The sky bled orange when Rayon and Vorthalaxis arrived. The serpent, now shrunken and sleek, coiled around Rayon's right arm, its scales dissolving into black markings that pulsed faintly beneath his skin. From a distance, it looked like a living tattoo — ancient, shifting, whispering with hidden power.
"I don't like this place," Vorthalaxis muttered from within his host, voice low and echoing in Rayon's mind. "The air tastes like rot and sorrow."
Rayon didn't reply. His eyes were fixed ahead — a village lying silent beside the coast. The houses were half-collapsed, smoke rising from one. A cart wheel turned slowly in the wind.
When they entered, the silence broke. Whimpers. A stifled sob. The kind that came from people who had been screaming for too long.
Erethon's voice whispered darkly in Rayon's ear. "You feel it too, don't you? The ugliness of men left without fear."
Rayon's pace slowed. His gaze swept the square — the bandits scattered across it. They were laughing, reeking of alcohol and arrogance, their weapons glinting with the blood of the innocent. A few children huddled beside a burnt wall, eyes red and wide, clinging to each other like driftwood in a storm.
There were four of them.
A boy with messy dark hair, maybe twelve — he stood in front of the others, trembling, but his eyes burned with something old. Rage.
Next to him, a girl, small and bruised, gripping his arm. Behind them, two younger ones — twins — crying quietly.
Rayon stopped a few steps away. The laughter of the bandits died when they saw him.
"Another one?" one of them scoffed, swaggering forward with a blade dripping red. "You lost, fancy coat?"
Rayon didn't answer. His expression didn't change. His eyes simply followed the man's movements — lazy, calculating.
The next moment, the man's arm fell to the ground. He hadn't even seen Rayon move.
A whisper followed — the sound of strings cutting through flesh.
In seconds, the square turned into a storm of screams and blood. Rayon moved like something that wasn't human — precise, silent, surgical. Each step birthed death. Strings shimmered in the air, invisible threads slicing through limbs and throats.
Erethon chuckled in the back of his mind, half-amused, half-impressed. "You could've scared them off."
Rayon's voice was cold. "They deserved to know what fear feels like before they die."
When it was over, the ground was painted red. Only one bandit remained — crawling away, bleeding, eyes wide with terror. Rayon let him.
"Run," he said simply. "Lead me to the rest."
The man didn't hesitate. He stumbled and vanished into the forest.
Rayon turned to the children. None of them screamed. The boy just stared at him — eyes hollow, fists clenched.
"What's your name?" Rayon asked.
"…Lio," the boy muttered. "That's my sister, Mira. The little ones—Tessa and Ryn."
Rayon nodded once. He reached into his coat, dropped a small crystal orb on the ground. It glowed softly — warmth spreading from it, easing the air.
"Stay here," he said. "Don't follow."
The boy swallowed. "You'll kill them?"
Rayon's eyes met his. "All of them."
In the Forest
The hunt was silent. The escaped bandit never realized the irony of guiding his own executioner. By the time he reached his camp — dozens of tents scattered between the dead trees — Rayon was already behind him.
Vorthalaxis's markings flared on his arm. "You're enjoying this," the serpent whispered, almost playfully.
Rayon's voice was quiet, deadly calm. "No. I'm remembering."
Strings unfolded like wings behind him. In an instant, the camp turned into chaos — fire, screams, bodies pulled apart by unseen force. The night itself became his weapon. Erethon watched from within, his tone low and approving.
"You've grown colder, Rayon."
"Not colder," Rayon said. "Clearer."
When the last body fell, he stood over the burning camp. Flames reflected in his eyes, but his face remained expressionless.
Vorthalaxis stirred on his arm. "You kill for children?"
Rayon's smirk was faint. "I kill for the ones who still have a
Far away, in the endless dark, Severin knelt before a massive obsidian monolith. His hand rested against it, pulse syncing with the humming seal.
The air trembled. The runes cracked open, releasing faint silver mist.
"Finally," he whispered. "The Ninth Fragment awakens."
Inside the monolith, something opened an eye — massive, red, ancient.
This was not a beast, nor a god. It was an echo — one of the Forsaken Fragments, remnants of those erased from existence. Sealed away because even death couldn't hold them.
Severin smiled faintly. "You'll serve nicely."
The tomb shook as the seal shattered, and something monstrous began to stir.
The Awakened Circle
In a city above the clouds — a citadel of white stone and gold sigils — six figures gathered around a circular table.
"The serpent's pulse has been confirmed," said a woman in a black veil. "Vorthalaxis is free."
The man at the head of the table leaned forward. His name was Lazheron, leader of the Awakened Circle — an order sworn to watch the Forsaken seals. His voice was cold, deliberate.
"List the present members."
The veiled woman spoke: "Myself — Isaleth, the Whispered Flame. Beside me, Rovan the Steel-Seer, Asha of the Void Choir, Elandir the Pale, Serik the Hound, and you."
Lazheron's eyes glowed faint blue. "Then the Circle is complete."
He rose, the sigils around him brightening. "Prepare the heralds. The Serpent's release means the strings are tightening. And where the strings move—"
"—Rayon follows," Asha finished, smiling faintly.
Lazheron nodded. "Then let us begin the hunt."
Above a burning forest, Rayon stood beneath the moonlight, Vorthalaxis coiled around him like a living shadow, and Erethon whispering in his mind.
The island was silent now. Peaceful. Too peaceful.
"More seals will break," Erethon said quietly.