Leon lay motionless, swallowed by the silence of the forest. The canopy above swayed faintly, filtering shards of light through the tangled branches.
His eyelids twitched before fluttering open. A dull ache pulsed in his skull, each throb sharp enough to blur his thoughts. He pressed his palm against his temple, a low groan escaping his lips.
"what is this pain"leon thought his mind slipping from 1his own grasp .
"Ehh…"
The sound was weak, almost foreign to his own ears. But the pain only deepened, spreading like cracks across glass.
Then it struck—an invisible pull, heavy and merciless. Leon felt as though a chain had wrapped around his leg, dragging him downward. His chest tightened. The world tilted.
He was sinking.
Deeper, deeper, as though the forest floor had melted into the dark abyss of the Pacific Ocean. The pressure crushed him from all sides. His lungs burned, his body thrashing against the inevitable descent.
No matter how he fought, the pull only grew stronger. As the Cold despair wrapped around him, thick as water filling his lungs.
He was drowning.
He was suffocating in a silence that screamed louder than any secret.
Then—darkness , like a pitch black canvas streching slowly flashes of lines in emerald, Red,gold ,blue passed by.
The pressure vanished.
Leon's eyes snapped open.
Fog.
Endless, heavy fog stretched in every direction. No trees, no earth—only the pale haze wrapping around him like a cocoon. His breath came ragged, each exhale swallowed by the mist.
Slowly… slowly… the fog began to thin.
Shapes emerged. Black spires. Iron gates. Towers that pierced the sky.
A palace rose before him—vast and solemn, its design reminiscent of London's age of iron and steam. Gilded arches and iron latticework gleamed faintly beneath the fog's pale light.
At the palace's heart stood a throne.
It shimmered unnaturally, carved from jagged crystals and studded with jewels that pulsed faintly, as though alive.
A sound echoed. Steps.
Leon turned.
A woman glided past him without a glance, her presence colder than the fog itself. Her skin was the shade of weathered ash, lips dark as coal. Upon her brow rested a crown of thorns, each thorn glistening with a faint, red sheen—as if dipped in blood.
Her dress, woven from grey silks, clung to her towering, curvaceous frame, marred here and there by stains of crimson. The style reminded Leon of cursed queens from a forgotten age, like something born out of nightmare and myth.
She was no ordinary figure.
Twice the height of any human, her movements carried both grace and menace.
Without hesitation, she ascended the crystal dais. Her gaze never wavered, her steps silent yet thunderous in their weight.
At last, she lowered herself onto the throne. The jewels flared, casting a ghostly light that bathed the hall.
Her crimson gaze lingered on him.
And then, in the blink of an eye, the world shifted.
Leon's breath caught. He was no longer standing before the throne—he was seated upon it, or rather… upon her.
The towering goddess had drawn him into her lap with impossible grace, her long, cold fingers cradling his face as though he were nothing more than a fragile vessel.
"How curious," she whispered, her voice rolling like velvet over steel.
Leon's mind faltered, caught between awe and terror. His body stiffened, yet her presence rooted him in place.
"I am Loraliystine," she said at last, her lips curving faintly. "The Goddess of Blood."
Her words vibrated through the hall, deeper than sound, striking something ancient within him.
"I have brought you here," she continued, her hands still holding his face as if testing its shape, "to propose a contract."
Before Leon could answer, both her palms slid over his temples, covering his eyes.
The palace shattered.
The world twisted—folding into a blinding white expanse. Silence fell, thick and suffocating.
Her voice returned, echoing across the void.
"What you see now is but my immortal soul. My body… long lost to the tides of reincarnation. Over centuries, it has evolved, birthed a consciousness of its own. To me, it is no longer a vessel...I need you to find it."
Leon's brows furrowed. A bitter laugh almost slipped from his lips despite the weight of her words.
"In return," she added, her tone darkening, "I will grant you a relic—an item that will guide you to the truth of your parents' death."
His breath stilled. The words struck too close.
Silence stretched.
Finally, Leon raised his eyes to meet hers, hesitation in his voice. His hand lifted slightly, gesturing as if to explain.
"You said you are a goddess… then why can't you do it yourself? I mean—aren't gods supposed to be omnipotent?"
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then Loraliystine's laughter filled the void. It wasn't loud—it was soft, melodic—but it coiled around Leon like a serpent, sweet and venomous.
Her hand slid from her cheek and brushed across his hair, almost tender, though her crimson eyes gleamed with something ancient and cruel.
"Omnipotent?" she repeated, savoring the word. "Child, that is the lie mortals tell themselves to worship. Gods are not infinite. Gods are bound by the same laws that forged the stars… only sharper, crueler chains."
She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper against his ear.
"I am a goddess of blood. I rule its flow, its memory, its hunger. But even I… cannot command a vessel once it learns to resist. My body has defied me. To face it directly would shatter both of us—and what use would that be to you?"
Her lips curved again, half-smile, half-threat.
"That is why I need you."
Leon swallowed, a shiver crawling up his spine. Her words pressed against him heavier than the abyss he had drowned in before.
And then, he breathed in.
An old fragrance clung to her, spilling from her very skin as though the air itself bent to her presence. It struck him in waves—first the sharp brightness of bergamot and lime, tangled with the faint sweetness of pineapple. Then came a cooler tide, lavender and mint entwined with coriander, geranium, and thyme, sharp yet soothing.
And beneath it all, grounding her like the roots of an ancient forest, lingered the weight of oakmoss and patchouli, the dry warmth of cedar and sandalwood, softened by the dusky sweetness of tonka and the shadow of musk.
It was not merely a scent. It was a memory woven into blood, intoxicating and unsettling, as though time itself had left its fragrance upon her immortal soul.
For a fleeting moment, Leon's chest tightened. The fragrance stirred something faint and buried deep within him—an echo, a shadow of his parents, gone yet never forgotten.
Loraliystine's crimson gaze sharpened, as if she sensed the thought before it fully formed. Her smile deepened.
Loraliystine's smile lingered, but her crimson eyes narrowed as though measuring the weight of his silence.
Then, with a soft clap of her hands, the void unraveled. The blinding white folded away, and the fog-draped palace returned around them—the throne, the spires, the air heavy with blood and iron.
She stood before him now, her towering form dissolving, shrinking, reshaping until she was no more than a woman of ordinary height. Her presence, however, remained overwhelming, a storm contained within fragile flesh.
"Time is short," she said. Her voice carried both urgency and command. Slowly, she extended her hand toward him, pale fingers outstretched.
"Leon Corvin… will you aid me in my quest to find and restore my body?"
The hall fell silent.
Leon's gaze fixed on her hand. The question rang in his ears, echoing against the chaos of his thoughts—the promise of truth about his parents, the weight of her presence, the danger woven into every word she spoke.
For a moment, his lips pressed into a thin line. Then… a smile broke across his face. Not wide, not mocking—calm, deliberate, the kind that concealed more than it revealed.
With quiet resolve, he stepped forward.
Then, in a fluid motion, he sank to one knee before her, like a knight kneeling before a queen. His hand rose, firm and steady, grasping hers as though sealing something far greater than a vow.
"It will be my pleasure," Leon said. His voice was low, steady, and unwavering.
The jewels on the throne pulsed brighter, casting crimson light across the hall as though the palace itself acknowledged his pledge.
Loraliystine's lips curved, satisfaction glimmering in her gaze.
"Then our pact is sealed"
Before Leon could react, the ground beneath them began to glow a deep, pulsating red. The air thickened, charged with energy that pressed against his skin and rattled his bones.
A symbol began to form, rising from the crimson glow—a perfect circle etched with runes, jagged lines connecting like veins of fire.
Then, as if the world itself obeyed her command, another mark appeared: a sword, one emblazoned across his back and mirrored upon the fist of the goddess herself.
Leon froze, the weight of its meaning pressing down on him.
But no one knew that this was the exact moment in time that the storm was made flesh and only he who was watching knew what was coming.
The crimson light flared, wrapping around him like chains of fire, searing yet strangely comforting. A strange warmth pulsed from the sigil, crawling into his veins as though intertwining their very essences.
Then, just as suddenly, Loraliystine's hand released him. The glow faded, the palace returning to its solemn silence.
Her gaze softened, almost maternal now, though still tinged with the weight of eternity.
"You are about to wake in the other world,"she whispered, her tone almost a blessing. "I wish you well on your journey. Take care, dear child."
Leon felt the world shift beneath him once more. The palace, the throne, the goddess—everything blurred into light and shadow, the scent of blood and old fragrance lingering one last time.
And then…
He awoke.