The morning after the slaughter, the air felt lighter. Smoke still curled above the ruined village, but the cries had stopped. The ocean beyond was calm again—mockingly calm, like nothing had happened.
Rayon stood in the middle of the square, coat fluttering in the faint breeze. He wasn't looking at the corpses. He was watching the children.
Lio was standing where Rayon had left him, jaw clenched, eyes hardened beyond his age. Mira sat behind him, wrapping the twins, Tessa and Ryn, in a rough blanket someone had scavenged. None of them looked away when Rayon approached.
"…You came back," Lio said quietly.
Rayon nodded. "Told you I would."
He looked at the boy for a long moment, studying the way his hands shook—not from fear, but from restraint. There was something coiled tight inside the boy's chest. Potential. Not power yet, but the instinct for it.
He reached into his coat again and pulled out a small black orb. It glowed faintly with silver lines, the same color as his eyes.
"This," he said, handing it to Lio, "isn't a weapon. Not yet. It's a seed. Feed it your will, not your hate. When it blooms, it'll become something that fits you."
Lio stared at it, confused. "Why give this to me?"
Rayon's gaze drifted to the ruins around them. "Because someone once told me the world doesn't need another killer. It needs a survivor who knows what killing costs."
He turned his hand, threads extending from his fingers. With a flick, the broken houses around them began to shift—wood and stone moving like puppets. Within minutes, the village reshaped itself: walls restored, roofs rebuilt.
A small barrier of black strings wove around the perimeter like an invisible fence.
Mira gasped. "You fixed it…"
Rayon didn't answer. He was already walking toward the largest house near the well, where an old woman lay half-conscious on the ground.
Her body was covered in bruises and blood, but her eyes still burned with the stubborn fire of the living. She tried to speak, but Rayon simply placed two fingers against her chest. Silver light flowed through her veins; the wounds closed, leaving faint scars.
"Rest," he said.
Her eyes blinked, then whispered, "Who are you?"
Rayon smiled faintly. "No one important."
He reached into his coat again and placed a small pendant beside her. A black crystal with a silver thread running through it.
"If this breaks," he said, "I'll know. Protect them until then."
Her hand closed weakly around it. "And you'll come back?"
"Someday," Rayon said, already turning away. "When the world's quieter."
By the time he reached the cliff overlooking the sea, the wind had picked up. Salt and ash danced together in the air. Vorthalaxis uncoiled from his arm, stretching his smaller wings before landing beside him. Erethon's presence stirred like a shadow behind his thoughts.
Rayon sat on a rock, eyes on the endless horizon. "How many more are there?" he asked quietly.
Vorthalaxis hissed softly. "Thirteen seals. I am the Fourth."
Rayon raised an eyebrow. "And the others?"
Erethon's voice cut in, calm but dark. "Beasts. Gods. Curses. Mistakes. Each seal holds a different thing that was too dangerous to exist. Not destroyed, not erased—just locked away. If all thirteen are released…"
Rayon's gaze hardened. "The world dies?"
"Or it changes beyond recognition," Erethon replied. "Reality itself bends when the sealed are freed. Stars may vanish. Lands may drown. Minds will fracture. Nothing will remain untouched."
Vorthalaxis's eyes glimmered faintly. "The first three are dangerous, but manageable. The second seal holds Karethos, the God-Eater. It's a force that devours life itself. And the thirteenth… no one knows. It's said the last seal contains the origin of the strings themselves."
Rayon leaned back, expression unreadable. "Then it's no wonder the world fears the seals."
Erethon materialized beside him, phantom form twisting in the wind. "Do you know why your Hollow Strings are dangerous? Why they terrify even the most ancient beings?"
Rayon didn't answer.
Erethon smirked. "Because they aren't just threads of power. They are the nerves of existence itself. Every soul, every fate, every hidden path—it's all tied to strings. You can pluck them, twist them, sever them… even erase the meaning of a god if you wanted. The creator made them to test the world, not to maintain it. You are the perfect flaw."
Rayon exhaled slowly. "Then I guess I'm right where I belong."
Elsewhere —
The Circle's chamber was alight with golden sigils. Lazheron stood at the center, eyes glowing pale blue, voice echoing through the room.
"Vorthalaxis, the Fourth Seal, has been broken," said Isaleth, the Whispered Flame. "The energy spike confirms it."
Lazheron's hand tightened around the hilt of his staff. "Good. Let the world reveal its cards. If Rayon seeks the others, we will meet him at the Third Seal. That's where the chain begins."
Rovan, the Steel-Seer, tilted his head. "And if he's one of the Chosen?"
Lazheron's gaze hardened. "Then we end him before the thirteenth seal is touched."
Asha of the Void Choir smiled faintly. "It's only a matter of time before the others feel the tremor. The world will awaken."
Lazheron nodded. "Prepare the heralds. The Fourth Seal is free. Let the hunt begin."
Above the cliffs, Rayon stood tall, coat flaring in the wind. Vorthalaxis coiled around his arm, markings glinting like liquid night.
Erethon's grin was cold and amused. "So, what now?"
Rayon looked toward the horizon. "Now," he said, "we pull strings. All of them."
Vorthalaxis's wings unfolded, majestic and black. "Then the next seal trembles."
The storm surged around them, carrying the promise of chaos.