The ruins of Camelot stretched endlessly before them, a battlefield of forgotten dreams. Shattered stone and twisted towers loomed like scars upon the earth, shrouded in a mist that clung to the air like a lingering curse.
Zephir, Zeldris, and Gelda moved silently through the remains. Each one searched in their own way—scanning the rubble, murmuring incantations, listening for the faintest whisper of life or magic.
But there was nothing.
No voices.
No cries.
No warmth.
Zeldris returned first, Gelda at his side. His arms were crossed, his face grim.
"Nothing," he muttered, brows furrowed. "Not even a flicker of magical residue. I'm sorry."
Zephir nodded slowly, his gaze locked on the broken horizon.
"It's fine. I can feel them… They're here. Something deep inside me tells me they are."
Then, turning to Zeldris, his voice sharpened.
"And you? Find any of your rebels?"
Gelda shook her head gently.
"No. Nothing. Maybe the reports were wrong."
Zeldris remained quiet, eyes fixed on a crumbled pillar half-buried in ash.
"Even if that's true… I have to keep searching. As long as rebellion festers, the Demon Realm will never know peace."
Zephir gave a bitter smile.
"You really think demons can live in peace? All we've known is war. Against other races… against each other."
Zeldris clenched his jaw, lowering his eyes.
"I know. But I want to believe there's another way. Something better. For Gelda… and for those still following me."
Gelda gently took his hand, silent support in her touch.
Then—she froze.
Her violet eyes widened.
"Wait… Did you feel that?"
Zeldris snapped to alert.
"Feel what?"
"A presence. Faint… but familiar. It's… it feels like a child."
Zephir's heart stopped. His breath caught in his throat.
"Rebecca…!"
He broke into a sprint before either of them could react. Zeldris and Gelda chased after him, their footsteps echoing across the ruined corridors like distant drums.
"This way!" Gelda called. "I can sense her more clearly now!"
They burst into what remained of a collapsed courtyard.
There, near the rubble of a broken wall, a small figure lay curled up—fragile, still, and silent.
A child.
Tattered clothes.
Messy black hair.
Bruises and scratches across her arms and face.
Her eyes—brown, soft, and shimmering with tears—lifted slowly.
Zephir skidded to a halt. His entire body froze.
"Re… Rebecca…?"
His voice cracked.
The world stopped.
Then, from somewhere deep within—
"REBECCA!!"
His scream tore through the silence like thunder.