The Silent Plains lay broken under the crimson night sky.
Gray sand stretched in every direction, scarred by deep furrows and collapsed ridges. The air was still, heavy with the residue of old violence. No wind stirred the dunes; only a faint, dry breeze moved across the devastation, carrying the scent of scorched stone and something older.
At the center of it all stood a single figure.
The Hunter remained motionless, long dark hair drifting against his back with each sparse breath of wind. His deep purple eyes moved slowly across the ruined landscape, methodical, unhurried, as though he had already memorized every fracture and was now waiting for the land itself to confess. He had been standing there for a long time—long enough that the night had deepened around him without his notice.
At last he moved.
He walked toward a wide crater near the heart of the destruction and stopped at its edge. Looking down, he found only one clear mark: a massive footprint pressed deep into the stone. Five claws. Far too large for any beast that still wandered the Silent Plains. The edges were clean, the depth unnatural, as if the ground itself had yielded rather than been broken.
The Hunter's eyes narrowed.
He crouched, gray fingers brushing the rim of the print. He inhaled once, then exhaled a thin stream of air across the stone. Faint swirls of darkness rose like smoke, trembling for a heartbeat before dissolving. He watched them vanish, then blew again. This time the breath that left his lips was violet. Where it touched the ground, more darkness stirred—thicker, slower, reluctant to fade.
He spread one arm. Darkness coated his skin from wrist to elbow like living ink. With a precise motion, he caught the swirling remnants before they could scatter, drawing them into his open palm. He brought the captured darkness close to his face, studying the shifting threads with cold curiosity.
"Show me where you came from," he said, voice low and even.
Nothing answered.
A faint crease of disappointment touched his expression. He prepared to release the swirl—
—then it moved.
The darkness twisted, stretched, and resolved into a thin, luminous path that rose from the crater and climbed steeply into the sky, vanishing among the crimson clouds.
The Hunter stood. His purple eyes followed the trail upward.
A small, sharp smile curved his mouth.
"Whoever tried to clean this place clearly underestimates me," he murmured. "Careless."
He closed his fingers. The path of darkness coiled obediently into his palm and sank beneath his skin. His gaze returned to the giant claw mark, lingering on the five deep grooves.
"A dragon was involved."
He tilted his head back, staring into the blood-colored night.
"There is only one dragon in the east… Perhaps I should pay it a visit."
For a moment longer he regarded the darkness resting in his hand.
"Until then," he said quietly, "I must see where this will take me."
Blackness rose around him like a tide, swallowing his figure whole. When it receded, the Silent Plains were empty once more—only the massive footprint remained, waiting beneath the crimson sky.
---------------
Back in Rhelga's Domain.
In one of the quieter side chambers, Shadow leaned against the living wood wall. His silver eyes were distant, fixed on something far beyond the root-bound room. The silence around him was almost complete.
Then an itch.
He frowned slightly and scratched his forearm, the motion slow and deliberate. For a moment he stared at his own skin, as if the sensation itself was unexpected. The itch faded. He lowered his hand and returned to whatever distant point had held his attention, the faint crease between his brows the only sign that anything had disturbed him.
Deeper in the roots, another chamber held warmer light.
Rhelga sat reclined in a high-backed chair of woven root and old leather, an ancient clay jar of wine resting in one hand. He took a long pull, exhaled with clear satisfaction, and let his gaze drift toward the far side of the room.
Indura sat at a low table that groaned under the weight of food. Platters of dark-roasted meat—cuts thick with fat and char—were stacked high beside bowls of crisp red radishes, their skins still damp. There were roasted roots glazed in honey, dense black bread, and a wooden bucket of clear water. Indura ate without hurry, tearing into a rib with steady focus.
Rhelga watched him for a moment longer.
"Have you tasted wine before?"
Indura swallowed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and nodded.
"I have. A long time ago."
"What kind?"
"Blood wine."
Rhelga spat the mouthful he had just taken, coughing hard enough that wine ran down his chin. He stared at Indura, eyes wide.
"Where in the shattered realms did you get blood wine?"
Indura spoke around another bite of meat, unbothered.
"From the Blood Queen. She poured it herself."
Rhelga's face went blank with shock.
"You met the Blood Queen?"
Indura glanced up, still chewing.
"It was a long time ago. What's the problem?"
Rhelga blinked several times, as if trying to reset his thoughts.
"You just told me you sat down with someone who holds a very deep grudge. Do you know what happened to the Blood Veil?"
Indura nodded. He reached for the wooden bucket, drank deeply, and set it down with a solid thud.
"I know. I saw it in the memories. The True Self's memories."
Rhelga leaned back, studying him.
"And does that concern you?"
Indura sighed, the sound low.
"Of course it concerns me. But one thing I still don't understand is why she brought me into her Blood Court in the first place. I could feel the bloodlust rolling off every vampire in that hall… yet they all held themselves back." He took another bite, speaking while he chewed. "She spoke so formally. Of course, that was because I realized I was the Dragon King. But she never showed open hatred. She was very good at acting. Who would have known."
Rhelga exhaled slowly.
"Strange enough."
Indura nodded.
"She even knows about my cores."
Rhelga sat up straighter.
"She knows?"
"She promised to help me awaken them," Indura said, "if I fulfilled one request for her. I didn't expect that request to lead… here."
Rhelga leaned forward, both hands on his knees.
"Wait. Wait. You're telling me she already knew about your dormant cores—and she still wasn't hostile?"
Indura met his eyes.
"Exactly as I said."
He paused, then asked quietly,
"Can she actually help awaken one of them?"
Rhelga was silent for several breaths. He tugged at his beard, thinking.
Finally he nodded.
"She can. She holds the knowledge—blood rituals of a very old kind. She's an Arc Mage, one of the finest Chaos has ever produced. But she is deeply distrustful of this world's people… especially dragons."
Indura's mouth curved slightly.
"I felt that much from her presence."
Rhelga's voice softened.
"How do you feel about it? About learning what the dragons did to her kind."
Indura bit into a dark purple fruit. Juice ran down his fingers. He chewed, swallowed, then answered without looking up.
"To be honest… I do feel bad. All of that responsibility settles on me now." He turned his head and met Rhelga's gaze. "But there's nothing I can do about the past." Another swallow. "Some time has passed. And somehow… she's moving along with me."
Rhelga choked on his wine so hard he nearly dropped the jar. He coughed violently, eyes watering.
"What?!"
Indura chuckled, low and brief.
"It's the truth. She was actually here not long ago. Though I was the only one who could see her."
Rhelga's head snapped around the chamber.
"Here?! When?!"
"Relax," Indura said. "She left a while ago with Sabrel. It seems she's going to help her take down the beast."
Rhelga sank back into his chair, staring at the ceiling.
"I cannot believe it."
Indura reached for another piece of meat, voice mild.
"You're too old and weak. You probably wouldn't sense a fly landing on your nose."
Rhelga's head snapped back down, eyes flashing with genuine offense.
"Do not underestimate me, boy. Even in this age, I still stand at the pinnacle of every mage in Chaos."
Indura looked up from the meat in his hands.
"In Chaos? …What about Vespera?"
Rhelga went quiet. His eyes drifted toward the far wall, away from Indura's gaze. After a moment, he spoke, voice lower than before.
"The Blood Queen and I stand at the pinnacle. We are simply… different."
"Different how?"
Rhelga turned back to him.
"She specializes in three paths at once—Blood Magic, Spatial Magic, and Dark Magic. No one else in Chaos wields three distinct systems the way she does. Not without paying a price most would not survive."
Indura tilted his head.
"And what about you?"
A small, proud smile touched Rhelga's mouth. He rested his chin against his knuckles.
"In all of Chaos, I am the greatest master of Spatial Magic. My craft has grown beyond what this realm alone can produce."
Indura chewed slowly, watching him with an unreadable expression.
"Sounds like regular magic to me."
Rhelga's eyes flashed.
"That is a ridiculous thing to say." He sat forward slightly. "Most Spatial mages in Chaos cannot tear open gates. They can only fold short distances, or anchor barriers. That is the limit of what this world's laws allow. I have stepped through realms that do not share those laws. I have mapped spaces that reject measurement. My magic no longer merely moves through distance—it rewrites the rules that distance obeys. That is not 'regular.'"
Indura swallowed, then brought his hands together in a few slow, deliberate claps.
"I'm impressed."
Rhelga gave him a flat, suspicious look.
Indura noticed. A low chuckle escaped him.
"I mean it. Truly."
Rhelga held the stare a moment longer, then sighed and leaned back into his chair. He lifted the wine jar again and drank. The liquid burned pleasantly down his throat.
This soul is different, he thought, studying Indura across from him.
The Indura I knew would never speak so openly, so bluntly. The way he talks… the way he sits there eating like any common soldier… he would not look out of place among humans. He might even blend in. Nothing about him announces power or conquest. He is simply… himself.
Indura lifted the wooden bucket, drank another mouthful of water, and set it down. He exhaled, then looked directly at Rhelga.
"What are you thinking?"
Rhelga nodded once.
"Nothing."
Indura went back to his food without another word. For a stretch of time, the only sounds in the chamber were the steady work of teeth on meat and the occasional soft clink of the wine jar against the arm of Rhelga's chair. The quiet stretched, thick and unbroken.
Rhelga's eyes stayed fixed on Indura. The wet, rhythmic noise of chewing began to scrape at his nerves. At last he spoke, voice flat.
"Can you chew more quietly?"
Indura swallowed, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and looked up.
"For someone who hasn't eaten well in days, you have no right to question another man's chewing. Keep talking like that, and you might become the meal."
Rhelga stared at him. Then a low chuckle escaped, growing into a short, genuine laugh.
"Is that right?"
Indura gave a single nod and returned to the meat.
Rhelga tilted his head, still smiling faintly.
"You must have eaten some people back in Varta, then."
Indura kept eating. After a moment, he lifted his gaze and met Rhelga's eyes directly. He did not look away.
Rhelga's smile faded. His eyes widened.
"Wait… Have you really?"
Indura continued chewing, still holding the stare. The silence that followed was heavier than before.
Rhelga swallowed.
"It can't be."
Indura finished the mouthful, swallowed cleanly, and then smiled—slow, unbothered.
"It was one time. Or twice. I can't remember exactly. Some foolish idiots who thought it was wise to disturb me. After that, I didn't eat any more humans."
Rhelga's jaw went slack.
Indura glanced at him and raised an eyebrow.
"Don't look at me like that. They were only about twenty. And they deserved it."
"How do you even know the number?" Rhelga managed.
Indura chuckled, low and brief.
"Relax." He paused, then added, more evenly, "I'm not a monster." He tore another strip of meat free and spoke while he chewed. "What I did is nothing compared to what my True Self has done. Devouring a few small humans… compared to destroying entire civilizations and wiping out whole races. There's quite a gap. So I'm actually much more merciful."
Rhelga let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
"You don't say."
Indura only lifted one shoulder in a mild shrug and went back to eating, as though the entire exchange had been no more serious than discussing the weather.
---------------
The world shifted.
Far above the scarred surface of the Eastern Region, a floating continent hung in a sky that was no longer red. Here the heavens were a permanent bruised violet, thick and heavy, as though the air itself had been stained by something that refused to fade. Jagged mountain ranges rose like broken claws, but their peaks were veiled in dark, slow-moving mist that formed the shape of hanging shrouds. Between them stretched forests of pale crystal trees, their trunks translucent and veined with soft light that pulsed in uneven rhythms. Many of those veins had already turned black.
Lakes lay scattered across the land, but they did not mirror the sky. Their surfaces were thick and faintly luminous. Black-crystal roots crawled across the valleys like a second nervous system, linking distant temples and the colossal statues that floated above the larger settlements — many-armed, faceless effigies of the Disciple held aloft by chains of dark crystal.
In the high air, enormous crystal organs hung suspended by gravity-defying chains, the wind passing through them in a constant low hymn that never quite resolved into words. The entire continent felt heavier than it should, distances stretched and folded, and the pulse of the land itself beat out of time with the world below.
It was not merely floating. It felt severed — a realm rewritten to serve a single will.
At the farthest edge of the continent, a colossal waterfall still poured into the open abyss, a white curtain vanishing into the thick clouds far below.
Darkness coiled upward from the rocky shore like living smoke. It gathered, thickened, then parted.
The Hunter stepped out of it.
The blackness receded into his body in slow, reluctant streams until nothing remained. His long dark hair stirred in the high wind. Deep purple eyes swept across the impossible, corrupted landscape, lingering for a moment on the endless fall of the waterfall. In his open palm, the last faint swirls of residual darkness still clung to his skin—until, one by one, they faded and were gone.
He showed no reaction.
He crouched again. Gray fingers brushed the strange, faintly glowing soil. He inhaled, then exhaled a thin stream of violet breath across the ground. More faint swirls of darkness rose in answer. He caught them at once with a flick of his own power, drawing the threads into his hand.
"Show me where you came from."
The darkness shifted. A path formed—clear, thin, and unmistakable. It pointed downward, back along the route he had already traveled.
The Hunter stared at it for a long moment. Then he sighed, the sound quiet but edged with real disappointment.
"Perhaps whoever this was… was not so careless after all."
He opened his hand. The swirls unraveled and vanished into the wind.
He rose to his full height and turned his gaze across the floating continent. Veiled peaks. Bleeding lakes. The distant silhouettes of floating statues and the endless low hymn of the Hanging Choirs. Somewhere within this rewritten realm, the trail still lived.
"I will simply find one of the followers," he murmured. "They are connected to the Silent Hand. They will tell me everything they know."
He began walking toward the nearest ridge, boots silent against the strange earth. Darkness began to rise around him once more, curling up his legs like eager smoke.
"I must not fail the Disciple."