The ground beneath his feet was still trembling, as if the pulse of the world itself had faltered. Blood, ash, and screams filled the horizon—but in that moment… everything seemed silent.
Standing before him, he neither moved nor attacked, nor did he draw a weapon.
The man with white hair and red eyes stared at Valerian with an intense gaze, as if stripping him of his very self.
"What's your name?"
The voice held no emotion, no hesitation—but it wasn't cold.
It was a question… like a test.
Or a bargain.
Valerian didn't answer immediately.
His breath was ragged, his body exhausted, his mind scattered. But he felt… that the answer mattered.
More than survival. More than fighting.
"I…"
He hesitated for a moment, as if the word was stuck in his throat.
"I'm Valerian."
Not a second after his reply… he fell.
One strike.
Swift. Sudden. Brutal… yet it wasn't meant to kill.
Axel hadn't moved like a warrior. He didn't swing a sword, nor even approach.
