The silence that followed the storm was suffocating.
Not a whisper of wind, not a chirp of a bird—only the faint crackle of the dying wards along the cabin walls. The air still carried the scent of smoke and ash from the village far beyond, where fire had devoured what little peace we had left. The remnants of burning timber and scorched earth lingered like a bitter reminder of everything lost, everything destroyed. I could taste the soot in the air, acrid and sharp, sticking to the back of my throat with every breath I took.
I sat by the door, dagger in hand, the floor stained with the remnants of the Veylith I had just fought. The creature had dissolved completely, leaving nothing but faint black dust that shimmered before vanishing, like a dying memory refusing to fade. I pressed the dagger between my palms, feeling its cold weight, the familiar texture of the hilt grounding me in the present. My muscles ached, my lungs burned, but the adrenaline had yet to leave my veins, leaving me tense, alert, alive.
It was over.
For now.
I took a deep breath, my gaze scanning the faint ripples of mana still lingering in the air. No more screech. No movement. The cabin was quiet again—unnaturally so. Even the faint hum of the wards sounded like a sigh, as if the house itself was exhausted from surviving. The shadows cast by the flickering lamplight danced along the walls, stretching, collapsing, and reforming like breathing creatures of their own. My ears strained for any sound, any hint that the danger had not yet passed.
"They're gone," I murmured, my voice sounding too loud in the silence, almost as if speaking it aloud might shatter the fragile peace.
Lyra exhaled shakily, lowering her guard as the faint glow around her fingers flickered out. Sweat clung to her forehead, her emerald eyes dim beneath the trembling lamplight. Her chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath punctuated by the memory of what had just happened. "You sure?" she asked, her tone caught between disbelief and exhaustion, a tremor in her voice betraying the fear she tried so hard to hide.
"Positive," I replied, pushing myself up. "The last trace disappeared a minute ago." My shoulders ached, my arms trembled slightly as I adjusted my stance, still half on guard, still unwilling to fully believe we had survived unscathed.
The floorboards creaked as I stood. I turned toward the door, the dagger still slick with shadow residue, catching faint glimmers of the lamplight. Each step sounded heavier than the last, each movement a small test of endurance and nerve.
"Where are you going?" Lyra asked, sharper now, tension slipping back into her voice, her posture rigid.
"To find Garrick."
Her eyes widened, the green in them flashing like glass under firelight. "What?! Are you insane? It's still dangerous outside!"
I tightened my grip on the dagger. "He's out there, Lyra. He's the only family I have here."
The words left my mouth before I could stop them, heavier than I intended. The image of Garrick—gruff, patient, and steady—flashed through my mind. The one who taught me how to hold a blade properly, who laughed too loud, who always said, "If you're afraid, that means you still have something worth protecting." His voice, in memory, seemed louder than anything I had heard in hours.
I won't lose them again.
The thought echoed from a life I'd tried to bury, an echo that grew louder with each heartbeat. I could still feel the shadow of failure pressing against my chest, reminding me that every second I hesitated could mean another loss.
"If he's alive, he'll need help. If he's not…" I paused, jaw clenching, forcing my teeth together until the pain was sharp enough to distract from the thoughts of worst-case scenarios. "…then I need to know."
Lyra stepped in front of the door, blocking my way. Her stance was firm, determined. "No. You're not going anywhere."
"And you're calling me by my name again," she said with a small, strained smile. "It should be Big Sis, right?"
"That's not important right now," I replied flatly, my patience thinning. "Move."
She shook her head, strands of her hair sticking to her cheeks from sweat. "You don't understand, Kaien. The Veylith aren't monsters you can take lightly. Once they take your eyes, you're done for."
She didn't know the full truth of my past life—how I'd faced creatures worse than Veylith, things that devoured many instead of sight. All she saw was a reckless boy too stubborn to stay safe. But I could see the fear in her. It wasn't about logic. It was about losing someone else, and I understood that fear better than she would ever know.
"I've fought them," I said quietly, my voice calm but carrying the weight of experience. "They dissolve when hit by aura—holy or pure light mana. You saw that yourself."
"I know," she snapped, voice cracking slightly. "I know, because you saved me and the kid."
Her hands trembled, the memory flashing in her eyes. "If you hadn't been there, they would've taken my eyes—or hers."
Her words hung heavy between us, filling the cabin with an invisible tension.
I remembered that moment too—how she stumbled, casting her barrier in panic, unable to counterattack because of her body constitution that prevents her to cast more spell. The Veylith lunged straight for her face, relentless, unforgiving. I hadn't even thought—I just moved. Aura surged through my veins, my vision dimmed, and I cut the Veylith in half just like what Garrick did before. It screamed, a sound that echoed in my ears far longer than it should have, and melted into smoke, leaving only a memory and the faint scent of burning darkness.
That was the first time she saw what I really was capable of.
"Then you should also know," I said slowly, "I won't lose to them."
This world… it gave me a new chance at a family. I couldn't risk losing them again—not after losing everything once before. My heart tightened as I thought of those I had failed back on earth, and the memory of Akihiro, Renji, Synthia and everyone else flashed behind my eyelids, making me gasp involuntarily.
Lyra's expression softened for a heartbeat, then hardened again. "Kaien, this isn't about winning or losing. You're still a ki—"
We froze.
Something outside shifted.
A faint pressure brushed against the edge of my perception—heavy footsteps, uneven and dragging. The air around us seemed to thicken, each heartbeat pounding in my ears like a drum, echoing with a rhythm too deliberate to be random.
Lyra's eyes flicked toward the door, her staff rising instinctively.
"Someone's coming," I whispered.
Her body tensed. "If it's another Veylith—"
"It's not," I cut in. "The mana feels… human."
For a moment, neither of us moved. The only sound was the rhythmic thud—slow, labored, too deliberate to be a beast. The forest beyond seemed to hold its breath.
Then came the sound of a hand knocking weakly against the door.
Thud.
Thud.
"Uncle?" Lyra whispered.
My heart skipped. "Garrick?"
She hesitated, her hand hovering over the handle. "Stay back, Kaien."
The door creaked open—and a figure stumbled through the threshold.
Garrick stood there, barely recognizable. His cloak was shredded, his skin smeared with blood and dark ash. Strange marks glowed faintly across his arm and neck—like cracks of burned light spreading through his veins. But when I finally saw his face, his eyes were clear.
He looked at us, lips trembling, breath ragged. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, without a word, he stepped forward and pulled us both into his arms, squeezing us tightly. His warmth, faint and unsteady, still felt human.
And then he collapsed.
"Uncle!" Lyra cried, catching him before he hit the floor.
We dragged him to the bed. My hands moved automatically—bandages, herbs, clean cloths. I didn't even notice the blood staining my sleeves. Lyra pressed her ear to his chest, her voice trembling.
"He's alive," she said. "He's breathing… shallow, but steady."
I nodded, tearing away the remnants of his cloak. The marks along his body pulsed faintly with black residue, but when I pressed my hand near his chest, there was no curse reaction—no trace of Veylith corruption.
"He's not cursed," I murmured. "If they'd taken his eyes, he wouldn't have made it back."
Lyra let out a shaky breath, shoulders sagging. "Thank the stars…"
We worked in silence. The sound of our movements—the tearing of cloth, the soft splash of water—filled the room. I wrapped his wounds carefully. They weren't deep—just endless shallow cuts, the kind that came from fighting too many enemies for too long.
When I was done, I finally let myself breathe. For the first time in hours, the weight on my chest loosened.
Then Garrick's hand twitched, gripping my wrist weakly. His voice was faint, a hoarse whisper between gasps.
"Don't… go… Seren…"
The word struck me like a knife.
"Uncle—what happened?" I asked, leaning closer. "Who's Seren?"
He didn't answer. His head tilted slightly, eyes rolling back as exhaustion dragged him into unconsciousness.
"Uncle!" Lyra called again, shaking him lightly. But he didn't stir. His breathing steadied, slow and deep, as if even his spirit was too tired to wake.
Lyra brushed his hair back gently, her hands trembling. "He needs rest."
I sat beside the bed, watching the faint rise and fall of his chest. The air in the cabin felt heavy again—like the calm before another storm.
"Who's Seren?" I asked softly.
Lyra's hand froze mid-motion. "That's—" She stopped, lips pressing together. Her gaze drifted away, distant and shadowed. "I think… the old man still remembers what happened before."
"Before?"
She hesitated. The lamplight flickered, painting her face in shades of sorrow. "Twelve years ago."
"What happened 12 years ago?" I asked
Her tone was quiet, almost reverent, as if speaking louder might summon the ghosts of that time.
Outside, the wind began to rise again—gentle at first, then growing, brushing against the cabin walls like a whisper. The wards flickered faintly, reacting to something beyond the forest line.
I looked at Garrick, the man who had carried us through the storm more times than I could count. His face, even in sleep, looked pained. Whatever memory the name Seren stirred… it wasn't peaceful.
And for the first time that night, a chill ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold.
Because deep in the distance, past the smoke and silence, I could feel it—
something stirring.
The Veylith weren't gone. Not really.
They were waiting.
And whatever Garrick saw out there… whatever Seren meant…
it was coming back with him.
Lyra closed her eyes, whispering a prayer under her breath. "We'll have to face it again, won't we?"
I didn't answer. I just looked out the window, at the faint, broken light of dawn bleeding through the clouds.
"What happened Twelve years ago was—
---End of Chapter 7---