Laplace gazed through the shattered window, his eyes narrowing as two figures fled into the distance. I won't chase them. I'll report this to the manor's guards instead.
Turning back, he swept his room with sharp eyes, searching for what might have been taken. To his relief, most of the stolen goods lay abandoned in the burlap sacks scattered across the floor.
My savings must be here somewhere. His heart thudded as he rifled through the bags—the money he had saved for enrollment at the Crystal Academy had to be there.
Where is it? Where is it?!
He checked once. Twice. Nothing. Cold panic tightened his chest, and his breath grew shallow. His body trembled as he turned again to the broken window.
They must have taken it. If I run now, maybe I can still catch them!
Slipping out of the manor, Laplace sprinted down the hill toward the forest. The royal family's mansion stood high above Crystal Town, one slope falling toward the bustling streets, the other swallowed by a vast, brooding forest. The woods wrapped around the hill, creeping up its base and spilling into the valley beyond. The people of Crystal were always warned: never wander too far into those shadows. None were told why. Laplace had always obeyed—until now.
Tonight, desperation drove him past the boundary.
The forest pressed in, damp and cold. Branches clawed at his sleeves as he followed the sounds of cracking twigs and ragged breathing ahead. He crouched low behind a tree. The two thieves stumbled into view.
I didn't even bring a sword. Foolish, foolish!
Then he froze. The thieves were not alone. They whispered frantically to a figure cloaked in a dark robe. Horns of grey curved from her head, and long black hair glistened against the shadows.
A sudden cry ripped through the night.
"Please, no! Anything but that!"
Crack. Twist.
The scream that followed turned Laplace's blood to ice. The girl wrenched the thieves' fingers until bone snapped and flesh tore, blood spraying across the dirt. Laplace's skin prickled, his breath shallow and uneven. Terror rooted him to the ground.
He turned to flee, but his foot snapped a branch.
The girl's head lifted. A smirk tugged at her lips.
"Oh? We have a visitor."
Run! They've seen me! Don't head for the manor—confuse them. Anywhere else!
Laplace tore through the woods, lungs burning as he pushed deeper, faster. He did not dare look back. Only when his chest ached and his vision blurred did he finally stop.
This should be far enough…
But when he looked around, his heart sank. No manor. No lights of the town. Only endless trees pressing close.
Wait. Where am I?
He wandered on, searching desperately for a path. Then it came—a chill, a pull, like invisible fingers beckoning him forward. The deeper he walked, the stronger it grew, until the forest opened into a silent meadow.
At its center stood a single gravestone, weathered and alone.
Laplace stepped closer. The inscription, half-hidden beneath layers of dust, read:
"Laplace Zi Ovi 184–241."
Laplace? That's… my name. Could it be common? And this date—nearly a century ago…
He brushed away the dust. The instant his hand touched the stone, a flood of memories surged into him—faces, battles, voices not his own, crashing through his mind like a storm.
A voice spoke behind him.
"So. You are the human Laplace chose."
Laplace spun and stumbled backward. A figure loomed, shrouded in writhing darkness, its form shifting like smoke. The air thickened as it extended a shadowed hand.
"I have waited for you, descendant of Laplace."
Laplace's thoughts whirled. Descendant? Work with me? What are these memories? Why now?
The entity's voice rumbled low, steady, inevitable.
"I did not appear because you touched the stone. I have always been here. The aura bound to Laplace Zi Ovi's grave merely allowed your eyes to see me. I have waited centuries—no, millennia—for this moment."
"You can read my mind?" Laplace whispered.
"No. But the past and future are both within my grasp. I already knew you would ask."
Laplace's throat tightened. "Then… who are you?"
The shadows thickened, coiling around the entity like storm clouds. Its presence weighed heavy, as though the forest itself bent beneath it.
"I am a demon. In a world ruled by angels and saints, I stand alone—enemy to all creation."