Vaitheless awoke, floating in space.
There was no light, not even a place—only darkness that could drive a man insane.
He looked around, as if searching for something lost, wanting to catch it with his eyes—but he could not find it.
"Where am I? What is this darkness surrounding me from every direction?"
He spoke in a confused tone, trying to adapt to the situation.
"Strange… am I in a dream or reality? Also… I can't remember anything."
Vaitheless's appearance was strange, as though someone had taken him from one place to another far more terrifying and bizarre. He pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming—but it hurt.
And he realized this place was not a product of his imagination.
He turned his head sharply, hoping to find something—even a monster—but then clutched his neck in pain with both hands.
"Pain… no… it's like a fire is burning near my neck. The strange thing is, I feel as though it's bleeding something… yet I can't feel it."
Caught between shock and worry, a faint voice emerged from nowhere, echoing as if from the void:
"Welcome, you who are lost from the light… you who have fled your fate… you who have lost faith."
Vaitheless was startled by this majestic voice he heard. He wanted to speak, but closed his mouth instead, his eyes widening as he looked at the shattering void.
An upside-down statue appeared, crucified, its eyes weeping blood… then opened them with such force that the place trembled with its might.
Vaitheless could only gaze at this magnificent form, trying to find words for what he saw.
"…"
The mysterious voice spoke again, broken, as though slaughtering logic itself:
"There is no need to trouble your mind with thought. You are in the presence of the First Place… from which the mighty arose."
It continued, in the same tone:
"Everyone has the right… and you are one of them. The right to revenge… to trample upon the heads of your enemies."
"So, son of the esteemed Emperor… can you walk the path of corpses, which is the rightful path? Or will you return your sword to its scabbard—falsehood?"
Vaitheless stared, trying to comprehend what the mysterious one was saying… The best choice was:
"…"
Silence.
The mysterious voice spoke again, as if digging into the truth:
"It is natural… that you cannot answer such a great question. But on your journey… you will know what I mean."
The statue's obscure eyes opened, emitting a blinding light that forced Vaitheless to close his own.
"We will meet again… Two-Faced One."
In that moment, everything was destroyed, as if logic itself had collapsed, and a blood-red word appeared: Error.
⸻
From nothingness, his body burned, his head severed…
"Painful…"
"What is this pain? Why is my neck… burning?"
Vaitheless could not open his eyes. The air around him was dense, still, as if the world itself had stopped moving. His fingers trembled as they touched something wet… sharp… detached.
His head.
His head was separated from his body.
He gasped, but his voice came out muffled, as though his throat was filled with ash. Even so, he could feel everything—his limbs, his chest, even the beating of his heart reverberating in the void.
He tried to open his eyes—futilely. It was as though his eyelids had been sewn shut with hot needles.
He reached with a trembling hand toward his neck. The place of separation burned with terrible heat… Then he felt something moving inside. Black threads, smooth as hair, emerged from his neck and began stitching his head back to his body.
His body was thrust backward by an unseen force, and a black collar settled around his neck. On it was an inverted cross, pulsing with a faint red glow.
He gasped again… and opened his eyes.
The ceiling above was covered with strange carvings—symbols he did not understand.
Beside him, a vase hung on the wall like a tilted clock.
He slowly rose from the bed, clutching his neck in pain. Looking around, he saw crumbling walls covered with chaotic drawings, and a crude wooden bed topped with a faded, torn cloth.
"Where am I?"
"Why am I not in my room?"
Then… the memories struck him.
Not as words, but as images and movement.
Blood. Screams. Fire. A destroyed palace.
His father—stabbed by a cursed black sword.
His mother's face—severed from her body while she smiled, and the kings laughed.
His brother—dragged into the darkness. And that mysterious voice… and the statue in the shattered void.
He clutched his head, pain stabbing into his skull like a needle into bone.
"I remember…"
"The Imperial Palace was attacked. The kings—those treacherous servants—slaughtered my father and mother. They cut off my mother's head while laughing…"
He paused for a moment, then smirked:
"My father? I don't care about him. But my mother…"
"I will kill them. All of them."
"But among the things I could not understand… was that voice… and the statue—were they real? Or just a hallucination?"
He breathed heavily. Blood trickled silently from his eyes. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at a broken mirror hanging on the wall.
His reflection stared back:
Black hair reaching his shoulders, with braided strands.
Dark brown eyes.
A red poker mark on his cheek.
Cold features, as if carved from ice.
He lifted his hand to the collar around his neck… then stopped.
"No… no one must see these threads."
"So… was the pain I felt in space caused by this injury? But how?"
He took a small sip of water and wiped his face, trying to focus.
"The statue… it was truly terrifying. I felt a crushing weight in my chest when I saw it. Thank God it's over."
He continued, pulling a strand of hair back with both hands:
"But the thing I understood from its words… is revenge. As if it were the one who gave me the chance to do it."
A cold smile formed on Vaitheless's lips as he touched the collar:
"It seems he is the one responsible for bringing me back from death… to carry out this mission anew. Looks like it's a second chance."
He stepped back.
Before he could sit on the bed again, someone slowly opened the door.
A tall man entered.
Blond hair reaching his neck.
Green eyes.
A light beard.
A calm smile on his lips… but something hidden in his eyes.
He spoke in a tone both warm and strange:
"Oh… a true miracle."
"To fall from the Mountain of Emperors with your head severed… and survive? It seems something great resides within you, boy."
Vaitheless reached for a sword lying 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:
"Is this 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 toward the bookshelf, leaned against it, and said:
"My name is Iseek Lowenza. Just a governor of a small village under the Kingdom of Lousia. But I, like many others, despise this filthy system that feeds on war and blood."
Then he looked closely at Vaitheless:
"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… from your features, it's certain you're the son of the Fifth Emperor."
Vaitheless replied in a cold voice:
"I don't deny my blood… but do I hate it?"
Iseek closed his eyes for a moment, then said calmly:
"No, not at all. I'm only looking for someone who can help me end this vile rule. And it seems you… hold more hatred than any of them."
Vaitheless didn't respond. He looked at the mirror again, then stood up, holding the sword in his hand.
"Thanks for the hospitality. But I will start my journey now."
He put on a red coat, open at the front, revealing his muscles. Before he could step forward, Iseek placed his hand on his shoulder.
"Do you intend to face the kings in this condition?"
"That's none of your concern."
Iseek smiled… then, in an instant, he gripped the sword blade between two fingers—and broke it.
Vaitheless's hand froze, and a cold chill crept into his fingers.
"He… broke it… with two fingers?"
Iseek spoke quietly, without raising his voice:
"With that strength, you'll be killed in your first fight."
Vaitheless stepped back and said:
"Do you want me to join you? A revolution? A coup?"
Iseek pointed with his finger toward the number six:
"Train here for six months. After that, we begin. I'll send a group with you to carry out plans to dismantle the kingdom's infrastructure. And after that… comes the time for the kings."
Vaitheless thought for a moment, then said:
"I don't like fighting in groups. I prefer to work alone."
Iseek laughed:
"Stubborn… If you insist on working alone, so be it. But I won't let you die. I have people watching. They intervene when needed. I call them: Vowless."
"Vowless? Who are they? And how will you know I'm in danger?"
Iseek gave a mysterious smile:
"My disciples. And I monitor them… in my own way."
Then he turned his back, gripping the handle, his eyes glowing red:
"Sleep now. Tomorrow… you will meet them."