Daren Velric.
That was the glaive-wielder's name. A veteran of the Association, known for his brute force and a pride as sharp as the weapon he carried. But after that night in the market square, his reputation was dust.
Rayon had humiliated him—strings wrapping his glaive, twisting it from his hands, leaving him on his knees in front of his own comrades. The boy hadn't even broken a sweat. He had played with him.
Daren's rage boiled for days. He drank it down like poison, replaying Rayon's mocking grin over and over until his knuckles bled from gripping his weapon too tightly. He swore to the others he'd claim vengeance.
But vengeance against Rayon Veynar wasn't something a string could be touched with.
Weeks later, the Association prepared one of its largest expeditions in years. Two thousand Hunters, armed to the teeth, sent to the Ashen Wastes—a desolate stretch of land where a colossal beast had emerged, its size so great it had blotted out the horizon.
The creature had already swallowed three villages whole. Its roar split the air like thunder. Even the ground trembled beneath its weight. It was said to be the kind of monster entire armies were built to kill.
The Hunters marched with banners raised, spirits high. They thought they were invincible together.
But someone else had been waiting.
Rayon stood on the cliffs above the Wastes, strings faintly vibrating in the wind like invisible instruments tuned to carnage. His eyes tracked the endless wave of black coats below.
Two thousand Hunters. His lips curved upward, slow and wicked.
"I told you," he whispered to no one but the wind. "This world isn't yours to judge."
He descended into the Wastes as the Hunters clashed with the beast. Steel clashed with scales. Magic thundered. Screams ripped through the air. It was chaos—perfect cover.
Then the slaughter began.
Strings lashed unseen through the battlefield, cutting throats, severing tendons, snapping weapons from hands. Hunters turned on each other, eyes glassy from Rayon's hypnosis. Brothers cut down brothers. Spells misfired into their own lines.
Daren Velric was there too, glaive raised high, roaring above the din. But even his fury meant nothing when Rayon's strings yanked his weapon, binding his arms, and snapped his neck with a sickening twist.
The monster, towering and grotesque, turned to devour the chaos—only to find Rayon's Hollow Strings already piercing its hide, wrapping around its limbs, pulling it down like a puppet caught in a web. With a cruel smirk, Rayon dragged the beast's own weight against itself, tearing flesh and bone until it collapsed into the blood-soaked dust.
When the dust finally settled, the Ashen Wastes were silent.
No Hunters stood.
No beast breathed.
Only Rayon remained, walking calmly through a field of corpses, strings flickering faintly as if savoring the last echoes of life.
The news spread faster than wildfire.
Two thousand Hunters, annihilated in a single night. A monster slain like a mere accessory to the massacre. Survivors? None. Witnesses? Only whispers of Hollow Strings dancing across the battlefield.
At the Association's headquarters, silence reigned. Then, with grim resolve, Lucien Kaelstrom signed a decree sealed in black wax.
FLEE ON SIGHT.
Any Hunter who lays eyes on Rayon Veynar is ordered not to engage. Not to pursue. Not to test his strength. Run. Report. Live.
Confronting him is no longer considered bravery. It is considered suicide.
And so, Rayon became a phantom, a name spoken only in hushed tones. The boy from the gutter had turned himself into the nightmare of an entire world.
And in his hollow eyes, that arrogant smile still lingered.