The old man's voice trembled like a candle flame in the wind.His words bore the weight of centuries — cracked, heavy, caked with dust and grief.
"W–what… what happened to me?" Rintal asked in despair, while in the gloom he still saw Areday's shape blur, as if the wind had blown the ash away.
"I gave you an alchemical remedy, child… a mixture that was just barely not corrupt," the old man answered softly, slowly stirring the embers.
Rintal stared, frozen. The vision, the dream, the past — all ran together inside him. He didn't know what of Areday had been real, and what had been only the seal's game.But the pain he felt was far too real to forget.
"You dreamed of the dead, didn't you, child?" the old man asked, lifting his gaze."Yes…" Rintal replied hoarsely. "But somehow it was more twisted. Different."
The old man nodded, then drew a deep breath.
"This land was never made for the living," he began. "Even before the storms and the plague, the Solmaren Empire laid claim to this island. By the emperor's command, ships came — with black sails, upon which the signs of the serpent and the sun burned.On them came the Ash Alchemists. Men who denied the words of the gods yet feared death — who, in the name of knowledge, abandoned everything that made them human."
As he spoke, the fire flared — a green flame leapt up, then slowly warped to black.The sparks rose like drowning souls and vanished into the dense fog.
"Once they were scholars. Now they are merely priests of their temple of sin.Silver chains hung from their bodies; their garments were deep-red cloth that hid blood and ash.Masks covered their faces — forged from bone, cold and empty.Behind their eyes there was no life, only calculation.When they disembarked, they took the people of the island's villages — men, women, children — saying the Empire demanded sacrifice for immortality."
Rintal's gaze hardened. In the wind, it was as if pained whispers slid between the trees.
"The emperor longed for eternity," the old man whispered. "Not for glory, not to become a god… but to escape. He feared the silence of death more than war or sin.So he summoned the Ash Alchemists — those who could twist the veins of the world. But they lied to him. They knew the price of eternal life was not gold, but soul."
The fire crackled. Faces flashed in the flames, then vanished — like spirits of the past.
"They carved circles into the earth and drew blood from every living thing: humans, elves, vampires, and others besides.They tried to chain souls to the flame, to bind life to the fire of the gods.But the soul is no vessel… and when you try to fill it by force, it splits."
The ground shuddered, as if the old man's words had summoned the past.
"One night, a vast explosion shook the castle. The walls turned inside out, the tower burned, and the energy infected the entire island.The souls could not depart — some were trapped in trees, others in stones, in shadows.Those tribes that now exist in shards are fragments of them — broken, writhing minds that no longer know who they were."
Rintal was silent. The fog vibrated around them.
"They did not find immortality," the old man continued. "Only hunger.Their failures did not die; they only wander — lingering near the castle, as if still searching for the power they could never possess.These became the Phantoms — half soul, half memory, who feed on warmth and breath.The alchemy they practiced turned into an addiction. Whoever sank into this kind of alchemy never returned as a human."
The old man pointed beyond the fog. There, beyond the hill, the castle's crumbling towers clawed at the sky.
"It was their cradle… and their tomb. The heart of blasphemy.And now, as you draw closer, you step into their world."
The seal in Rintal's palm glowed red-hot.The name the old man murmured — Daragran —The old man lowered his eyes, then continued softly:
"When the plague reached the island, the alchemists who survived the explosion fled.They left the villagers behind — those who drank their poisons, bore their marks, and prayed to gods who never answered.Instead, it was Daragran himself, the devil, who smiled back at them through their torment."
The fire went out in a sudden hush. Only smoke remained, like a dark prayer rising to the sky.
"The Empire sealed off the island — called it quarantine, called it mercy. But in truth it was a grave.A grave the devil himself shaped for the weak — for those who could not master their own hunger."
A shadow tightened across Rintal's face.The seal pulsed again, like a living heart.
"And those who came later? Those who wandered here, like us?" he asked quietly.
The old man closed his eyes.
"They were the Wolves. Soldiers, hunters, refugees who fled the wars and came here.They drank from the accursed water, and the forest answered.Their flesh changed; their will turned crooked.The Empire made the island into a prison — a cage sealed by the castle gate.Since then, the Werewolves guard the boundary. The Phantoms rule the castle — and we who remain… live only in the shadow of the two."
"They told themselves that no matter what happened, no matter the horrors they saw, it was better than dying in war or under torture.Perhaps they were wrong."
"What the alchemists wrought, mingled with the plague, birthed the wretches.But as I've observed, this thing mutates on the island — from time to time new abominations are born… the souls caught in trees… the werewolves… the Phantoms… and my own kind as well."
Rintal's eyes darkened."And you? How are you still alive?"
The old man smiled — bitterly, almost in pain.
"Those who survived were struck differently by the poison.We did not die, but we are no longer living.This fate… perhaps better than death. Perhaps worse."
The fire crackled anew.From deep in the fog, a wolf's howl echoed.
The old man raised his head and looked into Rintal's eyes.
"Tell me, wanderer…Which will you be?Hungry, Damned… or Cursed?"
Rintal did not answer, only stared grimly at the old man.
"I have to find my friend," he said firmly. "Shadows chased him. You must have seen some of them around here."
The old man nodded."Yes, all the villagers saw them. And those who remained likely were searching… for you.A warrior shouted to his companion by the shore to take the one they found to the castle. He would look for the other in the meantime."
For a moment the old man fell silent."I suppose you are the other…"
Then the old man handed Rintal a little bread, some water, and a small backpack that still held a bit of venison.
"You'll need this if you go there. You don't seem like one who would stay — not that staying would be any less dangerous.And I want you to leave as soon as possible, because until now the shadows and the assassins have not harmed us, but if they learn I hid you, they will."
"The water is drinkable — I purified it myself," the old man said darkly.
Rintal nodded.
"It was never our way to surrender, not for my twin and me," he said defiantly. "I'll eat what I can find along the road, and thank you for everything."
The old man only nodded, then opened the door.Rintal, a little weary yet resolute — like one waking from a winter sleep haunted only by nightmares — set out from the village toward the hill, in the direction of the castle.
When he reached the road, the old man called after him:
"Whatever happens… do not come back here… for us… there is no salvation."
The seal burned red in Rintal's palm as he started toward the castle.