And then… silence.
No scream,
no panting breath,
not even the drip of blood.
Just silence—like a thick curtain drawn over all things.
Vantias,
with a faint, yet genuine smile,
died.
Not out of bravery.
Not because he was a savior.
But because, at last… he had paid a debt.
A debt never spoken aloud.
Yes…
The real Vantiashaddied long ago.
He perished while searching for his sister,
fell in battle against a black dragon—his wounds far too grave.
And after him....
Cyrus, a wandering soul,
took up residence in his vacant body.
It wasn't for long…
But long enough to become human.
And in the end, he proved that even an "outsider"
could fight for something greater than himself.
Cyrus's death wasn't an ending.
It was the final line—
one he chose to draw.
The demon stared at the motionless body.
Eyes closed,
like someone merely asleep.
But no…
This was no sleep.
Something in the demon's gaze… cracked.
Not pride.
Not arrogance.
Control.
He, who had played and planned and prevailed for centuries—
for the first time, something slipped beyond his design.
His lips trembled.
A whisper slithered from between his teeth, bitter like venom:
"Your death made you the victor…
But your life denied that truth."
The demon slowly, without theatrics, knelt.
He extended his right hand toward Vantias's chest.
On the back of that hand, a symbol glowed—
a tree turned upside down, its roots reaching toward the sky,
as though etched by some dark authority.
His cold palm pressed against Vantias's chest.
Even through the leather armor,
the warmth of his final moments still lingered.
A silent surge of mana flowed into Vantias's heart—
mysterious and strange.
Not violent.
But filled with quiet, terrible promise.
A seed of life?
Or a delayed curse?
No one knew.
But for a few brief seconds,
the mark on the demon's hand turned blue.
He stood.
Silence reigned.
And then, in a flat but heavy tone, he spoke to Sylphy:
"If you want him to live…
take him to the church.
The rest is up to them."
Without waiting for a reply,
he turned his back—
and vanished…
into the same darkness from which he always came.
When Vantias opened his eyes…
there was nothing but darkness.
No sound,
no light,
no wind brushing against his skin.
Only himself…
and the cold stone ground beneath his feet.
His heartbeat raced in fear.
He looked around.
A cliff.
More alone than any place he'd ever known.
And right before him—
a vast abyss… endless, empty, silent…
From the depths of that void,
cold, murky murmurs rose—
not as sound,
but as feeling.
Terror.
Grief.
Oblivion.
Cold sweat trickled down his forehead.
Under his breath, voice trembling, he whispered:
"Where… am I?"
And then—
a voice. Familiar.
Quiet, yet just as mysterious:
"At the edge of the Abyss."
Vantias spun around.
It was him.
The Ferryman.
The one who had once sent Cyrus's soul into the world of the living.
The one whose face was never seen—
only a wraith of smoke
cloaked in black,
holding a white staff that glowed like bone.
The Ferryman spoke slowly:
"I gave you a second life…
and you wasted it in a single heartbeat."
Vantias stayed silent.
Not out of shame,
but a deep fear…
a fear he didn't yet understand.
The Ferryman walked to the edge of the abyss.
Just one step away from falling—
but he stood without fear,
like one who commands the pit itself.
With that ageless voice, he said:
"Come closer.
There's something I want you to see."
Vantias's heart trembled.
He stepped forward.
Then again.
And found himself beside the Ferryman—
facing the darkness.
He leaned over and peered into the void.
There was nothing.
No light.
No sound.
Only… absence.
Then—
a soft tremor beneath the stone,
as though the earth itself had exhaled.
And then came a sound.
Not a roar.
More like water trembling deep in a well…
very, very far away.
And from the depths of that darkness—
movement.
Not fast.
But slow… steady… fatal.
Vantias narrowed his eyes.
At first, only shadows.
But then… it formed.
Eyes.
Not two.
But many—
dozens of glowing red eyes,
floating within the abyss like fading lanterns at sea.
And with each moment,
more of them opened.
The body wasn't clear—
just a massive, creeping mass,
coated in wet, moss-covered scales,
its breath like soaked rope dragging across stone.
Its breath…
slow… but deep—
like a wave crashing over a corpse on the shore.
Its body circled in the darkness—
orbiting the chasm,
as if it had waited years…
for just one look from him.
And then—
all the eyes locked onto Vantias at once.
The pressure of its breath reached the cliff's edge.
Vantias felt the air grow heavy—
cold sweat slid from his temples.
The dragon breathed…
And for the first time,
Vantias felt what it was like to be consumed from afar—
as if something deep within the abyss had swallowed him,
without even chewing.
The Ferryman spoke with a heavy gaze:
"This… is what waits in the heart of the abyss.
And now, it's time to choose:
Wake up…
or fall forever."
Vantias stepped back—
away from the edge.
His breath was ragged.
As though every particle of air around him was judging him.
He turned to the Ferryman and asked:
"What do you mean?"
The Ferryman began pacing slowly in a circle—
and with each step, a word.
Each word, a blow.
Like a hammer striking the bones of guilt.
"You… are… a sinner…
One who abandoned the life given to him by God.
I showed you mercy.
I gave you a second chance.
A rare gift…
and you refused it."
Vantias paused.
Closed his eyes.
Then spoke, softly but firmly:
"But I saved lives…
Doesn't that count for something?"
The Ferryman fell silent.
A bitter silence.
Then, he sighed deeply and said:
"Was it worth it?
Worth the price of eternity beside "him"?
In the darkness of a dragon that feeds on the blackest sins?"
Vantias didn't answer.
He had no words left.
Only the sound of the dragon's breath below,
slithering in the dark.
The Ferryman shook his head—
with cold disappointment:
"Placing trust in you… was a mistake."
Vantias lowered his head.
His shadow wavered across the ground,
like someone who no longer knew who they were.
But then…
he slowly lifted his face.
His eyes were tired,
yet within them glimmered a faint light—
a bitter truth:
"I…
I died the day I sat alone in my room…
when I ran from pain and responsibility.
You thought you saved me from death…
but you were wrong.
Every moment...Every second I lived after that… was borrowed.
The friends beside me…
the family I felt I had…
They were never mine.
They belonged to Vantias—
not me."