The white basement of the castle was no longer silent. Fire raged through the room, licking up the walls and ceiling in wild, violent tongues. Smoke clouded the air, and the scent of burning food and wood filled their lungs.
In the far corner, Elena and Elif huddled on a bed, trembling. Flames approached, inching closer with every second.
Icariel raised his hand, palm open, eyes glowing faintly.
"Spell: Water Sphere," he whispered.
A shimmering orb of water appeared in the air and immediately burst forward, splashing across the flames behind the girls. Steam hissed as the fire died.
But the fire ahead still roared.
"Stay back!" the royal adviser shouted, voice sharp with false concern. "Stay where you are!"
Icariel's gaze turned sharp. His voice cut through like a blade.
"Stay back?" he said, tone low, dangerous. "You were the one urging Elena to open the door of this room. Why did you change your mind?"
He stepped forward, slow and cold, like a hunter eyeing his prey.
Panic bloomed in the adviser's chest.
"Shit. Shit… The plan's collapsing—because of him."
His thoughts fractured under the weight of panic. "The orders were clear: secure Elena and her daughter, hand them over to the Abyss. They were supposed to be leverage—bargaining chips against that bastard warleader, Aelar. While the princess and the Pillars fought off the Godless and their Crogs, I'd vanish—trusted, unseen—with the fragment of the Tree of Life."
Perfect. Clean. Untraceable.
But now? Wreckage.
All because of that boy.
A blur of motion. Crogs dead before they could blink. Spellwork too fast, too precise. His body—unnaturally hardened, enhanced.
"Damn you, Aelar! You lied to me about him. Why? Did you suspect me? Did you plan for this?"
No.It didn't matter now. The mission was lost. The Abyss wouldn't wait for excuses. If he didn't move, he'd die here—another body in the rubble.
He cast one last venomous glare toward the boy—"You'll pay for this."
Then he turned and ran, boots hammering stone, fleeing up the stairs into the shadowed ruin above.
FWOOM—
The spell spear of flame slammed into the stone wall just beside his face, spreading fire in all directions and cutting off the exit.
"Tchhh… You filthy human!"
Icariel stood in place, the flames dancing in his black eyes.
"Where are you going?" he said. "We haven't finished what we started."
The adviser's hands clenched.
Icariel's thoughts raced, calm and sharp.
"The way I am now? He doesn't stand a chance. He's no fighter—just a smooth-talking elf with mana to burn. I knew what he was the second I laid eyes on him."
Icariel moved. A single step—and the stone beneath his foot cracked.
He launched forward like a missile and smashed his foot into the adviser's chest.
CRACK.
The elf flew back and slammed into the floor, screaming.
"AAAGH!"
"I'm going to make you regret ever coming for my life," Icariel muttered.
He stepped over him and began to punch—
BAM. BAM. BAM. BAM.
Fists slammed into the elf's face until it was a mask of blood and broken flesh.
"You… you filthy human," the adviser groaned, barely conscious. "How… dare you…"
Icariel stood and turned away, walking toward the white basement corner where Elena and Elif still stood, holding each other's hands.
"We should go. This place isn't safe anymore," Icariel said. "Others might come here. We'll find somewhere safer."
Elena nodded. Elif stayed silent, clutching her mother.
But before they could move, Icariel suddenly raised his hand, motioning for them to stop.
His back still to the door, he spoke: "Didn't all that teach you something?"
They froze.
Icariel turned.
And there, in the doorway, stood the adviser—barely alive, face dripping blood, trembling from head to toe.
Elif covered her mouth. Elena went pale. The elf stood like a shadow from hell, broken and furious.
"In all my years… I've never felt such shame," he muttered. "Not from anyone. Let alone a human. Not since your filthy teacher, Aelar…"
"And now—his disciple—daring to treat me like this? I CAN'T ACCEPT IT!"
He ripped open his torn green robe, exposing his upper body.
Icariel's eyes widened.
Ancient symbols—writings older than memory—covered the adviser's skin like a cursed language.
Then—they began to glow.
A white light pulsed from his body. Elena's silver eyes went wide.
"ICARIEL—RUN! That's a rune script! He's planning to blow himself up!"
"What?!" Icariel gasped.
"Voice?" he called in panic.
The voice responded, cold and calm.
And what it said affected Icariel.
Icariel made a face—sad, deeply so. A sorrow he had never known carved into his features.
Behind them, the adviser screamed.
"DIE! Die with me! All of you—burn in this basement! The only regret I have is that I can't see Aelar's face when he finds all of you are dead because of me!"
He laughed, hysterical, throwing his hand toward the glowing runes—
SPLURT.
The laughter stopped.
Not immediately—there was a pause, just half a heartbeat, as if time itself stuttered. Then he moved. No thought, no conscious decision—just motion.
And then it was done.
His hand was already through the man before he even registered the act. Only the aftermath remained.
Blood sprayed across the wall.
Elena's eyes widened. Elif closed hers and held tighter to her mother. The adviser's eyes went blank as he looked down.
"…W-what…?"
The boy stood before him, arm buried in his chest, fingers wrapped around the elf's heart.
He whispered, voice raw with something deeper than rage. "I knew that the day would come… but for my first kill… to be like this?"
He clenched his jaw. The hand around the heart trembled again.
"…It's too cruel."
BAM.
He crushed the heart in his palm.
The adviser's body jerked once, then slumped to the floor, lifeless. A final gasp rattled in his throat—and then nothing.
The runes faded from his skin.
Silence reclaimed the room. Cold. Heavy. Final.
***
My hand trembled as the flames continued to burn.
Blood clung to my fingers—warm, heavy, unwilling to let go. The adviser's body collapsed in front of me with a dull, wet thud, and the glowing runes across his skin finally dimmed—snuffed out like dying stars.
Silence.
But in my mind, it wasn't silent at all.
Back then, right before I moved—when I asked the voice what to do—it had answered with a calm I couldn't understand.
"The only way to stop the rune," it told me, "is to crush his heart. As long as it beats, the script continues to charge. If it finishes, you die. You all die."
Of course, I'd chosen my life over his.
But then… why did it feel like something inside me had died anyway?
I stared down at my blood-covered hand—the one that had ripped into a man's chest and ended his life.
I swear that I could feel his heart fighting me. It wasn't just beating—it was thrashing, wild and furious, refusing to give in. It pounded against my grip like it could break free, like sheer will alone could keep him alive. Every pulse was defiance. Every thud, a scream: Not yet. Not yet. It didn't care that the rest of him was failing—it wanted to live it wanted to keep beating. But I didn't let it. I crushed it anyway. And even then, for one last second, it tried.
What came after wasn't relief. It wasn't victory. It wasn't pride. It wasn't even guilt.
It was something colder. Heavier.
Emptiness.
A hollow coldness blooming in my chest where something else used to be.
My knees gave out before I even realized they were buckling. I hit the floor hard, the cold stone biting into me. My blood-slicked hand slapped against it. I couldn't stop staring.
"Icariel!"
Elena's voice cut through everything. She ran to me, fell to her knees, grabbed my shoulders—but stopped when her eyes landed on my arm.
She stared.
Not in horror at the adviser.
At me.
At what I'd done.
At what I was.
Her lips parted, but no words came out. Her hands loosened their grip. Just slightly.
Behind her, Elif approached slower. Her usual calmness was gone. There was tension in her eyes—fear, maybe. She looked at me like I was someone else now.
And maybe I was.
I saw it—just a flicker—but it was enough. A shift. Like something fragile between us had cracked.
I was no longer the boy who once lived in the quiet mountain village of Mjull—that version of me was gone.
Now I was the one who had killed a man with his bare hands.
And not just killed—crushed.
Elena finally spoke, but her voice had changed.
"You… saved us," Elena said—more to herself than to me.
But she didn't step closer. And that… said everything.
I looked down at my hand. My own fingers looked strange to me.
"So this is what they see now."
A danger.
"He was going to kill us," Elif said, her voice brittle. "You… you did what you had to." But even she took a step back.
I wanted to say something—anything—to make it better.
But what could I say?
"That I had to? That it was justified? That I crushed a man's heart and I hated it?"
None of that mattered now.
The look in their eyes told me everything.
I wasn't just Icariel anymore.
I was the boy who could kill.
"What is this feeling…?" I whispered to the voice, seeking some comfort.
The voice came again. Cold. Unapologetic.
"It was necessary."
"You did what you had to do. You killed him. If you hadn't, he would've killed you. Stop this."
"This is the path required to live. To keep your life intact. There is no shortcut. Not in this world."
"So move."
"Always move."
"Don't let the feelings catch you."
"You remember why you started all this, don't you?"
"I know," I replied through my mind. "But it still feels like crap."
"It will. And it will never get easier. That's how it should be."
"You either live and carry the burn… Or you die clean."
I stared down at the adviser's lifeless body.
I should hate him.
He betrayed Teacher. Tried to kidnap Elena and Elif. Tried to kill me.
And yet, all I could think about was how fast his heart was beating in those final seconds. All I could feel was this unbearable weight in my chest that wouldn't go away.
But I couldn't stay here. Not now.
There was still danger.
I took a deep breath. My legs felt like iron, but I forced them to move. Step by step.
I didn't look at Elena.
I didn't look at Elif.
I didn't want to see the way they saw me now.
"…Let's go," I said, voice barely above a whisper.
I didn't know where we were going. Only that we needed to move.
That I needed to move. I needed to keep living.
Because if I paused—even for a moment—I knew I'd fall apart.
And right now, there was no room left in the world for pause.
Not for the current me.