grunts, the group split off.
Nathan followed Dren through broken streets toward the ruined building. They moved low, fast, until they reached it—sunken heap of stone and wood, half-eaten by fire. Dren pulled out a crumpled old blueprint, squinted at it, then compared it to what was left of the structure.
"Here," he muttered, tapping a spot. "Old cellar is underneath this mess."
They started clearing debris, prying loose stones and shifting charred planks. After a while, the others returned. Dren sent Sil to keep watch while the rest joined in.
Hours passed. Arms burned. Dirt caked under nails but finally, metal clinked against stone—a hatch.
They pried it open.
Torchlight spilled into the darkness as they jumped in, revealing rows of shelves, crated stacked the walls, coins glinting beneath a fil of dust.
Dren let out a low, wheezing laugh. "Jackpot, boys."
They scrambled to fill their sacks—food, tools, coins. Not everything, but enough to make a difference.
When they emerged, muscles aching and lungs full of dust, there was a moment of quiet groaning and tried smiles.
Then—footsteps.
Too many, too close.
Dren cursed. "Patrols."
He looked at the others. "You lot go. Nathan and I'll lead them off. Meet back at the hideout."
There was a hesitation, but then nods. The others vanished into the alleys.
Dren and Nathan made noise, shouted something crude about guards' mothers, then took off running, letting the patrols chase them deep into the maze of streets. After a few sharp turns and close calls, they finally lost them.
They slowed, catching their breath near an old cistern. Nathan didn't speak. His eyes were elsewhere—distant.
"You're thinking of something stupid," Dren said flatly, watching him.
Nathan shook his head.
Dren scoffed. "Come on. We just dug through a corpse of a building together. We're at least… close acquaintances."
Nathan hesitated. "Still no word on Kev. I've been thinking—maybe it's time I go to Harkan's place. Maybe I'll find something."
Dren fell quiet, his face unreadable. Then he sighed.
"Alright," he said. "I owe Kev too. I'll help. You're not walking into that bastard's lair alone. I also know someone. Doesn't ask questions. Might owe me a favor."
He turned, already heading south.
"Come on," he said. "Let's go knock on a devil's door."
…
Nathan followed Dren through the sleeping streets of Viremoor. The deeper they went, the more the city changed.
"Where are we going?" Nathan asked. His voice was quiet, but the tension coiled inside his was loud.
"Shortcut," Dren said without looking back. After a while, they stopped outside a crumbling tenement. The stone was cracked, moss devouring its base and the door hung off one hinge.
Dren stepped inside. Nathan hesitated.
"Come on. I told you he was a quit type. He doesn't like crowd, so he lives here. A good hiding spot if you ask me." Dren called over his shoulder. "You want to find Kev, don't you? This guy could be huge help." Dren grinned.
Nathan followed.
The air inside was stale. Moonlight slanted through holes in the roof, casting long shadows across broken floorboards. Dren led him to the back of the building. A wide room, empty save for a single figure seated on a crate.
Meryn.
"Thanks for bringing him," Meryn said, not bothering to look up.
Nathan blinked, confused. "What is this?"
"Your reward," Meryn said to Dren.
Then it happened.
Shhhk!
A slicing sound, too quick to catch.
Then click, Steel sliding back into a sheath.
Nathan turned. Dren stood motionless—eyes wide, mouth slightly open. Then, without a scream or twitch, he crumbled to ash.
Nathan stumbled back, staring in horror.
Meryn stood now, calm and composed. "Opportunistic. But useful."
"What… what did you do?" Nathan asked, voice barely a whisper.
"I freed him off course. Free from this desolate and hopeless world."
"You have something in you, something old, something powerful. Nobles would pay a fortune for you. Enough to finally get me out of this filth and finally ascend."
"You killed him," Nathan whispered. "You were one of us."
"Hahahaha!" Meryn laughed as if he heard one of the biggest jokes of his life.
"One of you? Don't insult me. I was always above this."
He took a step forward
Then, the air shifted.
A pressure rolled in—thick, suffocating. Like the sky pressing down.
From the shadows behind them, a figure emerged.
The Boss.
"You're selling our own now?"
The Boss's voice was low, but it cut like a blade in the silence.
Maryn smirked, tilting his head. "Don't joke around, old man. You know as well as I do—blood's worth less than gold in this city. And if you know what's good for you, you'll step aside and let me take the boy. Don't make yourself a stain on the Empire's map."
The Boss said nothing. His gaze didn't shift, didn't blink.
Meryn stepped closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'll even sweeten the deal. Come with me. You've wasted decades under the leash of Empire, playing king of rats. Join us. I can get you into the real game. Wealth. Power. Ascension. Crossing Soul Refinement won't be a dream anymore—it'll be a guarantee."
The silence stretched—thick and suffocating. Nathan stood frozen, caught between Meryn and the Boss, every nerve was screaming. Cold sweat clung to his skin. The air itself felt heavy, like the world had stopped breathing.
He shivered.
That flicker of hope—the one that came through the darkness—now threatened to vanish. One wrong word and it would be all gone.
Again!
Kev was gone because he was weak. Dren betrayed him because he was too trusting. Every time he reached out, something slipped away. And now even the chance to grasp his own fate hung beyond reach.
It wasn't fair.
But fairness had no place in Viremoor nor in the world of Aetherwyn.
He clenched his fists, knuckles bone-white. Teeth grit hard enough to ache. He wanted to scream, to fight, to change everything. But all he could do… was stand there and watch.
Watch as his fate was being decided.
Then the silence broke—cut clean by the Boss' voice.
Low. Measured and final.
"You talk too much."
The tension snapped like a pulled string.
Meryn moved first—too fast for the eye. His blade flashed in the half-light, arching toward the Boss's throat in a practiced, fluid draw.
Clang!
The Boss caught it on the flat of his own blade, a thick, battered saber worn from use but still deadly. He didn't flinch. His stance was wide, low but without any opening.
"Ah!" Meryn said with a grin, twisting his wrist to press harder. "Still solid, old man."
The Boss said nothing.
They broke apart in a breath, circling.
Nathan backed into the shadows, heart pounding. Meryn struck again—flicking a feint at the Boss's side before sweeping low, aiming for the legs.
But the Boss shifted, weight dropping with the blow. His saber angled down, catching the strike before it could land and he shoved forward.
Meryn slid back, boots skidding against dust and broken glass. "You're slower than last year," he murmured. "Losing your edge?"
"No!" the Boss said flatly. "I'm not flashy like you."
He came in then—not fast, not wild but certain. A single step, a thrust toward Meryn's chest, clean and direct.
Meryn twisted aside, the point grazing his ribs, cutting through fabric and skin.
He hissed. The tempo shifted.
Meryn exploded forward in a flurry—three rapid strikes, each aimed with deadly intent. The first went high, the second low, meant to bait a reaction and the third, a reverse cut, which was meant to kill.
But the Boss didn't fall for it. He turned his shoulder into the second cut, took a shallow wound and met the third with brute strength.
Their blade locked, faces inches apart. Meryn's breath came fast, too fast.
"I should've killed you last time." He growled.
The Boss answered with a kick in the gut.
Meryn flew back, gasping and slammed into a support beam. Dust rained from the ceiling. He staggered, spit blood and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Then he laughed, circling again.
But the swagger was fading. Nathan could see it now—how Meryn's feet dragged just a bit. How his blade dipped between exchanges. He was fast. He was cunning but the Boss was relentless.
Another clash.
This time Meryn got under the Boss's guard and nicked his forearm—clean but shallow. The Boss grunted and responded with a pommel strike to the face
Crunch!
Meryn reeled, blood pouring from a broken nose. But he didn't fall. He came again—more desperate now. His strikes were less refined. Wounded pride bled into rage.
He drove his sword forward seeking the heart.
The Boss sidestepped, one motion. Steel pierced flesh.
Meryn gasped, then he staggered, blade slipping from his fingers.
The Boss said nothing.
He twisted the saber, then pulled it free.
Meryn collapsed to his knees, gasping like a fish pulled from water. Blood soaked his shirt, his hands, the floor.
"I… could've…" he croaked.
"You couldn't," the Boss replied, wiping the blade on Meryn's coat. "And that's why you lost."
Meryn fell forward—face-first onto the cold stone. Still and silent.
Nathan, still trembling in the corner, couldn't look away. He'd seen blood before. Pain. Even death. But this… this was something else.
The Boss turned slowly, eyes meeting Nathan's.
"Don't forget what you saw," he said. "One day, you'll need to remember what it costs to lose."
Then he sheathed his blade with a quiet click.
Nathan hadn't moved. He stood frozen against the wall, arms limp, mouth slightly open, eyes wide in disbelief. He looked down at the smear of ash that was once Dren… then at the corpse bleeding out across the stone.
Meryn. Dead.
But the weight in his chest didn't lift.
The Boss stepped over Meryn's body and walked slowly toward him. His footsteps echoed like hammers.
Nathan didn't look up.
The Boss stopped a few paces away, his voice even and low. "I know this will hurt but you need to hear this."
Nathan flinched.
"I went to Harkan's. Like you suspected Kevin was there."
Nathan looked up slowly.
"He was kept in the cellar… for days. Maybe more. What was left of him…"
The Boss's voice faltered just slightly—only slightly. "It wasn't clean."
Nathan shook his head. "No!"
"Meryn may have ordered it," the Boss continued. "Or maybe he went himself. Either way…"
"No!" Nathan said again, breathless.
The world was tilting. Sounds were muffled. "He's gone, Nathan."
Something cracked inside.
Nathan's knees gave out. He hit the floor hard, but didn't feel it. His breath came in short gasps—then stopped altogether.
Everything blurred.
The last thing he saw was the Boss kneeling down beside him, catching him before his head hit the stone.
"I know this hurts, but you need to grow stronger so nobody can hurt you." The Boss said quietly then left with Nathan.
The building was silent again.
The ash was still there. The blood had stopped dripping.
But now, it began to move.
Slowly.
The puddle beneath Meryn's corpse rippled, like something stirred beneath it. Then, as if the stones had reversed time, the blood flowed backward—into torn flesh and pierced veins.
Muscle knotter. Skin reknit. Bones straightened.
Then, with a sudden gasp, Meryn sat up.
"Damn," he muttered, standing.
He cracked his neck once. Flexed his fingers.
His eyes burned faintly now—not just with cunning but something older. Hungrier.
"What a hassle…" Meryn muttered as he grinned maniacally.
The he turned toward the broken window, where the faint outline of the inner city's tower glowed against the night sky.
A smile crept onto his lips.
"Let's see what that old bastard Rosil's been up to these days."
Then he vanished into the shadows.