Vale stood frozen, staring at the empty spot on the wall where the final painting was supposed to hang.
The images he had seen raced through his mind.
The dark flame lingering in the abyss.
The Demon who had seized it.
Then—that same Demon, wielding the flame to strike down the Gods, only to be betrayed and stabbed in the back by his own kind.
He also remembered the Demon's desperate escape—his final moments as he fled to Earth, where he had used his remaining power for... something. But what? Vale had no idea.
"Dammit," he growled, a fierce hunger for answers igniting in his chest.
"Who could've taken it?" he muttered under his breath, not expecting a reply.
But someone heard him.
"Maybe the Demons that killed him?" Ayla suggested, her eyes locked onto Vale.
"But why take just one?" Klein replied, a deep frown settling on his face. "Why leave the rest?"
He voiced exactly what Vale had been thinking, as if he read his mind.
