The blue sky burned red.
"What's happening?" Ean gasped as he stumbled into the main street. The village was swallowed by fire, tongues of crimson leaping from rooftops, devouring wood, cloth, and flesh alike. Smoke choked the air, making every breath taste of ash.
Screams cut through the crackling inferno.
"Help me!"
"No...no, please!"
"Arghhh! It hurts!"
From every direction, voices rose in agony. Some villagers bolted their doors in desperation, hoping the flames would pass them by - only to trap themselves inside as fire licked their walls. Others dove into wells or water troughs, but the unnatural blaze ignored their feeble attempts. Even submerged, their bodies blistered and blackened.
Chaos reigned. The small village was reduced to a vision of hell.
Ean's thin feet pounded against the dirt path, already torn and bleeding, yet he didn't stop. His chest burned as much as the air around him, the cold that had clung to him earlier replaced by suffocating heat. Tears blurred his vision, but not enough to hide the horror unfolding around him.
"What is happening to this place? How do I survive this?" His lips trembled, words breaking into sobs as he ran blindly.
"Someone, please! Help!" he finally screamed with the others, his voice cracking with fear.
He ran until his body crashed into something solid.
Bruuk!
The impact knocked him back. His wide eyes lifted and froze.
A tall figure stood before him, draped in a black cloak that seemed untouched by the snow still falling lightly through the smoke. His hood concealed his features, but the oppressive aura he carried made Ean's breath hitch in his throat.
"Sir, please!" Ean's voice trembled. He fell to his knees, clutching the man's robe. "Please… please save them! The village, it's burning! Everyone is burning!" His words dissolved into sobs, his thin shoulders shaking as he pointed frantically back toward the inferno.
The man slowly pulled back his hood. His skin was pale as snow, his eyes bottomless pools of black that reflected no light. He gazed at Ean, calm and cold as winter itself.
"Save them?" His voice was low, sharp as frost. "Why would you ask that? Those people are full of cruelty, hatred, and selfishness. They beat you. Starved you. Cast you aside. Why should their lives matter?"
Ean froze, the words slicing deeper than any wound. His lips trembled. He remembered the rotting scraps snatched from his hands, the jeers, the kicks, the indifference. They had treated him as less than human.
And yet—
"They just… they just wanted to survive," Ean whispered, his voice breaking. He sank lower, bowing his head in shame and fear. "Like me…"
For a long moment, silence hung between them, broken only by the crackle of flames devouring the village.
Then, to Ean's shock, the man crouched. Instead of the expected blow - so often delivered by villagers when he begged or stole, Ean felt something entirely foreign.
A hand. Cold, but gentle. It brushed across his hair in a gesture so simple, so tender, that Ean's eyes widened. No one had ever touched him like that before.
When he looked up, the man's expression had softened, just slightly.
"Child," he said softly, "I cannot save them. Their fates are sealed." His eyes flicked to the village, now engulfed in a sea of fire. "But I can save you. If you wish… you can leave this place, and walk with me."
He extended his hand. Long fingers, pale against the flickering glow.
Ean's heart pounded. His gaze darted between the burning village and the man's waiting hand. The village was already gone; the cries had turned to ash, the roofs collapsing into embers. Nothing was left to save.
Tears spilling freely, he turned back to the stranger and placed his tiny, shaking hand into his.
"From this moment on, I will protect you, Ean." The man smiled faintly, his voice warm and steady.
Ba-dump.
Ean's heart jolted. His mind blanked for a second, then horror trickled in.
Wait.
"How… how does he know my name?"
Before he could ask, pain lanced through his skull. His vision wavered. He touched his temple, swaying.
"What… what's happening to me?"
His gaze flicked down - his hands were small, childlike. Yet when he blinked again, he saw flashes of his adult body, sitting in a cold interrogation room.
"Is this… a dream?" he whispered hoarsely.
The man walked beside him, holding his hand as if guiding a lost child. Ean's vision blurred between past and present. Confusion twisted his stomach.
"W-Who are you?" Ean stammered.
The man glanced at him, smiling with quiet amusement. "Ah, it seems you're finally aware. Good. In that case…" He pressed a finger against his lips, a gesture for silence.
"For the sake of the past, Ean... keep my identity secret. Do you understand?"
"You…" Ean tried to speak, but the man's cold palm suddenly covered his eyes.
"Now, go back. Rest, Ean." His voice lowered to a whisper, almost tender.
Darkness claimed him.
**
Click. Click.
The lamps in the interrogation room flickered violently, casting erratic shadows on the walls. The ancient tome on the table - the Relic Arts: Codex Memoria snapped open, its pages flipping wildly.
Selene Veyra stiffened, her sharp eyes narrowing behind her thin glasses. Her hand tightened on the quill, ready to react.
In the observation room, Kael Draven rose abruptly, his calm expression breaking. "What's going on?" he demanded, his voice cold and commanding.
The staff at his side scrambled, unable to answer. And then...
Swoosh!
In a blink, too fast for the naked eye, Ean Briden - who had collapsed unconscious only moments before, was suddenly on his feet. His hand clamped tightly around Selene Veyra's throat, lifting her off the ground with impossible strength.
Her quill clattered to the floor, forgotten.
Ean's eyes burned with an unfamiliar, abyssal gleam. His voice, when it came, was not his own.
"How dare a lowly witch like you pry into Ean's memories?"
His words sliced through the air, chilling and merciless.
Selene's eyes widened in horror. This wasn't the starving boy from the streets. This wasn't even the bewildered calligrapher she had summoned.
This was something else.
Something inside him.