The dreadful wolf spawn burst forth from the abyss like a ripple in my soul—drawn not by command, but by connection. It leapt into the boy's palm, then bent and folded itself like liquid shadow, becoming something more. The howl it released as it changed forms was muted by sorrow. A sword—no, a memory—took shape. One just like the Guardian's.
White leather wrapped its hilt like mourning bands, and lilac green painted the sheath with a softness that didn't belong in battle. But when he unsheathed it, the blade shone like a severed moon—cold, curved, radiant. Beautiful.
He moved first. His steps were gentle, his strike wasn't.
I raised my sword, broken though it was, to block the coming storm.
His blade met mine with a howl of steel and gravity. My arms snapped back, veins bursting like overstrained strings. I flew. I flew, not through sky, but through dust and shame and weightless helplessness.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
Couldn't fight.
I staggered up, senses lurching like broken wheels. My fingers gripped the cracked sword again, the edge jagged like my thoughts. I raised it in a defensive stance—not to fight, but to endure. His next strike came harder. Then another. And another. Each one chipped my guard. Each one rattled my spine.
I never had a chance to strike back.
But I did have a chance to hurt him.
I never took it.
I wouldn't.
His pain—I felt it leaking through the clash of our blades. It wasn't something I could exploit. Not something I could ever toy with. And then… his sword reached my neck.
I didn't flinch.
I grabbed the blade.
It burned. Pain screamed up my arm, tearing my skin open. But I didn't let go.
His eyes widened. Mine trembled.
He looked shocked.
He didn't know.
He didn't know that my pain was older than his. My secrets—buried under my skin like poison—cut deeper than any blade he held.
---
Seven Years Ago
That was when I met him for the first time.
Back then, his aura was cold—frigid like glass—but his voice was warm. His laughter made me believe I was safe. He became the protagonist of my life. A silent guardian. A shining shield.
I was the shadow behind him.
We became friends.
But he always stood higher.
He was stronger, brighter… better.
I never hated him for it. He was just cool.
Then she died.
The light in our lives vanished in an instant. And he awakened… something inside him.
A burning sense of justice that didn't include me.
He walked toward the light.
And I was left behind in the dark.
I ran. Because I didn't want to cry anymore.
I wanted to feel something again. But my emotions… they had died with her.
All that remained were the voices in my head, fighting for space in a silence I couldn't escape.
---
Present
Blood ran from my palm, slick and hot. His tears dripped onto my shoulder.
He cried for me.
Maybe he always had.
Maybe we were the same after all.
We lost the people who gave us meaning.
He began to feel everything.
I lost the ability to feel anything.
I wasn't empty—I was overfilled with someone else's emotions. With Ren's sorrow. And that only made it worse.
I couldn't be healed.
Not anymore.
I shoved him back.
And the Authority flared.
—
[Ignite]
My soul convulsed.
A light brighter than memory surged into my chest, piercing the cracks.
I turned toward him.
He was breaking—his body crumbling into sparks, just like Sylvia.
And yet… he smiled.
So did she.
They both did.
And in that moment, he understood why he always fought. Why he protected the world, even when it crushed him.
"Thank you," he whispered, but he was already fading.
Replaced by a mirage—green light floating like echoes of a world that never was. A scene from a life that could have existed.
I couldn't bear to look at it.
So I raised my blade.
And cut it away.
—
[You have destroyed the Memory of Echoing Pain.]
[You have cleared the Obsidian Moonlit Realm.]
[You have acquired a Title.]
[Your Achievements are being analysed...]
[Analysis stalled.]
[You have received a Chronicle.]
I didn't stop to check what I earned.
The moment faded.
The battlefield called me back.
---
Smoke swallowed my return like I had never left. The world snapped back into focus—and the first thing I saw…
Was Rion.
He stood there like a wall of judgment and frost ,holding down the Guardian—its massive limbs twitching, cracking.
Rion hadn't changed.
Not at all.
Still unwavering.
Still cold.
Still… the protagonist of my life.
The cold judge of flames.
I smiled, in a world where things always changed. Somethings never changed.