Vaitheless woke up, floating in space.
There was no light, no place—only darkness that could drive a person insane.
He looked around, as if searching for something lost—something he wanted to catch with his eyes—but he couldn't find it.
"Where am I? What is this darkness surrounding me from every direction?"
He spoke with a confused voice, trying to adapt to the situation.
"Strange… am I dreaming or is this real?! Also, I don't remember anything."
His appearance was bizarre, as if he had been transferred from one place to a far more terrifying and bizarre one.
He pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming—but it hurt.
And he was certain: this place wasn't a figment of his imagination.
He kept turning his head violently, hoping to find something—even a monster. But instead, he gripped his neck tightly from the pain.
"Pain—no… It feels like a fire burning near my neck. And the strangest part is, I feel like it's bleeding… but I can't feel the blood itself."
Caught between shock and anxiety, a faint voice emerged from the void, echoing like a distant call:
"Welcome, lost one…
You who fled the light…
You who ran from your fate…
You who lost faith."
Vaitheless was shocked by the majestic voice.
He wanted to speak, but his mouth shut tight, his eyes widened as he watched the space around him crack open.
An upside-down statue appeared. Crucified.
Its eyes wept blood…
Then opened wide with such force that the entire place trembled in its presence.
Vaitheless simply stared at the magnificent figure, struggling to form any words to describe what he was seeing.
"A… being? A great one? What is this thing my eyes are witnessing?"
The mysterious entity spoke, its voice fragmented, as if butchering logic itself:
"Don't burden your mind with thought.
You stand in the presence of the First Place—
The place where the strong were born."
And in the same fragmented tone, it continued:
"Everyone has a right. And you are one of them…
The right to vengeance…
The right to trample your enemies."
"So… O son of the noble Emperor…
Can you walk the path of corpses—the rightful one?
Or will you return your sword to its sheath—the falsehood?"
Vaitheless looked on, struggling to comprehend what this entity was saying.
And the best answer was:
"…"
Silence.
The mysterious voice continued, hammering down as if unearthing the truth:
"It's natural…
To not have an answer to such a grand question.
But during your journey,
You will understand where I point."
Then, the statue opened its mysterious eyes, radiating a powerful light that forced Vaitheless to shut his own.
"We shall meet again…
Two-Faced One."
In that moment—everything collapsed.
As if logic itself shattered.
And a blood-red message appeared: Error…
⸻
Out of nothingness—
His body burned.
His head… severed.
"Pain…"
"What is this pain? Why is my neck… burning?"
Vaitheless couldn't open his eyes.
The air around him was thick, still—
As if the world itself had stopped moving.
His fingers trembled, touching something wet, sharp… severed.
His head.
His head was detached from his body.
He gasped hard, but his voice was muffled—
As if his throat was filled with ash.
Still, he felt everything—
His limbs, his chest, even his heartbeat echoing in the void.
He tried opening his eyes—
Useless.
As if his eyelids were sewn shut with hot needles.
He reached his trembling hand toward his neck.
The place of the severance burned with terrifying heat.
Then he felt something moving from inside.
Black threads, soft as hair, emerged from his neck and began stitching his head back onto his body.
His body was suddenly thrown back by an unseen force, and a black collar locked around his neck.
On it—a reversed cross, pulsing with a faint red glow.
He gasped again…
And opened his eyes.
The ceiling above him was filled with strange carvings—symbols whose meaning he didn't know.
Next to him, a vase hung on the wall—slanted like a tilted clock.
He slowly rose from the bed, gripping his neck in pain.
He looked around.
The walls were decaying, covered in distorted drawings.
The bed beneath him was wooden and crude, topped with a torn, faded cloth.
"Where am I?"
"Why am I not in my room?"
Then… the memories attacked.
Not as words, but as images and motion—
Blood.
Screaming.
Fire.
A destroyed palace.
His father—stabbed by a cursed black sword.
His mother's face—severed from her body as she smiled, while the kings laughed.
His brother—dragged into darkness.
And the voice—the statue in that broken cosmic space.
He grabbed his head.
The pain pierced his skull like a needle drilling through bone.
"I remember…"
"The Imperial Palace was attacked.
The kings—those traitorous servants—slaughtered my father and mother.
They cut off my mother's head while laughing…"
He went silent for a moment—
Then smirked with bitter irony:
"My father? I don't care about him.
But my mother…"
"I'll kill them.
All of them."
"But… among all the things I couldn't understand…
Was that voice…
And that statue—were they real, or just a hallucination?"
He breathed heavily.
Blood dripped silently from his eyes.
He sat at the edge of the bed and looked at a broken mirror hanging on the wall.
His reflection appeared:
Messy short black hair.
Dark brown eyes, with black eyeliner-like streaks dripping down his cheeks.
Cold features, as if carved from ice.
He raised his hand toward the collar on his neck… then stopped.
"No. No one must see these threads."
"So… was the pain I felt in that space because of this wound?
But how?"
He took a simple sip of water and wiped his face, trying to focus.
"The statue… that was truly terrifying…
I felt a great weight in my chest when I saw it.
Thank God it ended."
He continued, pulling a strand of hair back with both hands:
"But the one thing I understood from what he said…
Is revenge.
As if… he was the one who gave me the chance to make it happen."
A cold smile formed on Vaitheless's lips as he touched the collar:
"Seems like he's the one responsible for bringing me back from death…
To carry out this mission again.
Seems like I've been given another chance."
He took a step back.
And before he could sit again, the door opened slowly.
A tall man entered.
Blonde hair reaching his neck, green eyes, and a handsome face surrounded by a light beard.
On his lips—an oddly warm smile…
But his eyes hid something.
He spoke in a voice both warm and strange:
"Oh… a true miracle."
"To fall from the Mountain of Emperors with a severed head and survive?
Seems like something great resides within you, boy."
Vaitheless extended his hand toward a sword placed beside him.
He gripped it tightly and spoke in a sharp voice:
"Who are you? And what do you want from me?"
The stranger smiled, unfazed:
"And this is how you greet the one who saved your life?"
Vaitheless fell silent, then repeated with a sharper tone:
"I said… who are you?"
The man walked over to the bookshelf, leaned on it, and said:
"My name is Isaac Lowenza. Just a governor of a small village under the Kingdom of Lucia. But like many, I despise this filthy system that feeds on war and blood."
Then he looked at Vaitheless with focus:
"I was gathering herbs outside the village when I saw you fall from the mountain. Your head was breathing—so I brought you here. And… judging from your features, you must be the son of the Fifth Emperor."
Vaitheless replied coldly:
"I don't deny my blood. But do I hate it?"
Isaac closed his eyes for a moment, then said calmly:
"No, not at all. I'm simply looking for someone who can help me end this vile rule. And it seems… you carry a hatred greater than all of them."
Vaitheless didn't respond.
He looked at the mirror again, then stood up, sword in hand.
"Thanks for the hospitality. But I'm starting my journey now."
He wore an open red coat that revealed his muscles. And before he could take a step, Isaac placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Do you plan to face the kings in your current state?"
"That's none of your concern."
Isaac smiled…
Then in a split second, he grabbed the blade of the sword between two fingers—
And broke it.
Vaitheless's hand froze, and coldness crept into his fingers.
"He broke it… with two fingers?"
Isaac spoke calmly, without raising his voice:
"With this strength, you'll be killed in your first encounter."
Vaitheless stepped back, then said:
"Do you want me to join you? A revolution? A coup?"
Isaac pointed with his finger toward the number six:
"Train here for six months. Then, we begin. I'll send a team with you to start dismantling the kingdom's infrastructure. After that… the time for the kings will come."
Vaitheless thought for a moment, then said:
"I don't like fighting in groups. I prefer to work alone."
Isaac laughed:
"Stubborn… If you insist on working alone, fine. But I won't let you die. I have people watching. They intervene when necessary. I call them: Vowless."
"Vowless? Who are they? And how will you know I'm in danger?"
Isaac smiled a cryptic smile:
"My students. And I monitor them in my own way."
Then he turned his back, holding a handle as his eyes glowed red:
"Sleep now. Tomorrow… you'll meet them."