The forest was silent…
But that silence wasn't peace — it was the grim waiting before an explosion.
The air above the crater grew thick and heavy like lead. The rain that had been falling moments ago now slowed down… as if afraid to touch that place.
In the middle of the crater stood Ashen.
A face without expression, eyes that didn't see humans but something deeper… colder… more drenched in blood.
A few meters away, two men stopped —
From the caravan side: the guard, Kain, in his dirty clothes and a sword hanging from his waist.
From the bandit side: Vellin, with his wicked smile and a scar that made his face look like a split mouth of a demon.
They exchanged a brief look, no longer than a heartbeat, but filled with hatred and suspicion.
Both knew the other was an enemy, but for now, they shared a single goal:
The young man standing before them.
Kain took the first step forward, slightly bowing his head, placing a hand on his chest as if in greeting.
He spoke in a soft, fake tone:
"Boy, don't be afraid. We're not your enemies… we're merchants, that's all. We just found you in this strange place.
Are you alright? Do you need help?"
His voice sounded gentle, but underneath it hid deadly caution.
His eyes studied every movement of Ashen, searching for a crack in an unbreakable wall.
Vellin smiled faintly and stepped forward slowly.
"Merchants? Hah… more like rats picking up crumbs from royal lands.
Boy, don't believe them. They'd sell you in the first slave market they find.
We, on the other hand, respect strength.
And I see something rare in you… something that shouldn't be wasted."
Ashen's eyes slowly turned toward him.
Just one glance froze the man's heart for a moment, yet he continued, forcing the words through his fear:
"How about you come with us? We know how to protect people like you.
If you're lost, we'll find your path.
If you're chasing a goal, we can help you reach it."
Silence.
Ashen said nothing.
His eyes moved between the two men as if judging worthless insects.
Kain tried to break the silence, forcing a weak smile.
"Don't listen to this criminal. We're honest traders under imperial protection.
We can take you back to your family or your village, or maybe your clan.
Just tell us where you're from…"
No answer.
Ashen kept staring at them — calm, still, and terrifying.
The sky was raining, water mixing with dirt into red mud like blood.
Everything around him seemed dull, except for his eyes…
as if they were the center of existence itself.
Vellin smiled slyly, putting his hands behind his back.
"You don't talk? Did you lose your voice, or do you not understand our language?"
He took another slow step forward.
"At least tell me your name, boy."
Ashen didn't move.
Kain raised his voice slightly, trying to sound firm:
"Listen, we don't want trouble.
If you're from one of the noble clans, we'll protect you — just tell us your name… or your clan.
We can get you to the nearest safe city."
His eyes gleamed with greed when he said safe city —
the same words he'd used countless times before killing those who trusted him.
The two men stood facing Ashen, each trying to win him over without realizing they were standing at the edge of a cliff.
Ashen lifted his head slightly, as if waking up from a dream.
His voice came out slow, faint — but so heavy it made the air itself groan:
"...Where am I."
The simple words sounded like a whisper from the depths of hell.
The tone wasn't human — so cold that Vellin felt his heart stop for a moment before beating again.
Kain swallowed hard and answered quickly, trying to stay calm:
"We're… we're in the Northern Desert Continent, boy.
Specifically, in the Kingdom of Hora, on the eastern border.
Are… are you lost? Where did you come from?"
But there was no reply.
What came next wasn't an answer — it was judgment.
The air changed instantly.
No wind, no rain — only an overwhelming weight pressing on everything, as if something massive and unseen had awakened.
Ashen's gaze became sharper.
He didn't move, but the shadows around him began to twist.
Behind him, a faint crimson mist rose…
then grew into a wave — a wave of intent.
Killing intent poured out of his body like a tide, unstoppable.
It filled the ground, the air, the trees — everything.
Whoever touched it felt their body drain of warmth.
A soldier far away screamed unconsciously — his voice vanished at once.
Kain stumbled back, eyes wide.
"What is this…?!"
Vellin pulled his dagger by reflex, shouting:
"Magic? No… not energy… it's—!"
But neither of them could describe it.
They only saw the grass around Ashen wither.
Colors faded. The air thickened, like liquid blood.
Then came the faces — twisted red shadows, like broken souls, swirling around him.
That was Ashen's intent in its purest form…
an aura not born from weapons or rage — but from raw, primal savagery itself.
From afar, Rodan, the caravan leader, screamed in panic:
"Retreat! Everyone, retreat! That's not human!"
Too late.
In an instant, the crimson tide swallowed everything.
Light turned to blood. Sounds became muffled screams.
Kain felt an icy pain tearing through his body from inside —
he saw his own soul pulled out of his chest by thin, glowing red threads.
He tried to scream, but his mouth wouldn't move.
The shadows wrapped around him… then devoured.
A noise beyond description tore through him — part scream, part melody —
and then his eyes turned glassy, lifeless.
On the other side, Vellin swung his dagger wildly, trying to cut through the air itself,
but the air was heavier than steel.
He screamed, blood pouring from his eyes and nose, until his dagger shattered in his grip.
Then he saw it — a huge hand made of black blood,
reaching for him, entering his chest, pulling out something small and glowing — his soul —
and crushing it like glass.
Both bodies dropped at once.
Then all others followed.
The soldiers, the traders, the bandits — even the horses tied to the wagons —
all collapsed in silence, as if life itself had been erased by a single breath of intent.
The forest turned gray.
The air was so heavy the rain no longer fell — it hung frozen in midair.
Only Ashen remained standing, in the middle of a field of corpses.
Nothing changed on his face — no anger, no regret, no pleasure.
Just silence, as if what he had done was as normal as breathing.
The killing aura slowly faded, pulling back into his body,
restoring a twisted sense of calm — but the smell of blood lingered like an unending memory.
Ashen took a step forward.
His foot pressed into the mud, the sound echoing like the slow drums of death.
He stopped beside one of the corpses — Kain's face, eyes still open, staring at nothing.
Ashen looked at him briefly, then whispered quietly:
"Those who hunt… are hunted."
Then he straightened up and turned away.
In the distance, the wagons stood in a half-circle.
Gold, weapons, supplies —
everything that once belonged to the caravan that no longer lived.
Under the gray sky, Ashen walked toward them with steady steps.
With each one, faint red footprints appeared in the mud,
but they vanished moments later, as if he had never been there.
He reached the first wagon and opened its wooden door.
The creak echoed through the silence like a distant scream.
Inside was darkness, thick with the smell of iron, blood, and long travel.
Ashen stood at the entrance, looked inside, then lifted his eyes to the cloudy sky and muttered coldly:
"The Northern Desert Continent… Kingdom of Hora…"
He paused for a moment,
then whispered as if speaking to himself:
"...Alright then. Let's see this place and find out who…"
"…who I am."
He stepped into the wagon, leaving behind dozens of corpses,
trees that trembled,
and a forest that no longer knew whether it was a land for the living…
or a graveyard for beasts.