The darkness was still there.
Just as before.
Endless, boundless, stretching as far as the eye could see yet impossible to touch.
Edward stood alone in the middle of that empty space—a silence so deep it felt heavier than death itself.
Thud…
Thud…
Thud…
The sound of footsteps returned.
Soft. Steady. Echoing from every direction at once, as if rising from the ground, falling from the sky, or even coming from within his own chest.
A chill ran down Edward's spine, and his body tensed without him even realizing it.
Those two points of red light were still there.
Glowing faintly yet sharply behind the thick veil of darkness. Watching him. Unblinking. Waiting.
Strangely, even as fear slowly crept into his chest, Edward found he could not look away. There was something odd—something hard to put into words.
A faint yet undeniable feeling: as if the figure standing before him… knew him. Better than anyone he had ever known in his entire life.
The footsteps stopped.
Now it stood only a few paces away. Yet its face remained hidden, shrouded in a dark mist that clung tightly all around it.
It was as if the darkness itself was deliberately shielding it. Or perhaps hiding it from view.
"You have lived longer than I expected."
The voice was deep and heavy, yet strangely calm. It was not harsh, nor threatening—nothing like the roar of a monster or the hiss of a demon.
Instead, it carried a weariness so profound, as if it belonged to someone who had waited for far too long, passing through countless ages uncounted.
Edward took a step back, his breathing quickening slightly. His heart thudded hard against his ribs.
"Who are you?!"
There was no direct answer. Only a soft, quiet laugh that echoed hollowly through the air. And beneath that laugh lay a deep, unspoken sadness.
"Hahaha…"
The sound did not make Edward more afraid. Instead, it stirred something in him that was hard to describe—a loneliness so vast, so deep, that it felt like a physical ache in his chest.
"I knew you long before you ever came to know yourself."
Edward frowned, growing more confused.
"What do you mean?"
Again, there was no reply. He tried to focus his gaze, straining to see through the dark mist and catch a glimpse of what lay behind it. But the moment he tried to look deeper—
Throb!
A sharp pain shot through his head, as if a red-hot needle had been driven straight into his mind.
"Argh!"
Edward clutched his head tightly. His vision spun and blurred instantly. It felt as though something was deliberately blocking him from seeing any further—some kind of barrier, a seal, or an invisible prohibition.
"What are you doing to me?!"
"Me?" The voice sounded faintly amused, as if he had said something foolish. "You are far too quick to blame others."
Edward lifted his head, trying to steady himself despite the dizziness.
"Then show me your face! Stop hiding in the dark!"
"Hmm…"
The figure fell silent for a moment, as if considering its words.
"Besides… you are not ready."
"Ready for what?!"
"To learn the truth."
The vague answer only made Edward feel more restless and frustrated. Before he could respond, a question that had been weighing on his mind finally slipped out.
"Am I dead?"
Silence filled the space for what felt like an eternity.
Then the figure replied in a flat, steady tone.
"No."
Edward let out a long breath, a wave of relief washing over him. But that calm lasted only a moment, for the figure continued, its voice softer but carrying far greater weight.
"Unfortunately."
"…What?"
For the first time, there was the faint hint of a smile in its tone.
"Someday… you will understand."
Suddenly—
CRACK!
The dark sky above them split open, shattering into countless fragments.
Blinding white light burst through, tearing apart the darkness and searing his eyes. Edward immediately raised his arm to shield his face.
"What is this?!"
From every direction, chains of glowing golden light shot forth.
Dozens—hundreds of them—streaking straight toward the figure with the red eyes.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
One after another, the chains coiled tightly around its form, binding its wrists, its legs, its neck, and even the shadow clinging to the ground.
For the first time, the figure's tone shifted, sharp with irritation and annoyance.
"Tch…"
"They still try to silence me."
The light grew brighter, so intense it blurred everything around it. Slowly but surely, the figure began to fade, as if being forcibly pulled away.
Yet before it vanished completely, those two red eyes remained fixed directly on Edward, never once blinking.
"We shall meet again, Edward."
"Hey! Wait! I haven't finished speaking—"
Before he could finish his sentence, the entire scene before him shattered into pieces.
The darkness burst apart, turning into countless specks of light that swirled and drifted away. Brilliant white light filled his vision—warm, yet strangely painful.
And in that very instant, Edward jolted awake, gasping for air.
"Hah!"
His breathing came in ragged, heavy bursts, as if he had just run a thousand paces. His entire body was soaked through with cold, clammy sweat that had seeped into the sheets, leaving his back damp and sticky.
His heart pounded wildly, thudding hard against his ribs as if trying to break free and leap out of his chest.
Morning had only just begun to break. Soft sunlight filtered through the cracks in the window, spilling across the floor in a warm, golden glow.
Yet the icy chill of fear from the darkness of the night before still clung deep in his bones.
It felt as though it had never left—still so vivid, as if it had happened only a second ago. Far too real to be called just a dream.
Edward sat up slowly, resting his head in both hands as a dull throbbing pulsed behind his temples.
"Who was he…?" he whispered so softly it was almost lost to the air.
He closed his eyes, trying with all his might to recall the face of the figure that had stood before him in that empty void.
But his efforts were in vain. A thick fog shrouded his memory. All that remained were those two sharp points of red light, and that deep, ancient voice—one that seemed to have witnessed the passage of thousands of years.
Every time he tried to delve deeper, to grasp at the fragments of memory that lay hidden, that sharp pain would strike again.
Throb!
"Argh…" Edward winced, biting his lower lip slightly.
"Why… why can't I remember…?"
Before he could calm himself, the bedroom door creaked open gently. Silvia stepped in, carrying a wooden basin filled with fresh water; thin tendrils of steam rose from the surface, showing it was still warm.
The moment she saw Edward sitting upright, her pale, weary face instantly brightened, as if the sun itself had risen upon it.
"You're awake," she said, her voice laced with relief, though still edged with caution.
"Morning," Edward replied shortly.
"Morning."
Silvia set the basin down on the small table beside the bed and placed a clean cloth at its edge. She glanced at him briefly, then shook her head slowly.
"You look terrible. As if you've just fought a ghost."
Edward looked back at her, the corner of his mouth twitching upward into a faint, almost unnoticeable smile.
"Says the person who looks as though she hasn't closed her eyes in a whole week."
Silvia shot him an annoyed glare, though there was no real anger in her eyes—only a clear, heavy exhaustion.
"More or less," she admitted quietly.
Edward's faint smile faded quickly, as if blown away by a passing breeze. His mind was still racing, filled with the image of those red eyes and the voice that had echoed through the void.
He picked up the cloth, dipped it into the water, and wrung it out gently. As the cool, damp fabric touched his skin, its refreshing chill began to soothe his frayed nerves.
He wiped his face over and over, trying to wash away the lingering traces of fear.
But as he looked down into the still surface of the water in the basin—
He froze.
His breath caught in his throat.
The water, which had been clear and transparent, slowly began to change color. Red. A deep, rich red, exactly like fresh blood.
It spread slowly across the surface, tinting the reflected light a dull, murky crimson.
Edward lurched backward, his hands shaking so violently that the basin nearly tipped over and spilled across the floor.
"What?!" he exclaimed, startled.
"What is it? What's wrong?"
Silvia immediately grew alarmed and hurried over to his side, her face etched with concern.
Edward stared intently at the water, his eyes fixed and unblinking. But now… its color had returned to normal.
Clear and calm, reflecting his own confused, pale face. There was not a single trace of red anywhere.
Silvia leaned over to look into the basin, then turned back to Edward with a furrowed brow.
"What happened? What did you see?"
Edward was silent for a long moment. He shook his head slowly, his voice uncertain.
"I'm not sure… it was probably just a trick of the light."
He decided not to tell her what he had just witnessed. Even he himself was beginning to doubt what had truly occurred.
Had it been real? Or merely a hallucination brought on by his troubled mind and a body that had not yet fully recovered?
The days that followed passed slowly.
Far too slowly.
Edward was not allowed to leave.
He could not step outside his quarters.
He was forbidden from walking alone.
He was ordered to stay far away from the area of the Hall.
At first, he tried to be patient. He counted the cracks in the ceiling, watched the shadows of the trees shift across the window, and even kept track of how many times the nurses walked past his door. But after nearly a week…
His patience ran out.
"I'm bored."
Silvia, who was sitting nearby reading a book, lifted her head slowly. Her expression was calm, as if she had heard this exact phrase countless times before.
"That is the forty-seventh time you've said that today," she replied flatly, tapping the page of her book. "I've been counting."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
Edward threw himself back onto the bed roughly. The mattress let out a soft creak, as if it too felt the weight of his frustration.
"It's like I'm a prisoner here."
Silvia closed her book gently. The sound of the pages settling together was clear in the quiet room.
"You are not a prisoner."
"Then why are there guards standing right outside?" Edward turned his head, nodding toward the closed door.
"Every time I glance out, there are always two men standing rigidly in place. As if I might try to escape… or explode at any moment."
"That's…" Silvia trailed off. The words she wanted to say felt heavy and stuck in her throat.
Edward looked at her. His gaze was sharp—not out of anger, but out of a curiosity mixed with unease.
"Look," he said softly. "I just want to know what really happened."
"You already know."
"No." Edward sat up straight, his hands clenching into fists over the blanket.
"All I know is that the Hall was destroyed. All I know is that there is a gap in my memory—four days of my life just gone, as if they were erased. Everyone speaks to me carefully, looking at me with a mix of fear and curiosity. And I'm treated like some ancient artifact that might be dangerous if you get too close."
Silvia bit her lower lip. She looked away for a moment, then turned back to face him. There was pity in her eyes, but also a deep uncertainty.
Edward stared at her intently, as if trying to read what was hidden behind her gaze. Then his voice dropped to a whisper—so quiet it was almost lost, yet it struck straight to the heart.
"Silvia."
"Hm?"
"Did I do something terrible?"
She froze. The air in the room seemed to grow colder and heavier.
It was such a simple question. So very simple. Yet it was incredibly difficult to answer.
Because the truth was… she did not know either.
All she knew was that the Hall, the sacred site of the Awakening ceremony, was now nothing but ruins.
Hundreds of people had been injured, some severely. And it had all happened the exact moment Edward's Awakening process began.
But was Edward the cause? Had the power that awakened within him unleashed this destruction? Or was he merely a victim of something unexpected—something even the elders themselves did not understand?
No one had a definite answer. There were only whispers, assumptions, and fears hidden behind polite words.
"I don't know."
The honest reply came out softly, almost trembling.
And that was what hurt the most. Not accusations, not anger—but the uncertainty hanging in the air like a thick fog, making him feel like a stranger even in the place that was supposed to be his home.
Edward fell silent. He looked down at his own hands, turning them over slowly. His fingers moved gently, as if trying to feel for something hidden beneath his skin.
A power whose nature he did not know—whether it was a blessing, or a curse.
"Then tell me this," he said finally, his voice heavier than before. "Why won't they tell me anything? Why do they choose to lock me up instead of explaining?"
Silvia let out a long, slow breath. She stood up and walked over, then sat down on the edge of his bed. She kept a respectful distance, but close enough to show she was not afraid.
"They are afraid," she said honestly. "Not just of you—but of what they do not understand. What happened during your Awakening… it has never happened before.
There are no records, no guides. They don't know how this power works, how to control it, or if it could become dangerous."
Edward lifted his head. His eyes looked tired, but still held a spark of determination to understand.
"So I'm supposed to stay here forever? Waiting for them to decide whether I deserve freedom or should be locked away for good?"
"It won't be forever," Silvia said, shaking her head gently. "But for now… this is what they believe is safest. For you, and for everyone else."
"And the truth?" Edward pressed again. "When will I learn the whole truth?"
Silvia looked at him for a long moment. Outside, the wind rustled softly through the leaves, creating a gentle, whispering sound.
The sun was beginning to dip toward the horizon, casting faint golden light through the cracks in the window.
"The truth rarely comes quickly," she said, her tone soft and wise, like that of an elder who had seen much.
"Sometimes it must wait until we are ready to hear it. Until we are strong enough to bear it, no matter what form it takes."
Edward fell silent. He lay back down, staring up at the ceiling—marked with fine cracks that he had long since memorized the pattern of.
Outside, the shadow of a guard moved faintly behind the glass of the door. The boredom was still there, but now it mixed with a growing curiosity—and a quiet resolve that was slowly taking root deep within his heart.
Late afternoon.
Altheon arrived.
The Grandmaster looked older than he had just a few days before.
His white hair seemed duller now, falling loose and unkempt around his face. The skin on his cheeks appeared more lined, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes had deepened.
Even his steps were slower, as if he carried a heavy burden upon his shoulders. His eyes were filled with weariness, yet beneath it all lay a constant, unwavering vigilance.
"I have heard you wish to go outside."
Edward stood up straight from his chair, his posture firm. There was no hesitation in his voice.
"I do."
Altheon nodded slowly. He took a step closer, then stopped at a safe distance.
"Very well."
Edward blinked, staring at the old man in disbelief. He had not expected permission to be granted so easily—no long arguments, no threats, as there usually were.
"Truly?" he asked, just to be sure.
"Truly."
"But…" Edward let out a long breath, then continued in a flat tone, "There must be conditions, of course."
Altheon did not deny it. He replied calmly, "Four mages will accompany you. They will stay close enough to keep watch, but maintain a safe distance."
The faint smile that had briefly touched Edward's lips vanished instantly. His eyes narrowed, revealing the disappointment he had already anticipated.
"So I am a prisoner after all," he said coldly.
"You are not."
Altheon's reply was firm, yet still composed. His gaze remained fixed on Edward's.
"We simply cannot afford to take risks."
The words sounded simple enough, but their meaning was clear and sharp. They were afraid of him—afraid of the power dwelling within him, afraid that if it ever slipped out of control, it would endanger the entire realm.
Trust had not yet fully taken root, even as their relationship slowly began to shift.
Edward let out a short, bitter, hollow laugh. "Risks? Or are you afraid I will disappear forever—or worse, turn my power against you?"
Altheon fell silent for a moment. He could not deny the truth in the young man's words.
"Both. You know yourself how immense the power flowing through your body is. If something were to happen out there, where we cannot control it, the consequences could cost many lives. This watch is not meant to imprison you—it is meant to protect everyone else… and you as well."
Edward turned toward the window, watching the afternoon sky shift into shades of orange and deep red.
How he longed to feel the open breeze without shadows following his every step. Yet he understood that the freedom he would receive now was not without limits.
"Very well," he agreed at last, his tone resigned but steady. "The four mages may come. But I have one condition of my own: they must not block my path, unless I truly intend to harm someone. I only wish to walk and see the world I have not laid eyes on in so long."
Altheon nodded in agreement. "That is acceptable. They will observe only, and will not interfere so long as you remain calm and in control. Preparations will be complete within an hour. You may leave as the sun begins to set."
With that, the Grandmaster turned and walked slowly toward the door. Before stepping outside, he paused for a moment without looking back.
"Be careful, Edward. The world outside is not as safe as you might imagine, and there are many who still covet your power."
Then he left, leaving Edward alone in the room—now filled with the long shadows of the late afternoon, and a faint, uncertain hope.
The next day.
Edward was finally allowed outside.
The cool morning air brushed against his skin—light, fresh, and free, a far cry from the stale, stuffy atmosphere of the room where he had been confined for days.
Yet strangely, his chest felt tight and heavy. The freedom he had longed for did not taste sweet; instead, it felt hollow and restrained.
Four mages walked behind him.
Not close enough to step on his shadow,
yet not far enough to disappear from sight.
It was a distance that served as a constant reminder: he was no guest, no ordinary citizen. He was being watched. Every step he took was observed, every movement noted.
They walked toward the city center.
And slowly…
Edward began to see the damage.
The walls of buildings were cracked from top to bottom, like unhealed wounds. Windows lay shattered, some covered only with rough cloth.
Dark, scorched marks marred the stone walls and streets—leftover traces of magical blasts that had seared rock and earth alike.
Several structures were still under repair, with piles of stone and timber scattered haphazardly at their bases.
The city felt nothing like the place he remembered; the warm, lively bustle was gone, replaced by a heavy tension that hung thick in the air.
Then he began to hear the whispers.
Soft voices, yet clear enough to carry on the wind and reach his ears.
"There he is."
Edward stiffened, the muscles in his neck tightening.
"That boy."
"Shh… not so loud. He might hear."
"The Awakening monster."
Edward's steps slowed slightly. His heart beat steadily—not with anger, but with a coldness that spread through his chest.
Still, he kept walking, staring straight ahead and pretending not to hear, as if the words could not pierce his heart.
A woman walking toward them immediately pulled her hand back, then quickly drew the small child beside her away, clutching the little one tightly as if Edward were a deadly plague.
A fruit vendor who caught sight of him hurriedly slammed shut and locked his stall, his eyes wide with fear.
Even an elderly man crossing their path folded his arms across his chest and traced a protective symbol with his fingers, muttering a quiet prayer under his breath—as if Edward were a bringer of disaster who might erupt at any moment.
Silvia, the only one walking beside him, clenched her fists so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her jaw was set, holding back a surge of anger that threatened to spill over.
"They know nothing," she muttered, her voice trembling with suppressed frustration.
Edward glanced at her briefly, then turned his gaze back to the road ahead. A faint, bitter, empty smile touched his lips.
"It's all right."
"All right?" Silvia stopped short, forcing him to halt as well. Her eyes glistened—not with fear, but with anger. "They treat you like a monster. As if you deliberately destroyed this city, as if you enjoy all of this!"
Edward's smile grew thinner, his eyes dark as he stared at the ground.
"Maybe I really am a monster."
"Don't speak like that!" Silvia's voice rose without her realizing it, cutting through the quiet. Several people nearby turned their heads, their expressions growing even more wary and afraid.
Edward fell silent. He looked into her face, and for the first time, he realized something he had not expected:
Silvia was not angry because of how he was being seen.
She was angry because she felt powerless to shield him from the sharp glances and harsher words of those around them.
Then they arrived, The Hall of Awakening
And Edward froze.
His breath caught in his throat. No words could describe the sight before him—it felt as though he were looking at a part of himself, shattered into a thousand pieces.
The magnificent building that had once been the pride of the entire city was now nothing more than a pitiful heap of ruins.
Its roof had collapsed, leaving only a gray sky visible through jagged, rough openings. The great supporting pillars that had once stood tall and proud were snapped clean in half, their sharp ends jutting from the ground like the bones of some giant beast.
The walls were riddled with holes, revealing inner layers charred and blackened. The marble floor, once polished to a brilliant shine, was now cracked from end to end, split by deep fissures filled with dust and broken stone.
And everywhere—clinging to the remaining fragments of wall, seeping into the cracks of the floor, even drifting faintly in the air—were traces of thick, black energy.
It was a deep, shadowy hue that seemed to swallow light itself, leaving a chill that seeped all the way to the bone.
The place no longer radiated the gentle, comforting warmth of magic it once had; instead, it felt dead, dark, and terrifying—exactly like a battlefield where the fighting had only just ended.
This was no longer a sacred place.
No longer the ground where hopes were born, where gifts were revealed, where the future of the city's young people began.
Edward stared blankly, his eyes fixed on the shattered remains of the altar that had once stood grandly at its center.
Once.
In this very spot.
He had dreamed that one day he would stand there, feeling the flow of magic awaken his own power.
He had hoped that one day he would be known as a mage who brought honor to his family. He had truly believed that here, his true life would finally begin.
Now…
all that remained was rubble. Just like his hopes.
"I…"
His voice caught, hoarse and barely audible. He swallowed hard, his mouth tasting bitter, while his chest felt tight as if crushed beneath a heavy weight.
"All of this…"
No one answered.
The morning wind blew softly, swirling clouds of dust through the air. Behind him, the four mages stood silent and still.
Silvia, at his side, kept her head bowed, her jaw set tight. Everyone was thinking the same thing—that this destruction was somehow linked to what had happened within these walls.
That the dark shadow which had consumed this sacred place had come from none other than Edward himself.
Edward walked slowly toward the altar.
The very spot where he had stood during his Awakening.
Step by step, as if each footfall pulled him deeper into a painful memory. Dust swirled beneath his feet, yet the section of floor leading toward the center remained strangely clear—as if some invisible force had pushed away the rubble and darkness surrounding it. At last, he reached the exact spot.
And there it was.
A symbol in red and blue.
The two colors twisted and intertwined, piercing through one another to form a pattern that felt unfamiliar, yet strangely familiar to his eyes.
It was still there, carved clearly into the marble floor, even as cracks snaked around it. It had not been damaged when the roof above collapsed.
It had not faded despite being shrouded in black smoke for days. It had not changed in the slightest, as if time and destruction held no power to touch it. As if it were alive, and stubbornly refused to be erased.
Edward turned to Altheon, his voice low and rough.
"What is this?"
The Grandmaster's face—usually so calm and dignified—immediately grew taut. The lines on his forehead deepened, and his eyes remained fixed on the symbol.
"We do not know."
His answer was short and heavy.
"We tried to remove it—to scrape it away using the highest purifying magic we possess."
"It failed."
"We tried to destroy it with the most powerful blasts of energy we could summon."
"It failed."
"We tried to seal it, layer upon layer, with ancient runes that should be capable of containing anything."
"It failed."
Altheon's voice grew heavier still, as if the words were being swallowed by a fear he struggled to hide.
For the first time, Edward saw something in Altheon's eyes.
Fear.
Genuine fear—not mere concern. It was the look of a man facing something far older, far stronger, and far more dangerous than anything he had encountered in his long life.
Altheon stepped closer, lowering his voice to a whisper so only Edward could hear.
"It appeared the moment your ceremony ended. It emerged alongside the wave of dark energy that laid waste to this place. It is as though… as though it took root together with the power that awakened within you."
The wind stirred once more, and for a brief moment, Edward felt the symbol beneath his feet throb faintly—the red glowing like embers, the blue shimmering like polished ice. Almost as if it were responding to his presence.
For no clear reason,
a powerful urge rose up within him—as if a soft yet firm voice was whispering, calling him closer. Edward felt compelled to touch the symbol.
It was as though a part of himself, long separated and lost, was finally calling him back.
"Edward, don't—"
Altheon's warning cut through the silence. But it was already too late.
The tip of his finger had already brushed the surface of the symbol carved into the floor.
And in an instant, the world around him changed completely.
BOOM!
A deep, earth-shaking rumble echoed, yet strangely, it caused him no pain. The sight of the ruins before him vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by a scene that was utterly foreign and terrifying.
Fire.
Everywhere. Flames rose high into the air, consuming everything they touched. The sky, once clear, had turned a deep, blood-red—thick and ominous, as if the heavens themselves were burning.
In the distance stood the remains of what had once been a grand, magnificent city, now swallowed by roaring flames, with thick black smoke billowing upward to blot out all light.
Stretching out across the vast expanse of land before him were thousands of swords, planted firmly in the earth. Countless in number, they stood in neat yet sorrowful rows, as if forming a graveyard for fallen warriors.
Each blade seemed to hold its own story and power, yet now they rested silent and still, driven into dry, cracked soil. It looked like the final resting place of a civilization that had once been great and proud.
And in the very center of that endless sea of swords…
stood a single figure.
It towered tall, carrying an enormous sword whose imposing hilt was clearly visible strapped to its back.
Its form was cloaked in long, tattered robes so worn and faded that its face was completely hidden—only darkness shrouded where its head should be.
Yet somehow, even without seeing its expression or hearing its voice, Edward felt something overwhelming wash over him. A profound sorrow. It was a grief so deep, so ancient, and so heavy that it felt as though it could weigh down the entire world.
That sadness seeped into his very heart, making his chest ache and his eyes grow hot for reasons he could not explain.
Then, as quickly as it had appeared, everything vanished.
The vision of fire and swords faded away, replaced once more by the quiet ruins of the Hall of Awakening.
Edward stumbled backward, his legs turning to water beneath him, and sank to his knees on the cold stone floor.
"Edward!"
Silvia rushed forward immediately, catching him before he could fall all the way.
Her face was ashen, her eyes filled with deep concern. "Are you all right? What happened?"
Edward's breathing came in ragged gasps, as if he had just run a great distance. His body felt weak, yet the memory of what he had just seen remained vivid and sharp—as if he had truly stepped into some long-forgotten past.
"I saw something…" he whispered hoarsely, his eyes still squeezed shut as he tried to hold onto the fragments of the vision that were already beginning to fade.
"What? What did you see?" Altheon asked, now drawing near as well, his voice tight with tension.
"I…" Edward shook his head slowly, then opened his eyes, still looking dazed and confused.
He glanced around, then looked down at the symbol beneath his feet, which had returned to its still state and no longer glowed. It was impossible to explain. Impossible to put into ordinary words.
For even he himself did not fully understand what he had witnessed, or what meaning lay behind the vision that had suddenly appeared before him.
As they left the ruins of the Hall and made their way back toward the city streets, the whispers began again.
No longer faint and carried only by the wind. This time they were clearer. Louder. And far more painful, cutting straight to the heart.
"Keep the children away from him."
"Don't get too close—who knows how dangerous he is."
"That's the one who brought disaster and destroyed our sacred place."
A woman standing by the roadside immediately pulled her small child behind her, clutching the little one tightly as if shielding them from a wild beast ready to pounce.
Her eyes were wide, filled with wariness and fear, as she stared at Edward as though he might harm them at any moment without warning.
Not far away, a merchant packing up his goods hurriedly slammed shut and locked the door of his stall with a sharp sound.
Thud.
The heavy click of the latch rang clearly in Edward's ears, as if marking the fact that he was no longer seen as one of them.
His steps suddenly halted. He stood motionless in the middle of the road. Something heavy pressed down upon his chest—so heavy that his breath grew shallow and difficult to draw.
And for the first time, he could no longer pretend not to hear. He could no longer keep his head down and walk on as if their words meant nothing.
He saw it plainly in their eyes: they were truly afraid.
They did not hate him because he had done wrong.
They were not angry because he had deliberately caused harm.
They were simply afraid.
Strangely enough, that fear hurt far more than anger or hatred ever could. Anger could be calmed, misunderstandings could be explained.
But fear needed no reason. It arose on its own, took root in the heart, and made people turn away without ever wanting to listen to an explanation.
Edward looked down at his own hands—the same hands that had just touched that mysterious symbol, the hands that for some reason were now seen as a source of danger.
He could feel the eyes of those around him fixed upon him, filled with a cold mix of curiosity and suspicion.
Silvia, walking beside him, also stopped. She saw the change in his expression, and how his shoulders slowly slumped as if under an ever-growing burden.
She wanted to speak, to offer comfort, but the words felt empty and useless. For what Edward was feeling right now was a reality that could not be denied.
Behind them, the four mages acting as guards also came to a halt. They remained silent, letting the heavy silence hang in the air for a moment, fully aware of just how heavy the truth was that this young man had to bear.
Evening
Edward sat alone by the window.
He pondered his fate, and found himself wondering what the children at the orphanage were doing. Had they eaten well? Were they laughing and sharing stories as they usually did?
The city slowly sank into darkness. Only the faint glow of streetlamps filtered through the small window of his room.
In his hand, he clutched tightly an old pendant shaped like a tiny sword. It was the only keepsake he had from the woman who had somehow brought him to the orphanage when he was still an infant.
The only thing he had carried with him ever since he was a child—even though he had never understood its meaning.
"Mother…" he whispered softly, his voice nearly carried away by the night breeze.
"What has truly happened to me? Who am I?"
There was no answer.
Of course there wasn't. Only the quiet of the night surrounded him.
But suddenly…
The pendant grew warm against his palm.
Edward frowned, wondering if he was merely imagining it.
A few seconds later, the warmth intensified.
It grew stronger.
Brighter, emitting a soft yet distinct silvery glow.
"What?!"
A faint light shimmered across its surface, pulsing gently as if it were alive. And in the silence, a voice could be heard.
Very faint.
Ancient.
Calm.
Full of authority—like that of a warrior who had walked through thousands of battles and witnessed the secrets of ages.
"The time has not yet come…"
Edward stood up straight at once. His heart raced, and his breath caught in his throat.
"Who is there?! Who speaks?!"
There was no reply.
Only silence returned to fill the space.
Yet a moment later, the voice came again—softer still, almost like a whisper meant only for his heart.
"And yet… you have finally arrived…"
The light from the pendant flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then slowly faded until it went out completely.
The room fell quiet once more, just as before.
Edward remained standing, frozen in place, his eyes fixed on the pendant—now cool once more in his grasp. Deep within him, a strange feeling began to take root, the realization that none of this was mere coincidence.
The red eyes that had appeared during his Awakening…
The strange red-and-blue symbol in the Hall…
And the mysterious voice from this old heirloom…