Damian lived in a world that worshiped those who carried the blood of the gods and the families born from it. For him — who had come from nothing more than a family buried under rubble — the world had reserved nothing.
When he lost his mother, he decided he would not be left to rot in the gutters of Aldebran. Day after day, he swung wooden branches as if they were heavy swords, until one day, one of the Absolute King's guards noticed him.
His life changed overnight. He was thrown into a trial against that guard's son, and somehow, he managed to stand his ground. For the first time, he began to show the world that his life had meaning.
Luck, for once, found him. While they were still young, he also caught the attention of the king's daughter. They became close. Then they fell in love.
Damian fought dozens of battles for his king. He pulled his poor father out of the filthiest corner of the world and placed him beneath a proper roof of dark wood. And now, at twenty-five, he was about to begin the rite that would make him part of the king's family and allow him to marry the king's daughter.
28th Day, Seventh Month
The blare of a war horn roared across the citadel of Bonesguard and could be heard as far as Ashbrand, where Damian commanded his men.
Everyone fell silent for a moment. They knew that sound meant an extreme or sudden threat. After the betrayal and flight of their former commander, Jack the Nameless, there was only one possible conclusion: Jack was inside the Bonesguard estate, likely fighting for the lord of that house, Gregor.
"Containment squads to the south and east. Move! If Jack escapes with the Bonesguards, the king will be in danger!"
The men obeyed. Their heavy, gleaming armor flashed beneath the silver moonlight as they followed General Damian's orders.
He knew Jack's only ways out would be through the southern avenue or through the bone gardens of the Bonesguard estate. But fear lingered in his thoughts. He also knew that even if he sent his entire battalion, there would be no victory unless he faced Jack himself.
His gaze swept across Aldebran's main avenue. Men and women stumbled over their own feet as they ran toward the western quarter.
Damian doubted the people had any idea that the most likely enemy was Jack, and not the Tainted of Pilldebran—men without scruples who twisted their own people into mutations just to gain some advantage over the noble houses of Aldebran.
The general forced his focus back to the task at hand: finding Jack.
He shot down the street, his steel boots striking in firm, rapid steps. He rounded the first corner and slipped into a dark alley, where a few dogs were fighting over scraps tossed in the trash.
Farther ahead, barely lit by the streetlamps, Damian spotted several crates stacked like a staircase. His sharp, seasoned eyes immediately found the perfect shortcut through the city: the rooftops.
He quickened his pace. The white cloak that contrasted with his black armor snapped in the wind. He landed cleanly on the first crate, then pushed off at once to leap to the next.
He repeated the motion one more time, but this time his foot planted against the wall.
As if driven by an explosion, Damian scaled the alley wall, hauling himself up by the roof's edge.
From above, the sight was revealing: a pillar of smoke was rising from the Bonesguard estate. Damian could see his men racing up and down, cutting through alleys and broad streets alike, all of them converging on the battle.
He filled his lungs with as much air as he could. Adrenaline was already surging through his veins. He let the breath out completely and sprinted toward the next rooftop.
He leaped from one roof to the next. Some were farther apart than others. Some stood higher than the rest. Within minutes, he had already reached the avenue that ended at Bonesguard's great silver gates.
The walls surrounding the estate rose only a meter above the ground, built from unpolished quartz bricks. Above them, the silver-colored bars that matched the gates stretched another two meters high, thin, jagged, like bones. At the top, their triple points made climbing nearly impossible.
The gate stood half-open. His men had already entered the main house, whose massive dark wooden doors had been thrown wide open.
Without wasting another second, Damian pushed deeper into the estate. The moment he stepped inside the house, he was met by the sight of countless soldiers' bodies brutally strewn across the main hall.
Fresh blood seeped into the polished floor. A few still groaned in pain, struggling to hold on to the last thread of life they had left. Most were already dead.
For a moment, he blamed himself for not giving them harsher, worthier training. But deep down, he knew it would never have been enough. Compared to these men, Jack was a monster.
With hesitant steps, he moved between the bodies toward the corridor that led to the bone garden.
He pushed against the heavy half-open door. His stomach longed for a different sight, but the scene repeated itself in the corridor. More mutilated bodies lay scattered across the carpet.
Grief was beginning to harden into rage. Damian told himself that when he reached Jack, there would be no mercy in a single blow. He would execute his enemy no matter the cost.
He ignored every door along the corridor. If Jack intended to keep the Bonesguard noble safe, hiding somewhere inside the estate would be a fool's move.
Once again, Damian shoved open a set of heavy doors. These led out into the garden. The moment they opened, the first thing he saw was a man walking toward the river that cut through the garden and wound north toward the mountains.
"You bastard! Fight me, coward!" Damian roared.
Under the rain, Jack glanced back over his shoulder at Damian's provocation. His eyes shone brighter and sharper than they had any right to. His lips curled into a sly smile.
"You know, Damian, I didn't want to meet you like this." Jack turned and began walking slowly toward him. "I wanted you to have time to sort out your thoughts. More than ever, you have every reason to doubt me now. But I'm not your enemy. Or at least... I wasn't."
Even with fury poisoning his thoughts, Damian could still remember the conversations they had shared when the first suspicions against Jack had been raised.
The young former commander had always done everything within his power to make both Damian and the king proud. Damian knew that all that nonsense about Jack being a spy from Pilldebran, allied with Gregor to overthrow the king, was false.
But Jack had always been a confusing, mysterious man. And even if he had once spoken the truth, the blood on his hands was already enough to condemn him.
"I fought for you. I saw you as my equal." Hatred and fury choked Damian's voice. "I knew exactly what your life would have been if you hadn't earned a place for yourself in this world. But I didn't know you'd be willing to take the lives of your own comrades for it."
"Don't be foolish, General. The true innocents who died were never born here. I told you—we were kicking dead dogs. The war we fought beyond Aldebran doesn't exist."
"Your philosophy is beautiful, Jack. I respect that. But you're looking at it from the wrong side." Steel slid free from Damian's scabbard. "All it does is make me think the rumors were true."
On the other side of the garden, Jack drew his own sword as well. He wore nothing more than reinforced leather shoulder guards and a brown cloak, along with sturdy boots and standard military trousers. Damian saw the defensive advantage clearly. There was no reason to hesitate.
Step by step, they closed the distance between them. The rain grew heavier. The gap shrank. Their pace quickened. At the last second, they both lunged with everything they had.
Jack held nothing back in his attack. Steel crashed against steel. The shrill sound rang through the garden.
A deadly, well-rehearsed dance. Their feet shifted from side to side while their hands gripped their sword hilts with relentless force.
Damian searched for an opening beneath Jack's frenzy. Steel cut through the falling rain as Damian threw himself to the side, preparing for a thrust.
His blade pierced the air. Before it could reach the cloth of Jack's cloak, Jack's sword had already slammed against it, knocking the strike away.
A thread of unease slipped into Damian's thoughts. He needed to wait for Jack to tire before he could land a decisive blow. But the earlier battles had already shown that Jack never seemed to tire of fighting.
Sparks kept dancing. Damian rolled beneath one of the former commander's attacks and once again prepared a thrust aimed at his enemy's thigh.
Jack, however, knew the general's fighting pattern well and anticipated the strike, knocking the blade away again.
Minutes passed. Up to that point, the battle had remained even. Damian, however, knew it was only a matter of time before he was overpowered.
Jack's blade whistled through the air in a horizontal slash. Damian ducked without giving ground, intending to counter from that very spot. But when he raised his eyes to Jack, the first thing he saw was the sole of his boot.
The kick landed squarely in the middle of his face. The sticky chunks of mud disoriented Damian more than the blow itself.
His hands hit the ground as he fought through the dizziness and tried to rise. But the sharp pain that shot through his leg stopped him.
Jack had already run him through with his sword.
"I've always been confused... Damian, living without remembering my past. Serving a king I had never even heard of. The battles, on the other hand, were the only certainty I had. I live to fight. And strangely enough, I feel better the more I kill those I judge to be impious and unjust."
"Shut up, bastard!" Damian said through clenched teeth. "I don't believe you anymore. And just as you stopped caring about my people, I'll stop caring about you."
Jack no longer wore the mocking, malicious smile he had before. Clouded thoughts filled his mind. No matter how great his thirst for blood was, killing the man who had protected and trained him was too close to the very kind of act he himself despised. He knew that.
Still on the ground, Damian remembered an artifact the king had once given him. Hidden beneath his white cloak, now stained with blood and dirt, he forced down the pain and searched for the dark teal pearl.
The king had told him, "It will be difficult, but place it against your throat and keep it there. For two minutes, you will be everywhere at once."
And so he did. He pressed the dark, almost translucent pearl against his throat. The panic of not feeling the air pass freely, of having something too large lodged there, nearly drove him mad.
Jack let a strangely long moment pass, lost in his own thoughts. But as soon as he came back to himself, his eyes turned to Damian.
"Any last words, General?"
Damian felt the air begin to move again. The pressure of the pearl against his throat was still there, but it no longer felt as unbearable as before.
His consciousness latched onto an idea too vague for him to describe clearly. But his thoughts were as clear as the king's words.
"Watch your back."
Jack let out a mocking laugh. He took it not as a threat, but as dying man's last piece of advice.
As he prepared to drive his sword through Damian's back, a faint flash of purple light replaced Damian's body on the ground.
Damian moved beyond space itself, appearing directly behind Jack, who reacted with his sharpened senses. But it was too late. Still in midair, the general unleashed a diagonal slash that Jack could not defend against.
The pain in his leg flared up again. But in that moment, Damian did not need to care about that. He only needed to think of being somewhere, and he would be there.
The Nameless was thrown back one, maybe two meters, his boots sliding through the dirt. His brow was even more deeply furrowed than before. But once again, his eyes could not find Damian.
Fast as the flashes of distant lightning, Damian pierced Jack's leg just as Jack had done to him earlier.
The young man turned with the fury of the storm. Before the general could react, Jack's fist had already smashed into his jaw, sending him staggering back.
But just like before, in a instant, Damian was already face-to-face with Jack again, driving a powerful blow into his stomach.
It wasn't enough. Jack really was a monster. None of the previous attacks had done any meaningful damage. Jack was surprised by Damian's sudden movement, but that was all.
The general's hands began to tremble, not from exhaustion, but from the fear that he was drawing closer to defeat than victory. It was as if every blow only made Jack more awake.
The first minute passed quickly, and the advantage Damian had held for a few brief moments was already gone.
It was as if Jack could predict every movement, every intention, every thought Damian had.
"That was quite a surprise. Were you keeping that in reserve for me, General?" Jack said while deflecting another attack from behind him.
Damian did not answer. He was already hiding his shame beneath the rain and beneath his dirt-stained cloak.
His brief moment of triumph had brought him nothing. 'What kind of demon is this brat?' he thought. By then, he could think of nothing except the fact that his former commander was truly superior to him.
The second minute came to an end. All his energy had been drained away. He was cornered by fate—and by his finest warrior.
I can't give up. What would Julia think if she knew I let this boy surpass me? he thought.
Filling himself with courage and determination, his trembling fist steadied. Clear confidence shone in his eyes. His leg faltered, but he held the same stance he had always used in battle.
Across from him, Jack remained unconcerned. He held his sword loosely, its tip almost resting against the ground.
Damian charged. Faster than ever, his blade pierced the air. Jack had to tighten his grip.
The general held nothing back. He threw a strike at the enemy's jaw beneath the crossing blades. For a moment, it worked.
He turned to the left without losing his posture and tore through the air with his blade once more. The cut appeared between Jack's ribs a second after the blade struck him.
For an instant, Damian thought Jack's confidence had become his greatest opening.
The boy tried to strike back. His face strained not to reveal the hatred he felt. To Damian, the attack seemed to take seconds to arrive. He dodged it easily, and at last, drove his sword through Jack's chest.
Both of them remained motionless, accepting their fates.
Blood ran from Jack's chest onto the blade and vanished beneath the heavy rain. 'It's over', Damian thought. He raised his eyes. Jack was staring at him—not into his eyes, but through them, past everything.
Horrified, Damian tried to pull the blade back as quickly as he could. But it would not come free from Jack's chest.
"You fought well, General." Voice cold. Flat as moonlight behind clouds.
Damian's confidence left him before the air in his lungs did. He struggled to break free from Jack's grip as Jack lifted him into the air by the throat.
Calmly, Jack drove his sword into Damian's abdomen. Centimeter by centimeter. Second by second.
His leg no longer hurt. The discomfort in his throat no longer even seemed to have existed. There was only an icy fire burning through his torso completely.
Jack threw Damian's body onto the damp ground. His eyes met the general's.
Damian's thoughts were a storm of confusion. Despair, fury, sorrow, grief—every emotion clashed within him as he returned Jack's gaze.
No words were spoken. No meaningful gesture was made. Only regret on both sides. At least, that was what Damian believed.
Jack turned away and began walking toward the riverbank.
The rain was still heavy. Distant thunder echoed in time with the weak beats of Damian's heart.
The two minutes the pearl had given him now seemed more costly than ever. Damian could feel his life running out as he fought the pain alone in that garden.
He thought first of his love. How would Julia react to his death? He hated the thought of her going to war because of him. Then he remembered his father—a man who barely ever saw his son, buried as he was beneath royal obligations.
So he stopped thinking of other people. He let regret drown him completely. His senses began to fade. The rain became nothing more than frequent discomfort against his skin. The thunder, no more than vague flashes.
Too late for regret. Too late to think of other paths. Damian had sentenced himself. 'I had my chance.'
Minutes passed. And yet his eternal rest did not come. He felt a strange anguish in knowing that his consciousness was still alive, unable to see, hear, speak, or feel.
The sensation worsened with every second. Minute? He could no longer tell. To him, it was like floating in the deepest abyss of the ocean for centuries.
Then—white. Everywhere.
Without realizing it, he turned his head and searched the emptiness with his own eyes. When he finally looked down, he realized he still had his body.
'Where am I?' he thought, utterly confused.
And the more he tried to remember how he had gotten there, the less he could recall.
"Hello, poor soul." The voice was double. Or triple? He couldn't tell. "You must be confused. I'll try to be brief."
Damian twisted through the empty space, trying to find the source of the mystical voice that seemed to invade his mind.
"I need a small favor. If all goes well, you should reach the world with vague memories of your past life. That should be enough to give you the advantage we need."
'Favor? Reach the world? Past life?' In that brief moment—when his thoughts felt as if they were being spoken aloud—he remembered the eyes of his killer with painful clarity.
"Calm yourself. Everything will make sense once your consciousness has a body to anchor to. Focus on this: blood. You need to consume and purify your blood."
The flood of information only made Damian's abstract consciousness more confused.
"You'll understand once your consciousness stabilizes. When that happens, you will remember this conversation. When that happens, I want you to do exactly as I asked. And when everything is ready, I will return everything that was taken from you."
At once, Damian withdrew from everything else. The words echoed, firm and clear: everything that was taken from you. Almost as if he were still alive, he could see his father and his beloved before him. He could see a possible victory in a second confrontation against Jack. There was no hesitation.
His mind—still that of a soldier—snapped to attention at once. The white grew even whiter. Blinding, as if Damian were staring directly into the sun.
Then dozens of sensations shattered his state of peace. The radiance vanished. The faint warmth he had felt was ripped away from him without warning. Beeps echoed all around him, and voices spoke over one another at the same time.
Before, Damian had been certain he was at the bottom of the ocean. Now he felt as though he had been hurled onto the crest of a monstrous wave.
'Damn, this is extremely uncomfortable,' he thought, struggling to open eyes he still wasn't even sure he had.
It was like returning to absolute whiteness. Everything was too bright, too gleaming, too large. Everything screamed excess at him.
When the extreme discomfort finally eased, Damian realized he was being rocked from side to side by the firm hands of a man dressed in navy blue.
Cradled in the man's arms, Damian tried to use all his reason to understand.
The man took a few short steps and crouched down, turning him and passing him to someone else Damian still couldn't see. As soon as the man moved away, the discomfort reached him again as he was jostled.
When he was turned over, a woman with long blond hair was smiling at him. Red eyes. Tears that had run from the corners of her eyes were drying on her face.
'I… was reborn?' he thought.