Viewpoint [Night]
The crowd parted—
Like they were told to.
Like instinct itself whispered: "Move."
And out stepped Alina. Calm. Balanced. Her hand rested loosely on her sword hilt. Her gaze didn't waver. The strange energy thickened around her like the world was holding its breath, a silence heavy enough to be felt. But that wasn't what made my chest still.
They came behind her. Not walking—arriving. The air grew thin. Sound didn't die; it held itself still. Something shifted, weightless yet suffocating. I knew one of them before I saw his face—because my skin remembered what cold truly felt like.
Rion.
He didn't walk like someone important. He walked like someone inevitable. Hair black as broken night. Eyes—those damn eyes. Cold. Unflinching. Like judgment carved into ice. He looked at the world like it never quite measured up. Then his gaze met mine.
Click.
Memories surged like a tide. That smile. The choice. The silence after I left him there. He didn't blink. Neither did I. He was real. Still alive. And colder than ever.
Then another stepped forward. Riven.
His presence was quieter—but wrong. Not wrong like broken. Wrong like dangerous. Like watching a candle flicker and wondering if the flame was alive... or ready to consume the room. He moved like he didn't belong, but the world bent anyway—for him. Silver hair, wild. Eyes like fractured glass—fear, hesitation, and something far sharper buried beneath.
He caught me staring. Looked away—too fast. Too conscious. Was that fear? Annoyance? Or... recognition?
I didn't move. Not a breath. Not yet. Too many ghosts were walking into this place. And some of them remembered me far too well.
Then—
Chaos.
Like a bomb tearing silence apart. The corpses moved. Not like puppets. Not controlled. Wild. Untamed. Hungry.
"Did you do this?" I asked.
She didn't speak. Time itself paused—held hostage by something greater. Another choice. Why did it always come back to this? Should I protect what isn't real? Or save those who are—even the ones I left behind?
I staggered. Hopeless. Weak. No matter what I did, the path ahead never changed. It always split. And I always lost.
Then—
The boy.
He was staring at me. How? Everything else was frozen. Still. But he... he moved. Those eyes weren't fake. They were real. Just like Ren. Just like Sylvia. He was real too.
A surge of aen roared in my veins. The Forgotten King's Blade and the Vampire's Cleaver snapped into reality, floating before me—pulsing, waiting. With a breath, I sent them forward. They screamed through the air and pierced a corpse clean through.
The Hex echoed:
> [You have slain: Twilight Demon – Mutant Soul]
[Your light grows stronger]
I blinked. Shocked—but no words could hold what I felt.
Alina smiled. Not kindly. Not cruelly. But like she'd known it all along.
"You really are strange," she said.
Then she moved. In a blur, she lunged—blade drawn. I couldn't react. I was defenseless.
Steel rang behind me.
Not pain.
Not death.
A shriek of something else dying. A mutant—cut down.
I turned. Still stunned. Her voice was soft, but final.
"You passed."
"…What?"
To be continued...