《The Song of Twilight》
Prologue: Of Ruins and Whispers
At the western edge of the kingdom, where not even trees dared to grow, I recalled an old song.
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The gods had created two forms of life¡ª
One was the flowing path.
The other, a tree with roots sunk deep into the earth.
The Great Forge and the Tree of Life. Two kinds of existence, two sources of breath.
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Their creation marked the beginning of discord, and soon the gods vanished from the continent.
And those who inherited the lingering thoughts of the ancient gods¡ªthose who became kings of their own lands¡ªdescended into the madness of divine memory.
Before fading into obscurity, they surrendered to the final whispers, lost their sense of self, and raised the weapons of the gods against one another.
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At the end of a war without a victor, they had forgotten the will of creation.
And in their forgetting, they splintered.
And in their splintering, they marched toward ruin.
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This song is not a celebration of victory, nor a hymn to a king¡¯s coronation.
It is a lullaby for the forgotten, a mournful chant for those whose names remain unspoken.
Even now, the wind that brushes the ruins atop the hill seems to remember it.
Their last moments became their last testaments.
And this song, composed to remember them, is a dirge.
A song of pain.
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A melody for a grave without a name.
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All the lords had been slowly consumed by the gods within their sacred relics.
And in time, that decay became war.
Banners splintered, flags rotted, and the number of ruins only grew.
Once again, the song rises toward the nameless grave.
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Ashes stir as the wind returns.
And within that wind rides an ancient tongue, long since lost.
If someone, anyone, could call their names again¡ª
Perhaps even this dead world might open its eyes once more.
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And then, that lost tongue whispers in my ear:
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¡°O kings, ye poor kings, gnawed away by the remnants of gods.
A new age draws near.
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Hollis, eternal king of Etriya.
Jacqueline, proud queen of the merfolk, golden-armed and sea-born.
Ethan, sovereign of the central Tree of Life.
Floria, radiant queen of the luminous forest.
Benedict, blessed king of Ziproai, land of the hermit.
Lawrence, shattered king of Yasnurg.
Gregory, the giant king of flame and forge.
Cecile, the ambitious queen of the Great Forge.
Esteban, king of the unknowing.
And all the other monarchs of forgotten realms¡
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The laws of the world have broken.
Prepare to greet the one who shall be born anew.
Lo, a new age awakens.
On the day when all ambitions rise,
They shall meet their end.
On the day the new king is born.¡±
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The whisper becomes prophecy, seeping into my mind, carried on breathless wind:
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¡°O one who bears the mark of kingship,
Rise to the throne, and let a new age begin.
Claim every throne. Become king of all.¡±
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But what meaning is there in light touching the ruins?
The buildings have long since collapsed, and no footstep dares cross these stones.
Will the dead world ever wake?
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¡°¡Wait. Just a moment.¡±
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A tiny sprout, kissed by sunlight.
A single drop of dew resting on its leaf, shimmering like a jewel.
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¡°Yes. Perhaps¡ this might be your story.¡±
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¡°You ask who I am?¡±
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A clear and delicate voice, colder than ice, laughed softly in reply.
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¡°Call me what you will. A mage, or a witch¡ªeither will do.¡±
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¡°Even now, kings drown in ambition, people in fury. Their eyes clouded by desire.
They long for destruction in the name of longing. Perhaps it is futile¡
But tell me, what is it you desire?¡±
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¡°Think carefully. And when we meet again, call me by the name you¡¯ve chosen.
I await your answer.¡±
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He opened his eyes slowly, touched by the soft morning light filtering through the curtains.
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¡°Ah¡ that dream again¡¡±
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A dream that always came like a curse, and always vanished like mist.
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On the day the gates of the castle closed behind him, Sillion had not looked back.
No blessings, no farewell hands waved in his direction. He had left the palace in silence.
He packed alone, and no one questioned his absence.
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A bastard¡¯s life.
A bearer of divine residue.
A child born under an ominous star foretold by prophecy¡ªunwanted, unloved, quietly shunned.
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But Sillion had known.
He simply wanted to live¡ªby his own will, upon his own path.
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He stepped into the deep woods north of the capital.
It was less a journey, more a retreat.
And for a fleeting moment, the light that poured between the leaves and the crisp air brushing his skin¡ª
they whispered something close to freedom.
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But the feeling did not last.
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The next morning, rain poured in torrents.
Mud clung to his boots and soaked through his clothes.
His food supply dwindled.
Anxiety crept in.
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On a silent night, where no firelight reached, he made camp.
He lit a fire.
He warmed his final bowl of soup.
Staring into the flickering flame, Sillion remembered the day he left.
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No one stopped him.
No one sent him off.
Even he¡ª
was unsure whether he could endure this path.
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¡°Was this¡ really freedom?¡±
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He murmured as the rain-drenched bread in his hand crumbled into his mouth,
a quiet, bitter meal shared with no one.
Leaning back against a tree, he fell asleep beneath moonlight¡ª
as if it were the last candle he could afford.
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The first day, he gazed at the sky in awe, bathed in the rapture of freedom.
The second, he shivered through rain beneath trembling leaves.
The third, he tripped in a mire¡ªhis clothes wet, his body heavy.
The fourth, hunger cried aloud, and he began to ration.
The fifth, a cut on his hand festered.
The sixth, his own voice grew quiet. Even talking to himself wore thin.
The seventh, the northern cold came fast and white snow fell in silence.
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In an unknown forest, at the edge of both dream and death,
Sillion¡¯s soul began to falter.
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¡ª
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When he opened his eyes again, he was lying on a warm bed.
Snow fell beyond the window, and someone was sitting beside him.
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¡°Are you alright?¡±
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A calm voice.
In her eyes¡ªdeep concern, and a gentle kindness.
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¡°I found you in the woods,¡± she said. ¡°My father and I brought you here¡ to our little inn.¡±
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Sillion nodded without a word.
He wanted to say something.
But such warmth¡ª
it felt foreign, like light to the blind.
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So he only nodded, quietly.
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For the first time in this journey, someone had spoken to him.
For the first time in seven days, someone called his name.
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And for the first time, he wanted to believe¡ª
that leaving the castle hadn¡¯t been a mistake.
That this journey wasn¡¯t over.
That perhaps¡ª
it was just beginning.
Chapter 1: Moonlight, and a Voice.
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Between the quiet rhythm of breath, there lingered a warmth too faint, too strange for the last memory to make sense of.
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She sat by his side in silence.
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In that moment of stillness, Sillion listened to the world beyond the room¡¯s hush¡ªthe whisper of wind rustling the branches, birdsong from somewhere afar, and the gentle crackling breath of the hearth.
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It was by that warmth that Sillion slowly opened his eyes.
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And for a long while, he simply lay there.
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A ceiling unfamiliar, a peace unaccustomed.
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All was calm. All was quiet. And yet that very peace felt distant, as though it belonged to someone else.
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He closed his eyes gently¡ªand opened them once more.
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Where¡
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¡°¡How long have I been here?¡±
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A soft voice, careful yet sincere, reached him from nearby.
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¡°Are you all right?¡±
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She tilted her head gently as she answered her own question.
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¡°This is the third day. When I first found you, you had no consciousness. Your body¡ it was cold. I truly thought you were dead.¡±
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Everything was still too hazy to comprehend. Sillion gazed at her in silence, then slowly, almost unconsciously, gave a nod.
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At her words, his eyes drifted downward.
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It was the first time in this journey that someone had spoken to him.
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Even now, he needed time to believe that he was, in fact, still alive.
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He turned his eyes slowly around the room, and cautiously parted his lips.
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He was alive. And yet the silence was so thick, it hardly felt real.
And then¡ªwithin that hush¡ªthe truth welled up from beyond the warmth: he was breathing.
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¡°¡Thank you.¡±
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He spoke in a low murmur. It was the whisper of one who had survived, and a quiet gratitude offered to the one who had reached out to pull him back to life.
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Gently, Sillion tried moving his fingers. There was a dull numbness in them.
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Then came a sudden ache, deep in his forearm.
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He turned his head with effort. His arm was wrapped in bandages¡ªand beneath them, faintly, remained a mark.
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It wasn¡¯t the trace of a blade. It was something carved, something like a brand that could not be undone.
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He had not borne that mark when he left the gates of the citadel.
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As he stared in a daze, she spoke again, gently.
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¡°That¡ that wound¡ªdo you remember it?¡±
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Sillion could not answer.
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The memories of that dream scattered like mist. And in that mist, only the final moment still shimmered faintly¡ª
The wind over the ash, the long-lost language it carried, and a voice whispering from some unseen place.
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But the warmth beside him now drew him back to the world.
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¡°¡What is your name?¡±
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Sillion hesitated for a breath, then replied, as if drawing the word from far away.
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¡°¡Sillion.¡±
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¡°And this place¡ where am I?¡±
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¡°You¡¯re in an inn. My family runs it.¡±
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¡°I was out in the woods gathering firewood when I found you. Your body¡ are you truly all right?¡±
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She reached out, placing her small hand against his brow.
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It was a morning full of light. Like sunshine filtering through leaves, her touch fell upon him with a gentle grace.
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Without meaning to, Sillion leaned into that touch, reassured.
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He let out a quiet breath, and tried to sit up. But his body, still too heavy, refused, and he sank back down.
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¡°You mustn¡¯t! Your body¡¯s not healed yet.¡±
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Her hand, warm and soft, pulled the blanket gently over him again.
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As the warmth cradled him once more, he felt a sudden thirst.
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She smiled and offered him a cup of tea.
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¡°This has honey in it. It¡¯ll be good for you.¡±
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He accepted it with care. The warmth in his fingers felt almost like someone holding his hand.
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¡°I¡¯ll go downstairs for a moment! Please, just rest.¡±
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She stepped out, hair swaying like light, and left the room.
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¡°I see you¡¯re awake.¡±
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A deep, unfamiliar voice filled the room. A broad-shouldered man stood in the doorway, his eyes on Sillion.
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¡°How¡¯s your body holding up? When my daughter said she found someone collapsed in the woods¡ I was shocked. Get plenty of rest. If you need anything, just ask.¡±
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From downstairs came the faint splash of water, the sound of women¡¯s voices.
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¡°She came in just yesterday, too. Seems about your age. Might get along well, who knows. I¡¯ll leave you be.¡±
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With a hearty laugh, he turned and exited the room.
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It was a short exchange, and yet, oddly, Sillion felt something fatherly in the man¡¯s presence.
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He stared at the door for a while, then slowly turned his gaze toward the hearth.
The flames flickered small and steady.
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A strange inn. Strange lives.
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And upon his lips, faint and rare, a smile formed.
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As warmth settled in his body once more, the sun relinquished its light, and the cold hour of the moon crept in.
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The girl, whom he had seen earlier, knocked gently. She opened the door only slightly and peeked in, her voice soft but clear.
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¡°Are you feeling alright? Nothing uncomfortable, I hope?¡±
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Sillion turned from the window and met her gaze, his voice as quiet as the moonlight.
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¡°Yes¡ thanks to you, I feel much better.¡±
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Relief bloomed upon her face, followed swiftly by a quiet joy that lit her eyes with even greater warmth.
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¡°That¡¯s good to hear! If you need anything¡ªanything at all¡ªjust call. Sleep well.¡±
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Her face disappeared behind the closing door, which thudded softly into place.
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Through the window, the moonlight flowed in¡ªcasting a pale, bluish glow across the room.
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Lying there beneath the blankets, embraced by the lingering warmth, Sillion turned his thoughts back to the seven days before. And to the moon, he asked quietly,
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¡°Will I be able to do this¡?¡±
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Silence stretched beneath the moonlight¡ªlong and unwavering.
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Then, from somewhere within that stillness, a voice arose. Low and distant, cold yet familiar.
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¡°You will.¡±
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Startled, Sillion looked about, but strangely, he felt no fear. Instead, he lay back down, as though the voice were part of the air¡ªpresent yet untouchable, like moonlight.
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¡°But¡ I¡¯m not perfect.¡±
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The voice did not answer at once. Like dew sinking into petals, a faint laugh lingered in the quiet before slowly dissolving.
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¡°No one is perfect. Not even the gods.¡±
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Sillion¡¯s lips parted, searching for a reply. But no words came. He closed his eyes in silence.
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The final words, spoken barely above a whisper, carried a chill and a strange tenderness.
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¡°¡Sleep well.¡±
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And with that single phrase, the voice vanished. Nothing more followed.
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For a while, Sillion stretched out his hand into the moonlight spilling through the window, then let it fall back into the warmth of the bed. His breathing slowed, steady and calm, as his soul drifted gently into the dreamworld of the moon.
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Stars of many heroes had fallen. The morning star had dimmed. And now, even the moon had given way¡ª
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Until at last, the red sun rose again, brushing against the curtains of his room and caressing his face like the soft hand of a gentle woman.
He leaned into the sunlight and slowly opened his eyes.
Chapter 2: The Sea Does Not Weep
¡°Serenil. You are too dangerous.¡±
Those were the words she heard when she first held a sword at the age of seven. It was neither praise nor rebuke¡ªrather, the tone of one who had seen something that ought never be kept close. The speaker took the sword from her hand and never returned it.
It was the rite of blades. The day she first saw blood. The face of the child who fell without a word, and the red clinging to the tip of her sword¡ªit was too vivid to be a flower, too premature to be called a sin. But the bloom that opened before her eyes that day etched itself into her memory with such clarity that she could never forget. From that moment, it felt as though it had begun to quietly and slowly coil around her. Her blade, too, vanished soundlessly, as if it had melted into the forge.
Others rose from that failure and earned their swords. She alone walked away with guilt. The memory of having wounded another weighed heavier than steel, pressing down upon her still¡ªlike a burden she bore upon her shield.
On the path home from the training ground, her footsteps drew glances that quickly turned away. Those who once smiled and waved now said nothing. Was it fear? Was it remorse? She no longer knew how to tell the difference.
But after seven years, they placed a sword in her hand once more. As if to say, "Try again." Eyes watched her¡ªfull of doubt, full of silent expectation. They waited to see what she would do next.
The sword fell with a cold clang upon the ground, and under the weight of those unspoken judgments, her breath quivered. She collapsed with a sound of iron. Her pupils widened, trying to take in the world. Her breath came ragged, her heart raced.
She trembled and clutched the shield before her, hiding beneath it like a child fleeing a storm. She lowered her gaze, praying for the moment to pass. As if no one would bleed in her stead¡ªso she must never let it go.
No one welcomed the night of her coming of age. The last thing she remembered was kneeling among others who were to be named adults that day. Each of them was handed a sword heavy with tradition. Serenil felt the chill of metal ripple into her bones¡ªa sensation unknown in the water.
"Only those who bleed become real," said an old warrior before them. The words fell like stone, and those gathered drank them in with breath held.
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"With this sword, you will face many paths. If you refuse to choose, your life will be nothing but flight."
All believed it to be truth. All but her.
She took the sword, her hand trembling, her vision blurred, her chest burning. And her weeping¡ªsilent, unheard¡ªvanished into the night.
At dawn, when even the stars had closed their eyes, she slung the shield across her back. It was heavy, clumsy. But the weight was not unfamiliar. It reminded her of stepping from sea to land¡ªthe strange pressure of another world.
¡°Serenil.¡±
The voice was soft but familiar. She knew who it was without turning. Slowly, she turned her head.
Leon stood there. Taller now, his eyes steadier¡ªolder.
¡°¡You won¡¯t come back, will you?¡±
Serenil did not answer. She lifted her eyes toward the stars drifting over still waters.
¡°¡I never wanted to hurt anyone. And I¡¯m sorry. I said it too late, didn¡¯t I?¡±
She looked at the sword, hesitating to reach for it, and whispered her apology.
¡°I forgave you. And I¡¯m sorry too¡ªfor never saying so.¡±
Leon gazed at the stars beside her, then asked, one final time:
¡°Is it too late?¡±
¡°¡It is.¡±
Her lips trembled for just a moment. A breath escaped before any word, and the regret it carried caught in her throat. She did not look back. She did not nod. She simply took a step forward.
She looked down at the blade given to her during the ceremony¡ªas if it were something long known, now seen anew. Her hand shook. She did not want to grasp it. No¡ªshe mustn¡¯t. But there was no one left to bleed for her. And so, the sword was hers again.
Beneath the stars, she reached out.
Yes. It was hers.
She had always known it would return to her hand. And when that time came, she would fight not with shield¡ªbut with herself.
Light scattered upon the surface of the water. With each gentle wave came memories she''d wished to forget. She recalled swimming freely once, like a current without end. That oceanic memory now felt distant, unreachable, like a song from another lifetime.
The northern wind stirred her hair. It felt like a warning: do not follow. Or perhaps, a farewell from a friend of the past.
She left the kingdom, heading north. Through village and gate, no one looked her in the eye. No stones thrown. No words spoken. Yet all understood. This girl was never meant to stay. Heads lowered, shutters closed, gazes turned away.
She said nothing.
Her answer scattered with the wind, and only her footsteps echoed through the night.
They were not the steps of flight, but of choice. A choice no one understood¡ªbut the only path left to her.
She walked toward a place where no one knew her name. For the first time¡ a place where no one would ask.
And perhaps¡ªon land or in sea¡ªshe would still remember what she truly was.
Codex: The Final Testament
[Twilight Era, Excerpts from the Final Testament of the Last Archivist]
An old man sits quietly by a flickering light, turning the yellowed pages of a forgotten tome in silence. Once, he was called an archivist. Now, his hand pens what may be the last testament of a world no longer remembered¡ªits myths, its ruins, its gods.
"That day, the continent was torn asunder. The mountains wept, the sea fell silent. Yet mankind endured. Beneath the shadow of gods¡ªas ever it was." ¡ª The Song of the Exiled, Chronicle of Dusk
"The gods have perished. Yet their weapons remain, bearing memory and will. The Blade of Ignia remembers betrayal, and burns with hatred still." ¡ª The Forgotten, Myth of the Great Forge
"Banish all threats. Yet let them bring back the sacred relics. The legacy of the divine belongs only to those who survive." ¡ª Decree of the First Heroes, Stone of Accord
"On the day the black star rose, the gods tore each other apart, and unmade creation. Now we face only the weapons they left behind." ¡ª The Last War of the Gods (??? ???? ??? ?? ??? ????)
"The gods are dead. The earth burned. The remnants lost their light. Yet some survived. This record is but the first step of that long, dark path." ¡ª Beyond the Light
"We fractured into three powers. The Primordial Tree, the Great Forge, and something in between. We sought peace, but the gods kept their silence¡ªand silence returned as a blade." ¡ª Whispers After the Sundering
"The Great Forge no longer melts metal for peace. Its fire birthed war, and its embers grew into thirty days of flame." ¡ª Iron Fortress Journal, Memoirs of the Northern Union
"Bloody Tuesday. That day, in the name of gods, we killed our own. The rest remained silent¡ªand silence became sin." ¡ª Reflections on the Second Flame Campaign
"The cities born of creation flew in the skies, and the lands born of fear sank beneath the earth. But the final testament was one: ¡®O mighty one, become a king.¡¯" ¡ª The Heirloom Codex, Book of the Final Legacy
"Beneath the Black Sun and the shadows of stars, we fled¡ªand were born anew. There were no gods there, but our tale remained." ¡ª Chronicle of the Underground Kingdom, Scribe of the Black Sun
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"When the outer god first stepped upon this land, the continent had no words. He breathed into stone, and life followed. The gods shaped matter, and raised the bones of the world." ¡ª Fragments of Genesis
"The mountains first stirred¡ªand from their shadow came the giants. Their words were slower than wind, and even gods feared their knowledge and flame." ¡ª Children of the Void, Lost Giant Lore
"The gods made man. And man began to ask. The first question became doubt. Doubt birthed emotion. On that day, life gained feeling." ¡ª Age of Emotion
"The god of life opened what was forbidden. He believed not in order, but in flow. His rebellion freed life¡ªand enraged the divine." ¡ª The Law of Order, Chronicle of the Tree
"They cast him to the edge of the sea. He was pierced with spears and hung upon a tree. The wind sang his agony. Yet he did not die. Even in torment, the god endured." ¡ª The Wind and the Spear
"The god of love whispered. The god of mischief laughed. Thus were born the gods of emotion. They saw their reflections in mankind, and became mirrors of men." ¡ª Shards of the Soul
"The southern mountains were carved by celestial wrath. Beyond them, the immature were cast out. There, dwarves and flame-lizards were born¡ªof iron and fire." ¡ª Pact of the Peaks
"In the dawn of the North, hope yet remained. To guard that hope, the First Gods planted the Elves. Guardians of the forest, and those who heard the Tree¡¯s whispers." ¡ª Roots of Life
"And so the world was split in three. Three gods, three paths, and three powers that no longer trusted one another." ¡ª Era of Balance
"The mountains could not divide them. On the day the fractured gods became one, the world was born anew. A quiet rebellion turned to hope." ¡ª The First Convergence
"Light adorned their backs, blades were set in their hands, and their hearts beat still with sorrow." ¡ª The Blade Beneath the Coral, Origin of the Sea-Born
"That year, the gods spoke no word. In that silence grew the greatest seeds of doubt and plot." ¡ª The Silent Three Years
"And the gods remained silent. Faith drowned in blood, and the streets changed their names with blackened gore." ¡ª The Day of Crimson Faith
"The God of Light was swallowed by darkness. Who slew the divine? None can say." ¡ª The Silent Night
"O mighty one, become a king. Peace shall not bloom from scattered hands. Only one who bears arms may guard it." ¡ª The Testament of Kings
"A dynasty bound by weapons. The heirlooms were both blessing¡ªand curse." ¡ª Age of Heirlooms
"They no longer sought the gods. In unremembered tongues, they built a new world." ¡ª They Who Rejected the Sky, Founding of the Underlands
The old man turned the final page and gently set down his pen.
The flame trembled faintly. Beyond the dusty window, the wind murmured.
This tale had long awaited someone to whom it could be told.
Now, the book is closed.
But the chronicle is far from over.
What was written was but the beginning¡ª
The rest shall be written by those who remain.
Chapter 3: That Dawn, Toward the Forgotten City
As countless stars of heroes fell, the morning star dimmed, and even the moon yielded to darkness, the crimson sun rose once more. Its rays slipped gently past the curtain of the room where Sillion lay, brushing his face with the tender touch of a woman''s hand.
He leaned into the sunlight and slowly opened his eyes. Downstairs, someone moved quietly within the inn.
Sillion rose with care. His joints ached, but the pain had eased since the day before. Drawing a long breath, he raked his fingers through his hair, donned his leather coat, and opened the door without a sound.
Descending the stairs, he spotted a lone figure seated near the hearth.
It was the mermaid he had heard splashing the night before. Though her voice now was different, there was something familiar about her presence. Her damp hair cascaded down her back under the dim glow, and a shield, still beaded with droplets, rested silently by her side.
Sillion approached her quietly. Their eyes met, yet neither spoke. Her hand stirred slightly¡ªbut not toward the hilt of her blade. Instead, it drifted calmly to her side.
In that fleeting moment, Sillion understood.
"She is cautious. But¡ she means me no harm."
He drew closer with care. Unlike others, he neither greeted her first nor fidgeted with his weapon.
She watched his movements, wary at first. Yet strangely¡ªher hand made no move for the sword. Instead, it lingered near her shield, fingers curled tightly, shoulders faintly tensed.
Like one more accustomed to defense than attack.
Sillion studied her quietly. And then, she spoke.
"You''re awake."
"And you are¡"
He hesitated, uncertain how to begin.
"...How long have you been here?"
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"You were already lying in bed when I arrived. I heard the girl brought you in."
"The girl?"
She nodded slowly. Sillion stepped toward the window and exhaled softly.
"The coral on your back suggests you''re of the merfolk. They don''t usually travel far from home. What brings you here?"
She spoke at last, voice low.
"I simply wanted to leave. Don¡¯t ask more."
He opened his mouth, then shut it again.
She didn¡¯t press further. Instead, she slid something across the table with her fingers¡ªan old map, worn and creased. A red line snaked across it, and a name in an indecipherable language marked an unknown place.
"Still, I can''t sit idle. You wield a sword, don¡¯t you?"
Sillion seated himself beside her and nodded. The breeze stirred a sheet of paper on the table.
"...May I ask your name?"
She didn¡¯t retreat, but neither did she close the distance.
"Serenil. And you?"
"Sillion. So¡ªwhat is this map?"
Noticing his uncertainty, Serenil seemed to realize he couldn¡¯t read the markings. She spoke quietly.
"To cross the broken mountain pass, you¡¯ll need both sword and shield. I carry the shield. You¡ seem to wield the sword. Don¡¯t worry. I can read the map."
"And beyond the pass? What lies there?"
"The sea. You¡¯ve not seen terrain like this before, have you? This red line marks the path to a forgotten city¡ªRienas. When the tide withdraws tonight, for one night only, the land will emerge."
"And there¡ forbidden things are traded. You seem like someone who needs a few of those. Care to join me?"
Sillion hesitated, then gave a slow nod.
Serenil sighed with relief and met his gaze.
"How¡¯s your body? When can you travel?"
He tested his limbs, the dull ache far less than before. Recovery was close.
"By evening, at least. I should be mobile soon."
She looked out the window, brows furrowed. The sun was beginning to fall again, heralding the return of moon and star.
"Then rest well today. We leave at dawn. Be ready."
He nodded, signaling his agreement.
As Sillion turned toward the stairs, preparing to return to his room, he encountered the innkeeper¡¯s daughter. She was carrying firewood and stopped short upon seeing him.
"You''re leaving already?"
"Not yet¡ tomorrow morning," Sillion replied without a smile, though a gentle calm lingered on his face.
At that moment, the innkeeper stepped out and met Sillion¡¯s gaze with a nod.
"You feeling better?"
"Thanks to you. Truly¡ I¡¯m grateful."
He bowed his head slightly.
"If fate allows¡ I¡¯ll return someday."
"Then that¡¯s enough. Just stay alive¡ªthat¡¯s all that matters," the innkeeper said with a quiet laugh.
With a final nod, Sillion ascended the stairs.
He returned to his room and packed in silence. A blade wrapped in black cloth, a worn map, and a few memories not to be forgotten.
The sun set. Night fell once more upon the land.
And with the breaking dawn of the next day, Sillion and Serenil departed from the inn.
No words were exchanged. Their steps were quiet¡ªbut resolute.
Their journey had now begun.
Chapter 4: The Mark and the Shield
The sun had yet to rise. Following the crimson path marked upon their map, the two figures descended into the shadow of a mountain that had once swallowed the light of day. A thick fog curled through the forest, swallowing their steps in slow, deliberate silence. The trees stood still. Not even the wind dared disturb the hush. Only the soft crunch of their boots upon the broken trail stirred the world from its slumber.
"This path," said Serenil, voice low, "used to lead to a temple." The brittle line drawn on the parchment quivered slightly in the breeze. She tightened the strap on her shield and kept her eyes on the vacant woods.
"And now?"
She answered in a whisper. "Now, the dead wander."
Just then, they saw it. Amid the ruins of a shattered pillar, a statue loomed¡ª a soldier with a sword, face warped into a grotesque expression, clad in unfamiliar armor. A sigil, weathered and ancient, was carved across its broken chest. It stood like the fossil of something that had long since abandoned the world.
Sillion reached toward it, unconsciously. And in that moment, his mark flared. The sigil etched upon his arm trembled, glowing faintly with a cold resonance.
¡ªDo not cross.
The whisper came thin as dream and cold as frost.
Serenil reacted instantly, shield rising before her.
"Don¡¯t move."
Before her voice fully formed, the statue cracked. From within, something stirred.
Twisted fingers. A dulled blade. A soldier¡¯s form, warped and gray. And it was not alone. Three... no, more.
From the soil beneath, like rot given shape, they rose. Wraiths, formed of congealed thought and forgotten sorrow, pushed aside the fog as they emerged.
"Do not defile the land of the gods."
The words spilled from their mouths in perfect unison, void of life, heavy as stone.
Sillion reached for his blade. Serenil stepped forward first. It was not a sword she drew¡ªbut her shield.
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Her knuckles paled as she gripped it tighter.
"We have to get through," she said. "If we run, they''ll follow. This path... this is the one we must take."
Sillion nodded. He drew his sword.
The fog broke.
There were six of them.
And battle, quiet but desperate, began like a fire starved for breath.
Sillion advanced with blade drawn. His brand pulsed again¡ªan icy ache digging into his bones. One of the phantoms charged, dragging a blade behind it. The first strike made no sound.
But before steel could clash with steel, Serenil¡¯s shield cut between them.
Clang.
Iron struck iron. A shriek¡ªnot human, not alive¡ªrang through the air, as though death itself protested.
"Stay behind me," Serenil said through clenched teeth. Her breath came rough. She held her shield with unnatural strength, her eyes narrowed.
Another phantom circled wide. It moved with eerie intent¡ªas if mimicking instinct.
Sillion struck. His blade caught a glimmer of dawn as it swept across his shoulder and down¡ª
The first clash.
He was slow. Still healing. Still unsure. But his brand pulsed again, and strength returned¡ªjust enough.
His blade tore through a shoulder. No blood spilled. No cry of pain followed.
These were not living foes. Only lingering thoughts¡ªundying remnants.
A third phantom lunged, wielding a spear. Its thrust came straight for his heart.
Sillion raised his guard¡ª and faltered. His legs weakened. His breath caught. He was not yet whole.
"Tch¡ª"
Serenil moved. Her shield swung out, catching the enemy. The spear grazed her cloak but did not slow her. She drove the phantom back and placed herself between it and Sillion.
"You¡¯re not ready," she gasped. "So let me hold the line. Just... don¡¯t die. Try living. Just this once."
Through her stance, through the battered shield and trembling arms, Sillion saw a warrior who did not strike, but endured.
He wanted to live.
Only one remained now. The last of them¡ªa figure dragging a long spear, moving quietly at the edge.
The brand flared, sharp and red.
He pushed forward. Past Serenil. Past her defense. His sword fell. One of the phantoms collapsed under his blow. No blood, no scream¡ªonly the hiss of dissipating smoke.
But then¡ª
The mark burned.
His body seized. His heart raced beyond control. His vision blurred. And yet, his sword rose.
¡ªI didn¡¯t raise it.
His hand trembled, knuckles white. He stepped forward.
The world around him bled red.
"Sillion?"
Serenil¡¯s voice faltered. Before it reached him¡ª He moved.
The final phantom had no time to react. His blade severed its head cleanly.
Clang.
Fragments scattered. He stood alone in the silence.
His eyes had yet to return.
"Sillion! It¡¯s over!" Serenil shouted.
But his grip tensed.
The sword twitched again.
Serenil stepped between him and the fog. Lowered her shield. Raised a hand.
"You¡¯re still here. You¡¯re alive. We said we¡¯d survive¡ªtogether."
Her voice reached him at last. The brand faded. Its glow died down.
The sword slipped from his fingers.
Clatter.
Sillion collapsed to his knees. And vomited, again and again, into the broken road.
Not from injury. But from something far more familiar¡ª Terror.
?
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Chapter 5 : Beneath a Quiet Flame
The fire burned low.
Serenil stared at the stick in her hand for a long while,
then slowly fed a small twig into the flame and breathed softly on it.
¡°Even this mountain¡ even this night¡ it feels strange on land.¡±
¡°Underwater, the stars never looked this clear. Maybe the lights I saw back then were just jellyfish.¡±
¡°When I was little, I wished my name was somewhere among those stars.¡±
Her words didn¡¯t cut through the silence.
They flickered gently¡ªlike the firelight itself.
Sillion did not answer.
He simply sat beside the firewood, silent.
His sword rested at his knee.
Her shield leaned by her side, filling the distance between them.
For a while, they said nothing.
The black sky was embroidered with stars, their light dimmed by faint, mist-like clouds.
¡°¡It was the first time.¡±
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Serenil¡¯s voice trembled.
¡°First time someone had my back in a fight.¡±
She lowered her head.
Sillion, still feeling the faint warmth of the brand on his arm, replied quietly.
¡°For me, too.
It was the first time someone¡¯s back stood between me and danger.¡±
At his words, she let out a deep breath and smiled.
Softly, briefly¡ªbut it was real.
Her eyes dropped to her shield, and her lips trembled as she spoke again.
¡°I never meant to use a shield from the beginning.¡±
He looked at her, confused.
¡°Then why?¡±
She caught herself, realizing she¡¯d said too much.
A shadow passed through her gaze as she looked away.
¡°¡Now, I¡¯d just call it¡ regret.¡±
The fire crackled gently, wrapping its sound around the silence.
Serenil broke it first.
¡°Tomorrow¡ it might be worse.¡±
¡°But even so, let¡¯s go together.¡±
Darkness thickened, and the fire glowed brighter¡ªcasting warmth over the two of them.
¡°Serenil,¡± he said at last.
¡°¡Yeah?¡±
¡°We¡¯re walking the same road, even though we know nothing about each other.¡±
¡°But¡¡±
¡°Today¡¯s the first time I¡¯ve felt¡ it might be okay to walk it together.¡±
She didn¡¯t answer.
Instead, she set her shield down beside his sword.
And looked at him through the firelight.
¡°¡Then let¡¯s try.
Just tonight, and tomorrow.
Let¡¯s survive it¡ªtogether.¡±
Serenil quietly lay down, and Sillion lifted his gaze to the sky.
Above, a faint star faded¡ªits light surrendering to the end of its course.
And he thought to himself:
¡°Another night has passed. If we face tomorrow together¡ maybe it will be okay.¡±
Chapter 6…?: The Queen of Ashes
The sun did not rise.
Not because it was too early¡ª
but because this land had long been exiled from the light.
The Great Furnace of the southern continent.
At its heart, an army clad in ashen armor marched in perfect silence.
No voices. No orders.
Only frozen banners, and a trail of footsteps echoing like distant thunder.
And at the head of the procession¡ª
walked a girl, bearing the dim glow of a sacred brand on her back.
"O bearer of royal virtue, ascend the throne and usher in a new age.
Take the thrones of all, and become the king of kings."
The gods¡¯ final testament.
A promise few dared to believe anymore.
But she...
She held onto those words.
And perhaps those words alone had brought her this far.
Her people remembered.
The day their gods shattered.
The hour the throne split.
Temples crumbling over divine relics,
and nameless warriors wailing in the ash.
Cecilia.
To others, she was already Queen.
But to herself, the word felt too large.
Too heavy.
Too distant.
Everything had fallen.
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Yet still, she stood.
Why?
What kept her walking?
The memory crept upon her like smoke:
A cathedral in flames.
A crimson banner, soaked with blood.
The impaled corpse of the former king.
And she¡ª
alone, standing in the end.
Not by grace.
Not by fate.
But by sheer, ruthless survival.
Her sword had not been forged to protect a crown.
It had been drawn to live.
She stood now on the ruins of a shattered world,
a crown forged in silence resting upon her brow.
All answers were gone.
Only her name remained.
Since that day, a voice had followed her.
Not hers.
Not memory¡¯s.
But deep beneath the branded mark,
something ancient¡ªwhispering like it had always been there.
[O bearer of the brand.]
[Child of ruin.]
[Do you still believe in hope?]
She gave no answer.
But in the silence, she asked herself:
"Did I truly survive, or have I only convinced myself I did?"
"Whose will moves this sword? Whose age am I meant to continue?"
A girl, not yet complete.
Caught between hope and hatred.
Still standing on crumbling ground.
Not yet a queen¡ª
but already wearing the crown.
She still wanted to believe.
She still wanted to hope.
She closed her eyes.
Took a breath.
And without realizing, whispered to herself¡ª
It will be alright.
The throne was cold.
The sword, heavy.
But slowly,
she sat.
A girl upon a throne.
Beneath a sky that had forgotten the dawn,
the brand burned again¡ª
faint and trembling.
But alive.
Chapter7: The Crown
¡°The crown does not command.
It only listens¡ªand endures.¡±
Cecilia knew this well.
The one who sits upon the throne must hear the most¡ª
and speak the least.
The Hall of the Great Furnace:
a corridor draped in black banners and lined with iron candelabras.
A battlefield where even time itself seemed frozen, stretched long and tight like a drawn bowstring.
The nobles had gathered in formation, marching not with silver swords but with long speeches;
not behind shields, but under the banners of their bloodlines.
¡°Now is the time. The North is still reeling, and the mountain pass lies open.¡±
¡°Since the second expedition, the Fortress of Fire stands ready. Delay weakens us all.¡±
¡°If the southern kingdoms are to unite¡ªthis is our moment, Your Majesty.¡±
What stained the council table wasn¡¯t ink.
It was greed.
Distrust.
And the urgency of men certain they were right.
Cecilia said nothing.
She sat at the heart of it all¡ª
a girl on the throne, wrapped in a silence heavier than her black dress.
It clung to her shoulders like a mantle of shadow.
A general furrowed his brow.
¡°Your Majesty, you remain silent.¡±
The words were gentle, but carried the weight of defiance.
A soft blade, drawn to cut through the stillness.
¡°This is no longer a matter of deliberation.
It demands a decision.¡±
Only then did she lift her head.
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The faint light of her branded mark shimmered just past her shoulder.
¡°What you seek¡ is not war.
It is the illusion of victory.¡±
The words dropped like stone into the center of the hall.
And for a moment, the world held its breath.
No one spoke.
No one dared to.
She did not continue.
Was this truly the right path?
Is this the seat I was meant to take?
Could I have survived without the sword?
I¡¯ve walked the blade¡¯s edge, and they call it glory.
Then why¡ why am I so alone?
Why does no one stand behind me?
Her gaze wandered.
Each noble face passed before her eyes¡ª
some blank, some smiling too tightly,
others unable to hide their weariness¡ or contempt.
¡°Your Majesty, do mind your tone.¡±
¡°We follow the sacred decrees of old.¡±
¡°If we are to defend the throne, the Mountain of Fire must be crossed again.¡±
Then, her eyes changed.
A stillness took hold.
Her fingers tightened faintly on the armrest.
¡°We did not cross the Mountain of Fire.
We were pushed.
Driven back.¡±
The air thinned.
A hush fell again¡ª
but it was not the silence of loyalty.
It was the silence of doubt.
She knew it.
They still did not believe in her.
They see only my age.
Not the weight I carry.
Not the name branded across my back.
They saw her as a child who had merely survived.
They called her Queen¡ª
but in their hearts, she was no ruler.
And yet¡
she endured.
Not with a sword¡ª
but with silence.
They still don¡¯t see what I am.
Beyond the stained-glass windows,
a red sky burned across the heavens.
Not flame.
Not hope.
But the bloodied hue of gods fallen in war¡ª
a sky waiting to be written upon again.
She watched it quietly.
And slowly, deep within,
her hand gripped the hilt once more.
¡°The crown is not inherited.
It is borne.¡±
¡°And only those who endure its weight¡
will see the end.¡±
¡°The quietest voice¡
survives the longest.¡±
And beneath it all¡ª
a whisper.
So soft, so fragile,
even she barely heard it.
¡°¡Just¡ please don¡¯t abandon me.¡±
Cecilia said it to no one.
Perhaps not even to herself.
?