Alex had already fallen down on the ground, fainted.
His body lay sprawled on the cracked stone road of Caelum's Hollow, his own breathing shallow, fingers still spasming from the exertion. His outstretched right arm had slipped just enough for the sleeve to fall back—exposing the edge of an odd blade, dark and vibrating with hidden power.
The weapon hadn't made contact.
It hung, as if time itself had slowed to rethink.
Standing across from him, the hooded figure was frozen—not with fear, but with bewilderment. He had sensed it: a power beyond a child's might. And now that power had fallen silent, with nothing but the boy's soft breathing and the sigh of wind through a destroyed town square.
One sound shattered the stillness—
CAW!
The bird settled softly by Alex, folding wings with sinister elegance. Bright, childlike eyes a moment before now shimmered with ancient. aware something.
It looked down at Alex, nudging his arm in a gentle but firm manner, then turned—the stare fixed instead on the cloaked man.
The atmosphere shifted.
No longer was it simply a harmless bird. The show was done.
Something concealed within feathers and the innocent chirping stirred to consciousness.
And for the first time since he entered the town, the hooded man stepped back—not from the knife, not from the child…
But from the crow.
The crow's beady eyes sparkled, the soft chimes of its earlier demeanor now replaced by an unnatural, unnerving stillness. It jumped forward, the scratching of its claws against the stone like a countdown clock.
In that moment, the world changed.
The town of Caelum, which had hummed with the distant sounds of celebration, turned to nothingness. The atmosphere grew heavy, the sky growing dark with twisting storm clouds that seemed unnatural. The earth twisted, curving in upon itself like a poisonous mirage. The peaceful structures that had existed now towered, their sharp, jagged edges threatening to rip through the very fabric of reality itself.
The hooded man's heart pounded in his chest as he staggered back, eyes wide. His breath came in shallow gasps, but every inhale felt suffocating. He was no longer in the town—he was somewhere else, somewhere that defied comprehension.
The crow stood before him, its beak curving into something resembling a smile. But this wasn't the playful creature he had seen earlier. No, this was something far older, far darker. The bird tilted its head, peering into his soul.
Do you see the gravity of what you have done?" The voice of the crow was not listened to by the ears—but rather felt, so that it echoed within his cranium, curving with each word. It was said lightly, yet behind it there existed no denying potency.
The figure in the hood stepped back a pace, shuddering in his frame, the chill-damp sliding off his forehead. He felt himself filled with the fear—uncouth, debilitative terror.
He attempted to speak, but his mouth was parched. His hands trembled as if attempting to grasp something hard, but nothing was there to cling to. Nothing to grasp.
The crow drew nearer, its gaze pinned on his with an unnerving intensity. "You were chosen, weren't you? To fetch something. important."
A jolt of electricity surged through his body, but not from the crow—it was from the reality itself, twisting and bending, compelling him to remember. His recollections dissolved, snapping and warping into patchwork images. A cold palm. A shadowy promise. A voice saying his name softly in the blackness. The sensation of potency, the siren call of darkness, the promise of control.
"The Threefold Chains…" The crow's cry rang out once more, its voice filled with the seriousness of an old prophecy. "You were supposed to retrieve the shard. Why?"
The hooded figure quivered, his legs trembling beneath him as the earth around him twisted and convulsed like living things. His eyes bulged, his chest constricting in horror.
"I… I don't know. They just… commanded me to. I had no choice. No choice…"
His voice broke, desperation seeping into his words, but however hard he tried to persuade himself—however much he wanted to believe it—the truth of what he was doing was choking him. He wasn't in charge anymore. Something else was.
The crow cocked its head, silent for a beat. "No choice?" it repeated, the words dripping with mockery, each syllable with an unnerving calm. "You made this choice before the shard. And now… now, the Threefold Chains will remember you."
And then, the man felt it. The pull. The coldness gnawing at the center of his soul, deeper than any fear he had ever experienced. He could sense something extending out towards him, something old, something powerful. But it was not merely fear—it was raw terror, the kind that freezes the mind and captures the body. His muscles froze, his heart pounding in his chest, all his nerves screaming for him to get away.
"You will be forgotten," the crow hissed, its voice dark and ominous. "But not by those who search for you. No. They will recall all."
The hooded figure could endure no more. His knees gave way beneath him, and he fell to the earth, his vision careening into blackness as the world around him coalesced into nothing.
He saw only the crow's eyes, cold with malice and wicked amusement.
And then… nothing.
Less than twelve hours ago, Varrion had departed Caelum's Hollow. The town had been aglow with the vibrancy of the Hunter's Dawn Festival. The streets were filled with laughter, families in festive attire, the air heavy with the fragrance of hope and joy. Lanterns cast fiery shadows, and the light from the flames seemed to dance across the distance, as if nothing could shatter the tranquility.
But now…
Now, as Varrion re-entered the town again, a nauseating hush welcomed him. The familiar buzz of life had vanished. The music—the laughter—fell silent.
His boots crunched on shattered stone. His eyes darted from one destruction to another.
The village was no more.
Where were the people? Where did they vanish to?
The formerly happy houses had been left as smoldering ruins, their windows broken, doors shattered. The streets were a sea of rubble. What was once a hub of life was now a cemetery of quiet. The buildings were twisted, distorted, as if something had attempted to tear the town from the ground itself.
There was no noise other than the wind rustling through the shattered pieces of houses.
But it was more than just the buildings that disturbed his stomach. It was the reek of death hanging around in the air—tortuous and suffocating. It was the lack of life, of optimism. Something had sucked out the very life force of the town.
Varrion clenched the grip of his blade.
This was not a standard assault.
The town hadn't just been looted. It had been… deleted.
He stepped forward, his boots sucking in the blood-soaked ground. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing. The unnatural stillness pushed at him, settling heavy on his chest.
What had occurred here?
Varrion was not one to be shaken. He had seen turmoil before. But this?
This was different.
He surveyed the destruction, his senses heightened.
His eyes clenched.
Void beasts.
Distorted, corrupted forms lurked among the ruins of the town. Their eyes were hollow, lifeless—Containers of corruption, things called up by dark powers.
He could sense the corruption in the air—the aftermath of power that had been employed here. Whatever force had brought this devastation had left remnants of its presence. The air literally vibrated with spite.
Varrion's snake curled by his side, its enormous form gliding stealthily through the darkness. It was a thing of great strength, but even it appeared nervous.
He sensed something in the air—a sickening feeling of foreboding.
His gut screamed at him to move.
But where?
The void beasts stumbled randomly down the streets, as if they were the last thing remaining.
Varrion extended his hand, his words a soft growl.
"Die."
In a smooth, flowing motion, he released the complete potential of his Tier Four mark power.
An explosion of energy burst forth from him, flowing outward in the air. The void beasts were destroyed instantly—rent asunder by the strength of his command.
The beasts were erased into nothing, their bodies nothing but ash. The air vibrated with the aftershock of the destruction.
Varrion's chest heaved and fell as the final of the creatures dissolved to dust. He breathed slowly, his eyes scanning the town again.
No more monsters.
But the hollowness still lingered.
Varrion's strength had effortlessly defeated the void beasts. But as the final of them dissolved, he couldn't help but feel that the true threat wasn't the creatures themselves. They were symptoms, not the illness.
What had brought on this madness?
He looked around, his head whirling. There had been nothing to indicate the presence of an epic battle—no evidence of magic storms, no catastrophic bombings.
It was as if the town itself just collapsed overnight.
His gaze met the blood-drenched street, the dead corpses of villagers sprawled like dolls.
Where was everyone else?
The realization slammed into him before he even remembered to wonder it.
There were none.
The town had been utterly destroyed.
Varrion strode further into the town, his gaze flicking between the ruined buildings. His heart thudded in his chest, but he willed himself not to panic.
He had to keep it together.
He had to find someone. Anyone.
His fists were locked at his sides, his mind racing. There had to be somebody left. Some sign of life.
There was no answer.
The homes were in shambles. The festival streamers, which had been so full of color, now dangled in shreds. What had been a joyful town was now an empty shell, its soul torn asunder.
Varrion halted at the center of the town square, staring at the void-beast corpses that littered the ground around him. His mind couldn't fit it all together.
Then, just as he was about to continue on his way, he heard it.
A distant caw.
Varrion's head jerked to the side.
There, sitting atop a shattered statue, was the crow.
The same crow that had been with Alex.
But this time—there was no playfulness in its eyes. No innocent chirps. The crow's eyes were cold, calculating.
And then—
It leaned toward Alex.
Varrion moved forward, his eyes narrowing as he saw Alex unconscious in the wreckage. His breath caught.
The crow had cawed previously, but now, its eyes fixed on Alex, it was moving with a sinister serenity.
Varrion knelt beside the boy, his hand sweeping through Alex's disheveled hair. He could feel the weak pulse under his fingertips. Alive. Barely.
The crow crept closer, looking at him with a bizarre intensity, as if weighing every movement.
Varrion couldn't quite figure out what to do. Alex wasn't a boy—there was something more to him, something he had glimpsed in his eyes before, something deeper that he couldn't quite identify.
A few moments later, the clatter of hooves resounded through the town square. Varrion didn't look around—he had already felt their presence. His assistants, a handful of elite warriors, slid off their horses and hurried towards him.
One of them, a tall man with a sharp gaze, saw the state of the town and immediately barked orders. They quickly began scanning for any signs of life, moving in formation with practiced precision.
"Is anyone left?" Varrion asked, his voice laced with urgency.
The assistant shook his head. "We're not finding anything. It's as if the entire town—vanished."
The hooded man, unconscious and sprawled on the ground, was seen. His breathing was rough, but he was alive.
"We have him," the assistant confirmed, pointing to the others to take the man into custody.
Varrion's gaze grew dark. There was something about the hooded man—the way he had been involved in this destruction. A connection to something much more sinister.
Well out of Caelum's Hollow A dark presence whispered
The whisper bore the smell of rust and decaying stars!
its arrival announcing a reckoning that none could escape.
the Shadowwell stirred.
Its whispers pierced the silence:
"The Caelum has failed."