Winter had not yet truly arrived, but the morning air in Hougwe felt far colder than usual. A thin, silvery mist hung gently between the simple wooden houses lining the hillside, as if wrapping the village in a soft, indistinct veil.
The sun had risen, yet its light felt weak, unable to pierce through the chill or the strange unease that had slowly settled over every corner of the place.
From a distance, the crowing of roosters broke the early silence. The blacksmith struck his metal once more, his hammer falling in a steady, familiar rhythm. Merchants opened their stalls and arranged their wares as they always had. Children ran laughing through the streets, shouting and playing as if nothing had changed at all.
Everything appeared normal—exactly as it had been before the terrible event that had befallen the Hall of Awakening.
But it was only an appearance.
For behind the forced smiles and hurried greetings, Hougwe had changed forever. And every soul living there felt it, deep and clear.
Edward walked slowly through the morning market, carrying a basket of fresh vegetables to bring back to the orphanage. Once, whenever he passed through here, voices would call out to him.
"Edward!"
"Hey, come help me lift this sack!"
"Stop by later for lunch—I've made your favorite soup!"
But now… those voices had vanished.
All that remained were glances—quick, fleeting, and quickly turned away the moment Edward's eyes met theirs. A woman busy selecting fruit fell silent the instant he walked past. Two merchants who had been laughing loudly suddenly went quiet. Even a small child who had raised a hand to wave and greet him was quickly pulled away by his mother, as if Edward carried some unseen danger.
Edward watched their backs as they turned away, then drew a faint, heavy smile across his lips—a smile that felt stiff and forced.
"Good morning, Uncle Rolf," he called out to the old blacksmith at his workbench.
The man turned, paused for a moment as if uncertain, then gave only a stiff nod.
"G-good morning."
That was all. Nothing more. No laughter, no teasing, none of the warmth there used to be.
Edward continued on his way. His chest felt tight, as if a small, heavy weight was pressing down upon it. Still, he kept walking, one step after another. For he was beginning to grow used to it. And that was the part that hurt most—growing used to being avoided, as if it were his fate.
From the second floor of the Hall of Awakening—still partially damaged, its walls bearing the scars of what had happened—Altheon stood quietly, watching the village streets through a crack in the window. His expression was calm, but deep within his gaze lay a quiet worry that words could not easily describe.
Silvia stood beside him, also looking down.
"You are watching him again?" she asked softly.
Altheon nodded slowly. "Yes."
"Edward is doing well. He seems able to bear it," Silvia said, trying to sound reassuring.
"That is exactly what concerns me," Altheon replied, his voice heavy.
Silvia turned to him, her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
Altheon fell silent for a long while, as if choosing his words carefully.
"That boy is far too strong. Far too strong for someone his age."
Silvia did not answer immediately. She understood what he meant. Not strength of body, nor strength of magic—but the strength to endure pain, loneliness, and rejection all alone. And sometimes, wounds kept hidden for too long could become far more dangerous than any injury visible to the eye.
The Briar Orphanage always felt alive and bustling, no matter how grim the world outside might be.
Here, laughter always echoed through the halls, there was always some small chaos that filled the air with warmth, and there was always someone who somehow managed to get into trouble.
That morning, that someone was Alice.
"Brother Edward!" the little girl called from the corner of the room.
Edward, who had been absorbed in reading a book at the table, looked up. "What is it now, Alice?"
Alice held up her textbook—upside down—her face full of confusion.
"I don't understand! Why do all these letters keep moving around and turning themselves backwards?"
Edward struggled to hold back a smile. "That is because you are holding the book upside down, Alice."
Alice froze for a moment. Then she quickly flipped the book right-side up, her cheeks flushing pink with embarrassment. "Ah…"
Thomas, who was sweeping the porch just outside the door, burst out laughing. "I told you that a moment ago, but you wouldn't listen!"
"Brother Thomas is being mean!" Alice protested.
"Not mean," Thomas replied casually with a shrug. "You're just being funny."
Alice grabbed a small cushion nearby and threw it with all her might. Thomas ducked quickly, but the cushion sailed past and struck Alex right on the head—just as he was busy fixing a wobbly chair leg.
Thump!
"Ouch! Why am I always the one caught in the middle?" Alex grumbled, rubbing his head.
The whole room filled with unrestrained laughter. Even Edward joined in, feeling a warmth he had not known in a long time. For a brief, precious moment, everything felt right again.
Just as it had been—before the Hall of Awakening was destroyed, before the strange dreams began, before the people's eyes had turned to fear.
But as the laughter slowly faded, that familiar feeling settled back over his heart. Heavy. Empty. Disturbing. As if something had been lost and could never be found again.
Suddenly, Alice tugged gently at his sleeve. "Brother Edward?"
"Hm?"
"Are you sad?"
Edward fell silent. Children always saw things that adults either did not notice or chose to hide. He forced a faint smile. "No, I am not sad."
"You're lying," Alice said firmly.
"Alice…"
"I know. You are sad."
Edward let out a long breath, then ruffled the little girl's hair gently. "I am fine, truly."
Alice continued to look at him closely, as if trying to read the truth in his eyes. But at last she nodded softly and turned back to her book—though from time to time, her hands could still be seen flipping the pages upside down once more.
Later that afternoon, Edward helped Alex repair the leaky roof of the storage shed. Alex handed him a hammer, glancing over briefly.
"You've been daydreaming a lot lately, haven't you?"
"I am not daydreaming," Edward insisted, driving a nail into place.
"Daydreaming."
"I am not."
"Daydreaming."
"Alex…"
"What?"
"You are being annoying."
Alex laughed openly. "That means I'm right."
Edward just shook his head, then lifted his gaze to the evening sky. Clouds drifted slowly on the wind, appearing calm and peaceful.
Yet deep within his heart, he could not shake the feeling that something was waiting for him. Something vast, something that could not be put into words. And for some reason, that feeling grew stronger with every passing day.
Night fell slowly, wrapping the village in soft darkness. One by one, oil lamps were lit, casting a warm golden glow through the windows of the houses.
Gradually, the sounds of the village faded. Lights went out one by one as people settled down to rest after a long day's work, and guards began their patrols around the perimeter.
But they did not see him. No one was aware of his presence.
A man in a long black cloak stood motionless upon the thick branch of a great tree at the edge of the village, hidden behind its dense leaves.
His sharp eyes observed every corner of Hougwe from a distance—calm, cold, and calculating, exactly like a hunter studying the movements of his prey.
The night wind stirred gently, making the hem of his cloak flutter softly. Beneath the dark fabric hung an ancient metal emblem that glowed faintly in the dark.
It was a symbol unknown to anyone in the village: a circle, a sword, and an eye—three marks woven together as one.
The man looked toward the distant outline of the Hall of Awakening, then shifted his gaze to the orphanage, and finally swept over the rows of villagers' homes.
At last, his eyes settled upon a single small window, still covered by a curtain: Edward's room.
For a long moment he stood there, not moving at all. Then his lips moved almost silently.
"At last…"
His voice was nearly swallowed by the breeze, yet it carried something hard to describe—a sense of relief mixed with deep sorrow, as if he had been searching for this for a very long time—far too long.
He did not draw near to Edward. Not yet. He did not knock at the orphanage door, send any message, or reveal himself to anyone. Instead, he simply watched. For hours on end. As if confirming whether a legend told and retold for thousands of years was truly real.
From the rooftops of empty houses, from an old tower long since abandoned, from the shadows of thick woodland—he observed everything. Edward's movements, Silvia's, Altheon's, even the comings and goings of the orphanage children.
Now and then he opened an old book he always carried with him. Its pages had yellowed with age, some growing brittle and nearly crumbling apart. On one page still intact was drawn a mark he knew well: the symbol of an eye, half red and half blue.
The man touched the drawing gently with his fingertip, then turned his gaze once more toward Edward's room.
"So you truly exist…" he murmured softly. His eyes narrowed, sharp and searching. "And they have not yet found you."
A moment later, a faint smile touched the corner of his lips—not a friendly smile, nor one filled with malice, but the smile of someone who had finally found the answer to a riddle thousands of years old.
In the distance, the bell in the guard tower rang out loud and clear, marking the arrival of midnight. The cloaked man closed his book tightly, then turned and walked back into the darkness of the forest. But before he vanished completely, he whispered one last quiet phrase:
"Hougwe is only the beginning. And we have little time left."
The night returned to its usual silence. No one knew that someone had come and gone. No one realized that an ancient order long thought lost had begun to stir once more. No one understood that Edward Briar's fate was now being watched by eyes that had waited for centuries.
And in his dark room, Edward—fast asleep—suddenly frowned, as if sensing something unseen. Deep within his dreams, amid an endless sea of swords, a pair of eyes—one red, one blue—slowly opened. Watching. Waiting. As if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for something great to begin.
Far from Hougwe. Very far indeed.
If one were to travel away from the village for months on end—cutting through wild forests rarely trodden by human feet, crossing towering mountain ranges whose peaks remain perpetually capped with eternal snow, and traversing lands that no longer appear on any kingdom's maps—they might just stumble upon this place.
Or they might never find it at all.
For this is a place that does not wish to be found.
Rising from the midst of a jagged mountain range forever shrouded in thick, unyielding mist stand the ancient ruins of what appears to be a civilization that died out thousands of years ago.
Massive stone pillars loom steeply from the depths of a vast chasm, while large, headless statues stand in silent vigil all around the valley.
Much of the structure has crumbled and collapsed, while the rest is swallowed by thick moss and the relentless passage of time.
There is no sign of human life, no wildlife darting through the shadows, no sound at all save for the wind whistling through the rocks. It is as if the world itself has forgotten this place.
Yet deep beneath the piles of rubble, hidden within tightly concealed passageways… life still endures.
The underground corridors stretch out wide and winding, like an endless, sprawling labyrinth. Carved into the cold stone walls, ancient runes glow with a faint silvery light, illuminating vast chambers hidden from the eyes of anyone walking upon the earth's surface.
Here they dwell. The people who, for centuries, have lived and moved in the shadows of history. An organization whose very existence is unknown even to most kings and rulers.
They have watched countless great kingdoms rise, flourish in splendor, and then crumble away into nothingness. They have seen power come and go, yet they themselves have remained silent, hidden, never once revealing themselves to the world.
Their name…
The Hidden Order.
Within a vast, circular chamber of grand design, dozens of enchanted candles burn brightly, encircling a colossal stone table standing exactly at its center.
Spread across the table lies an ancient map of the world—not the kind taught in schools or used by merchants and explorers of the present day.
This map is different; it depicts lands that have long since vanished, places spoken of only in old legends, and borders that no longer hold any meaning.
Stuck firmly into one corner of the map is a black needle, marking a single tiny point bearing the name: Hougwe. And every gaze in the room was now fixed upon that spot.
The chamber was not crowded. Only five people were present. Yet the silence they created felt far heavier and more pressing than the presence of a thousand soldiers ready for battle.
At the head of the table sat an elderly man with long white hair, neatly combed. His eyes were sharp and full of wisdom, as though he had witnessed every event that had ever unfolded across the world.
His back remained straight and firm, even though he appeared to have long surpassed the natural span of a human life. There was no crown upon his head, no emblem of authority stitched to his robes, yet the entire room radiated a deep respect for him. His name was Kael, the leader of The Hidden Order.
To his left sat a young woman wearing thin-rimmed spectacles, surrounded by stacks of books and scrolls that nearly concealed her frame.
Every page was filled with meticulous notes, each line holding fragments of history long erased from human memory. Her name was Lyra, the Order's Keeper of Records.
Across the table sat a broad, powerfully built man with a long scar etched clearly across one side of his face. A short sword hung securely at his waist, and his expression remained ever watchful, never relaxing—ready to fight against anyone, at any moment, if necessary. His name was Garrick, Seeker of Ancient Relics.
Standing near one of the massive stone pillars was a woman clad in black robes, her long silver hair flowing down to her waist. Her eyes were closed, yet the flow of magic around her pulsed gently, like the calm yet powerful rhythm of the ocean. Her name was Selene, an Ancient Sorceress who had lived for centuries.
And finally, standing quietly near the entrance—was the man in the black cloak who had watched over the village of Hougwe several nights before. He had only just returned from his journey. His name was Orion.
For a long moment, no one spoke. Only the soft crackling of candle flames broke the silence.
Then Kael's voice cut through the stillness—low, yet clear and commanding.
"Are you certain?"
Orion nodded firmly. "One hundred percent. The boy is there."
The room grew even quieter. Where before there had only been speculation and vague reports, now there was undeniable certainty.
Lyra unrolled an ancient scroll that had been carefully preserved. Soon, dozens of notes were spread across the table: copies of reports from royal courts, research once conducted within the Hall of Awakening, records concerning the Magic Stone, and one name that now stood at the center of all their attention: Edward Briar.
Garrick clicked his tongue, sounding unconvinced.
"A village boy managed to destroy the Magic Stone? I still find that hard to believe. That stone has remained unbroken for thousands of years."
Lyra nodded in agreement, though her expression grew more serious. "That is indeed strange, but it is not what concerns me most."
She pointed to a clear drawing sketched upon a sheet of parchment.
Instantly, every eye in the room turned toward it. A symbol: an eye, half red and half blue, merged into one. The same symbol that had appeared repeatedly in Edward's dreams, the same symbol that had struck fear into the King's heart, the same symbol that had haunted the pages of history for centuries.
Selene, who until that moment had stood with her eyes closed, finally spoke.
"It is impossible."
Her voice was soft, yet heavy and filled with such conviction that everyone turned to look at her.
"Why impossible?" asked Garrick.
Selene kept her eyes shut, as if trying to recall something very distant—something buried deep within memory for thousands of years.
"Because that symbol…" she paused briefly, "…should no longer exist in this world."
Kael folded his arms across his chest, his gaze sharp. "Explain what you mean."
Selene let out a long, slow breath. Then she said: "That symbol appears only within one single bloodline."
The room seemed to freeze. The air grew colder than before.
Lyra slowly lifted her head, her eyes wide with shock. "Are you certain of this?"
"I cannot be mistaken," Selene replied steadily. "So much time has passed, yet I could never forget that symbol."
Orion frowned, his curiosity piqued. "Whose bloodline is it?"
But Selene did not answer. Or perhaps she chose not to. She simply stared in silence at the drawing, and the mystery in her silence only served to make the atmosphere in the room feel heavier still.
Garrick struck the stone table with the palm of his hand, the sound echoing loudly to break the quiet.
"We have already wasted far too much time merely thinking. If this boy truly is dangerous, then we must stop him before it is too late."
"No."
The reply came from Kael—firm, resolute, and without the slightest hesitation.
Garrick frowned at his leader. "Why not?"
Kael rose slowly to his feet, his movements calm yet carrying immense authority. His gaze shifted to the world map spread before him, settling exactly upon that tiny mark: Hougwe.
"Because we will not kill him," he said quietly but clearly. "We will go to him. And we will protect him."
Everyone in the chamber fell silent. Even Orion, who had just returned from the village, looked taken aback by the decision.
Garrick furrowed his brow even deeper. "Protect him? The boy who is said to be a potential vessel for the Destroyer?"
"Precisely," Kael replied firmly. "That is exactly why we must protect him."
Silence once again filled the room. The answer raised far more questions than it resolved. Yet no one dared to argue.
For if Kael had reached such a bold and risky decision, it meant there was something the others did not yet know. Something far greater, far more terrifying, than the mere existence of the Destroyer itself.
Lyra walked toward the far corner of the room, where shelves of books and archival boxes rarely opened stood. She pulled out an old chest made of hard, thick wood, heavy with age.
When she lifted the lid, fine dust swirled into the air. One by one, the ancient locks were undone, revealing its contents: a document so old it was nearly crumbling away.
The paper felt incredibly fragile, much of the ink had faded, and large portions appeared to have been deliberately erased from history.
Lyra opened it with the utmost care, as if holding something both priceless and dangerous. All eyes watched closely.
On the last remaining page, a few faint words could still be deciphered. The ancient script read:
"The Last Heir of…"
The sentence cut off abruptly. The rest had been torn away and lost completely. There was no continuation, no name, no clue—only a blank space staring back at anyone who read it.
Garrick muttered a curse under his breath. "Who dared tear away the most important part?"
Lyra shook her head gently. "Perhaps someone who did not wish the world to know the answer."
Kael stared at the broken sentence for a long time. A very long time. As if trying to pierce through the veil of time and read what was meant to be written there.
Then he closed the document slowly, as if afraid to touch memories that were too old and too painful.
The candle flames flickered gently, stirred by the cold wind seeping through cracks in the stonework.
Kael stood tall at the head of the table, his shadow stretching long across the wall behind him. His eyes met each member of The Hidden Order in turn, before finally resting upon Orion.
"You were the one who discovered his trail," he said.
Orion nodded respectfully. "That is correct."
"Then you shall lead this journey. Go to Hougwe. Find the boy."
Orion bowed his head, accepting the duty. "And once I find him, what shall I do?"
For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty crossed Kael's eyes—only for a brief moment, but clear enough for all to see. Then he spoke, his voice quiet yet unwavering—words that instantly silenced the entire room.
"Find the boy. No matter what happens."
Garrick asked, "What if the royal court moves first and reaches him before we do?"
Kael answered without hesitation. "Then we shall get there before them."
"And if our old enemies begin to stir once more?"
"We will still find him."
"And if all those ancient legends turn out to be true?"
Kael looked at the drawing of the red-and-blue eye symbol etched upon the old document. Then he spoke softly, almost as if whispering only to himself.
"Especially if all those legends turn out to be true."
Silence settled over the entire chamber. Outside, upon those forgotten mountains, snowflakes began to fall gently, covering the ground and stones in a white blanket.
And far away, in the small village of Hougwe… Edward Briar lay fast asleep, unaware that on this very same night, an ancient order that had hidden itself for centuries had finally made its great decision. They were coming for him—not to kill him, not to capture him, but because they believed the fate of the entire world might rest in the hands of an orphan boy who did not yet understand who he truly was.
And from the darkness of history long buried and forgotten… the wheels of fate began to turn faster than ever before.
Night descended slowly over the village of Hougwe. One by one, oil lamps were lit in every home, casting a soft golden glow that illuminated the dusty streets.
The air hummed with the chirping of crickets, weaving the familiar rhythm of the night. From a distance, the laughter and chatter of the orphanage children could still be heard—they were reluctant to go to sleep, as if unwilling to let the day come to an end.
At first glance, everything seemed normal. Peaceful. Calm. Just as it had been before the terrible event that destroyed the Hall of Awakening several weeks earlier. But Edward knew better. It was nothing more than an illusion.
For every time he walked through the village streets, those looks remained. Looks filled with fear, suspicion, and distance—making him feel like a stranger in the place he had always called home.
That night, Edward lay on his bed, staring up at the dimly lit ceiling, faintly illuminated by moonlight seeping through the cracks in the window.
Alice was fast asleep in the next room, and the laughter and banter of Thomas and Alex had long since faded, swallowed by the quiet of the night.
The orphanage had fallen completely silent, yet Edward's mind felt louder than ever.
Strange dreams continued to haunt him; faint voices called his name; unfamiliar words spun endlessly through his thoughts—Destrover, Equilibris, Heir—all tangled together, stirring a confusion and unease he could not easily explain.
Edward turned over, squeezing his eyes shut tightly as he tried to force himself to sleep. One minute passed. Five. Ten.
Yet his mind remained wide awake, his thoughts drifting here and there. At last, he let out a long breath, slowly sitting up on the edge of his bed and murmuring softly, "I think I've even forgotten what it feels like to sleep soundly."
He stood up, pulled on a thin jacket, and stepped out of his room. The orphanage corridor was dark and quiet, lit only by moonlight filtering through the small windows.
As he passed the main hall, his gaze fell on Silvia, fast asleep in a chair with a thick book still open across her lap.
Edward gave a faint smile. "It seems even Silvia can look this worn out." He had no intention of waking her, and instead stepped quietly outside toward the back of the orphanage—toward the place that had always been his refuge since childhood.
An ancient tree stood firmly atop a small hill. This was where he would sit whenever his heart was heavy, when he was angry, confused, or simply when he wanted to be alone and find his peace.
The night wind greeted him at once—cold, yet usually soothing. But for some reason, he felt no calm that evening. A strange premonition settled over him, as if something was waiting there.
Edward climbed the hill slowly, his steps light but cautious. Before he could reach the old tree, his footsteps suddenly halted. His heart began to beat faster than usual.
Someone was already there.
Standing perfectly still beneath the tree's wide canopy, their back turned to Edward as if they had been waiting for a very long time.
Their silhouette was clear in the moonlight: clad in a long black cloak that covered nearly their entire body, tall, with dark hair stirred gently by the night breeze.
Instinctively, Edward tensed. His hand moved quickly to grip the sword-shaped pendant around his neck—the only thing he had carried with him since he was a small boy.
"Who are you?" he asked firmly.
The man did not answer. He remained where he stood, his gaze fixed far in the distance toward the faint outline of the village below.
Edward took a step back, trying to sense the flow of mana that usually radiated from all living beings. Strangely, he felt nothing. Nothing at all. It was as if the man was not truly there.
And that was exactly what made Edward even more alert. For even Altheon, with all his great power, still radiated a mana that could be clearly felt. But this man… there was nothing.
Silence stretched for what felt like an eternity. Then, slowly—very slowly—the cloaked figure turned to face Edward. His face was still hidden in the shadow of his hood, but Edward could see a pair of sharp eyes watching him closely—observing, studying, as if trying to confirm something of great importance.
And for some reason, that gaze made Edward feel uneasy. Not because it held hatred or murderous intent, but because it looked exactly like the gaze of someone who had finally found something they had long searched for and lost.
The night wind blew gently, making the leaves of the old tree sway and rustle softly. Yet neither of them moved. Edward stood his ground carefully, while the cloaked man remained utterly calm—so calm it seemed as if time itself moved slower around him.
At last, the man spoke. His voice was deep and resonant, yet soft, and somehow sounded far older than his appearance suggested.
"Edward Briar?"
Edward frowned in surprise. "How do you know my name?"
The man did not answer immediately. He simply waited in silence, as if wanting to confirm Edward's identity first. Several seconds passed, until Edward finally nodded slowly. "Yes. I am Edward."
For the first time, a faint smile touched the corner of the cloaked man's lips. It was not mocking, nor triumphant—it was the smile of someone who had finally found the answer to a long-unanswered question.
"So it truly is you."
Edward grew more confused. "What do you mean?"
The man walked slowly around him, making no threatening movements, showing no sign of attack, yet his eyes never left Edward—scanning him from head to toe and making him feel increasingly uneasy.
"I only wished to confirm one thing," he replied softly.
"Confirm what?"
"That all the rumors are true."
Edward clenched his fists tightly. "What rumors are you talking about?"
The cloaked man chuckled faintly. "There are many stories circulating. About the Hall of Awakening being destroyed. About the Awakening Ritual that failed. About a boy who is said to bring disaster to this village."
The last sentence struck him right in the chest, making it feel tight as if weighed down by something heavy. The man watched the change in Edward's expression, then spoke with a tone filled with curiosity. "How interesting."
"What is interesting?"
"Your eyes."
Edward frowned in confusion. "My eyes?"
The man nodded firmly. "They are exactly the same."
"The same as who?"
But this time, the cloaked man did not answer. He simply stared at Edward's face for a long moment, as if comparing him to someone from the distant past—someone Edward had never known or heard of.
The cloaked man stepped forward, drawing closer little by little. One step. Two steps. Three.
Edward readied himself fully. "I do not appreciate strangers coming in the middle of the night and speaking in riddles."
The man laughed softly at his words. "It seems not much has changed about you."
"What do you mean?"
But before the man could reply, something unexpected happened.
The sword-shaped pendant around Edward's neck began to vibrate violently. Edward froze. He recognized that sensation—he had felt it a few nights before, but this time it was far stronger, far more alive.
A silvery-white light began to emanate from the pendant. At first only a tiny speck, it grew steadily larger, brighter, and more powerful, until it illuminated the entire area beneath the old tree with a soft yet dazzling glow.
"What is this—?!"
Edward grabbed the pendant with both hands, yet the light only expanded further, spreading all around him.
The cloaked man stopped in his tracks. His entire body went rigid. His expression—until now so calm and composed—shifted drastically. His eyes widened, filled with disbelief—utter disbelief. For the first time, Edward saw genuine shock in the mysterious man's face.
He stared at the pendant without blinking, as if looking upon something impossible—something that should have vanished from the world long ago. His lips moved faintly, almost in a whisper only he could hear.
"Impossible…"
Edward swallowed hard, feeling even more confused and wary. "What is impossible?"
The man did not reply. His gaze remained fixed on the glowing pendant. Then slowly—very slowly—he whispered again, even more quietly, yet heavy with profound astonishment.
"It truly still exists…"
And at that very moment—
BOOOOOOM!
A wave of golden magic erupted from directly behind Edward. The ground across the hill shook violently, as if struck by a minor earthquake.
The lush grass covering the slope was instantly flattened and pressed flat, as if battered by a fierce storm. The air grew so heavy that it became difficult to breathe—even to move one's body.
Even Edward, standing some distance from the source of this immense power, felt the overwhelming pressure bearing down upon him, making his chest feel tight and constricted.
He spun around quickly, and instantly froze in place.
Standing atop the hill was Grandmaster Altheon. His white robes billowed in the wind stirred by the burst of energy, while dozens of magical symbols—glowing golden runes—circled slowly but powerfully around his form.
His eyes, usually so calm, wise, and gentle, now burned with sharp vigilance. More than that, a deep, suppressed anger lingered beneath his gaze.
This was the first time Edward had ever seen such an expression on the face of the old man he had long regarded as his teacher and protector.
"Grandmaster…" Edward whispered softly.
Altheon stepped forward, each stride heavy yet firm and steady. With every footfall upon the earth, the floating runes flared brighter, casting a blinding radiance. His gaze never wavered from the cloaked figure—not even for a fraction of a second.
"Step away from him," he commanded, his voice as cold as the ice that clings to mountain peaks.
The man in black offered a faint smile, its meaning difficult to decipher. "I was merely speaking with him."
"One like you does not come to Hougwe merely to speak," Altheon replied sharply.
"Hougwe is not within your domain," the man countered calmly.
"That is true," Altheon agreed, raising one hand into the air. "But this boy is my responsibility."
Silence settled over the clearing. The night wind blew gently, yet the atmosphere was taut and heavy—like the eerie stillness that precedes a devastating storm.
The cloaked man tilted his head slightly, as if observing and studying Altheon with great care. Then that faint smile returned to his lips.
"So you still live, Last Guardian of the Hall of Awakening."
Altheon's gaze turned sharp as a blade. "So you know who I truly am."
"I know far more than you can imagine," the man replied calmly.
BOOM!
In an instant, the golden magical energy surged dramatically. The ground beneath Altheon's feet began to crack and split, and hundreds of glowing golden runes filled the entire night sky, shining as bright as stars fallen to earth.
Edward instinctively stumbled back several steps; his instincts screamed loudly within his mind: Danger. Great danger.
But before anyone could move, another voice cut through the silence from behind.
"And you have chosen a very poor place to show yourself."
Edward turned quickly. Silvia was running toward them, her steps light but swift, her short sword already gripped firmly in her right hand.
A soft yet piercing aura of pale blue light surrounded her entire body, while her eyes burned with intense alertness.
She immediately positioned herself beside Edward, stepping slightly forward as if to act as a shield ready to protect him from any threat.
"Silvia…"
"Return to the orphanage immediately," she ordered firmly.
"What?"
"Do it now."
"But—"
"Edward."
Just one call of his name in that tone, and Edward fell silent. He knew well that Silvia would never speak with such severity unless the situation was truly dire.
The cloaked man observed them both, then chuckled softly. "How interesting." His gaze then shifted, fixing directly upon Silvia. "So you also still live."
Silvia frowned. "Do we know one another?"
"Perhaps," the man replied vaguely.
"Answer my question," Silvia pressed.
But the man only offered that faint smile, giving no answer at all. And it was precisely this silence that made Silvia feel even more wary.
Altheon did not wait any longer. He raised his staff, and in an instant, the hundreds of floating golden runes converged into a single formation, forming a massive magic circle that rotated slowly yet radiated terrifying power.
"Sky Binding," he intoned in a deep, heavy voice.
WHOOOOSHHH!
From the ground surrounding the cloaked man, hundreds of chains made of pure golden light shot upward.
Each link was as thick as a grown man's arm, etched with ancient symbols that glowed brightly. They darted forward from every direction—front, sides, above, and below—sealing off every possible path of escape. They moved so fast that Edward's eyes could barely track them.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
But then something impossible happened.
The cloaked man simply raised his right hand calmly. Then—
CRAAACK!
The space before him seemed to split open, just like thick glass struck by a heavy object. The cracks spread rapidly, forming dark, bottomless fissures.
The golden chains of light, moving at full speed, struck those rifts and vanished instantly, as if swallowed by another dimension.
Edward's eyes widened in disbelief. "What in the world…?!"
Silvia also looked stunned by what she had just witnessed. Even Altheon, usually so composed, furrowed his brow and whispered softly: "Space Magic…"
The cloaked man lowered his hand slowly. "So you still remember it."
"There are very few mages left in this world who still master space magic," Altheon said.
"Indeed," the man replied with a broadening smile. "That is precisely what makes me special."
BOOM!
Without waiting for any further command, Silvia moved. Her form seemed to vanish from where she stood in the blink of an eye.
All Edward could catch was a flash of blue light moving with incredible speed. One moment Silvia was standing beside him; the next, she appeared directly behind the cloaked man.
"Moon Step!"
It was a high-level movement technique, a signature skill of the Guardians. Silvia's body moved lightly and swiftly, like moonlight dancing upon the surface of water—difficult to see, impossible to predict.
SWISH!
Her sword swept directly toward the man's neck. Yet with astonishing calmness, the cloaked figure merely tilted his head slightly, causing the blade to miss by mere inches.
Silvia did not relent. She launched into a relentless barrage of attacks: one strike, two, five, ten, until fifteen rapid blows in succession.
Her sword became a blur of blue light, almost invisible to the eye, and every swing released sharp, crescent-shaped waves of energy.
"Rain of Moon Fangs!"
SHING! SHING! SHING!
Dozens of razor-sharp energy blades shot forth simultaneously from all directions, surrounding their target and ensuring no opening remained for escape.
BOOOOOM!
A massive explosion shook the entire hill. Dust and shards of stone were thrown into the air, obscuring the view. Edward held his breath tightly, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.
But as the smoke and dust slowly cleared, the cloaked man still stood tall and unshaken. Not a single wound marred his body; there was not even the slightest scratch.
The only visible sign of the attack was a small tear at the hem of his cloak, caught by the edge of the energy strike.
Silvia froze in place, her eyes wide with disbelief. "That cannot be…"
The cloaked man glanced at the torn edge of his garment, then spoke in a casual tone as if nothing dangerous had just occurred. "You are far stronger than I anticipated."
The words sounded like praise, yet they also felt like an insult. For all the fierce power Silvia had unleashed had only managed to tear a small hole in his clothing.
Altheon took one step forward. For the first time, his expression turned completely serious, leaving no room for hesitation or restraint.
"Silvia, fall back," he commanded, short and sharp.
Silvia immediately leaped backward with agility, understanding full well what her teacher intended to do.
The night sky above the hill slowly began to change. Dark clouds swirled rapidly, and hundreds—even thousands—of golden runes filled the entire heavens, glowing brighter and brighter.
The magical energy surrounding them surged upward with such intensity that it raised the hair on the back of one's neck.
Edward could feel the vibration of that power deep within his very bones. This was the first time he had witnessed the full might of a Grandmaster.
"Judgment of the Sun."
The night sky seemed to split open. A blinding golden light descended from above—not as a single pillar, but as seven massive beams, each as wide as a tall tower, striking directly where the cloaked man stood.
BOOOOOOOOMMM!!!
The entire hill trembled violently as if it were about to crumble. The ground shattered and split apart, ancient trees were uprooted by the sheer force of the impact, and the light from the explosion illuminated every corner of Hougwe.
The villagers awoke in terror, some shouting in alarm, believing a terrible monster had attacked their home.
Edward covered his face with both hands; the light was too brilliant to look upon directly, and the pressure too great to bear.
When the light finally faded and vanished, a large crater was revealed in the center of the hill. Yet—
The cloaked man still stood tall. This time, however, his breathing was slightly heavier, and a small cut was visible upon his left cheek. A single drop of fresh red blood slowly trickled down his skin.
Altheon stood motionless. Silvia stared in utter disbelief. Even Edward, who knew little about the intricacies of magic, could find no words to speak.
This man had endured the most powerful spell of a Grandmaster directly, yet still remained standing.
The cloaked man raised his index finger, touched the small wound on his cheek, and looked at the drop of blood upon his fingertip. Then he chuckled softly, his voice tinged with both admiration and distant memory.
"It has been a very long time since I last suffered an injury like this."
Altheon immediately realized one crucial truth: they would not capture this man tonight. Not this night.
And it seemed the cloaked man also had no intention of prolonging the battle any further. His goal had been achieved.
He had seen Edward with his own eyes, had seen the pendant resting around the boy's neck, and had obtained the answers he had long sought.
"This is far enough," he said calmly.
His form slowly began to dissolve into thick, dark mist. Black clouds rose from beneath his feet, gradually enveloping his entire body.
Silvia quickly realized what was happening. "He is escaping using teleportation magic!"
"Everyone, stand back!" Altheon shouted in warning.
But it was already too late. The dark mist slowly swallowed the cloaked figure. Edward watched, holding his breath. Yet just before he vanished completely, the man turned his head and looked directly at Edward.
His gaze was strange—filled not with hatred or threat, but with a hope that had been buried for many years, as if he had long awaited this very moment.
"We shall meet again," he said softly but clearly.
Edward clenched his fists tightly. "Who are you, truly?!"
The man offered a faint smile, then spoke a single word that made Edward's heart skip a beat.
"The Heir."
WHOOSH!
In an instant, the figure vanished completely, leaving the clearing once again wrapped in deep silence.
Edward immediately turned and looked at Altheon, his eyes filled with questions. "What did he mean by that?!"
Altheon remained silent, offering no reply.
"Grandmaster!" Edward called, a little louder.
Still there was no answer.
"Why did he call me the Heir? What does it mean?!"
Silvia also looked toward Altheon, waiting for an explanation that might clear the confusion for both of them. But the old man's face grew even paler, as if the word just spoken was far more dangerous and terrifying than the name of the Destroyer that so many feared.
"Altheon!" For the first time, Edward raised his voice, overcome with frustration and confusion. "I have the right to know the truth about myself!"
Silence stretched for what felt like an eternity. Finally, Altheon let out a long, heavy sigh, burdened with deep weariness.
"I cannot answer you," he said softly.
"What?!"
"Because I myself do not know all the answers to that question."
Edward froze in place. If even Altheon—a Grandmaster with vast knowledge of history and magic—did not know the truth… just how great and complex was the mystery surrounding him?
Far away, beyond the borders of all known kingdoms, amid towering mountains that did not appear on any map, stood an ancient fortress, hidden deep behind thick, perpetual mist.
Within its great hall, thousands of candles illuminated stone walls carved with ancient inscriptions. Dozens of figures in robes gathered in silence, waiting with a mixture of hope and tension.
The great doors at the far end of the hall slowly opened. The cloaked man who had just met Edward stepped inside. Everyone present immediately stood up straight, showing deep respect.
At the head of the room, seated upon a throne carved from black stone, sat a leader whose face was completely hidden in shadow.
"And?" a deep, aged voice echoed throughout the chamber.
The cloaked man knelt respectfully, his head bowed low. "I have confirmed it with my own eyes."
The hall fell instantly into utter silence.
"Confirmed what?"
The man raised his head, his eyes shining with unshakable certainty. "The pendant is genuine."
Several of those present gasped in surprise, and whispers broke the silence.
"What? Truly?"
"It cannot be…"
"After a thousand years have passed…"
Their leader slowly rose to his feet. "And the boy?"
The cloaked man took a deep breath, then answered in a firm, resolute voice.
"He is indeed the Last Heir."
A profound silence settled over the entire hall. No one dared to utter a single word. For everyone present understood exactly what those words meant.
If what they had sought for a thousand years had finally been found… then the history of this world was about to change forever.
And far away, unaware of these great events unfolding, Edward Briar simply stared up at the dark night sky.
He did not yet realize that from this night onward, he was no longer merely a boy seen as a possible vessel for dark power. Instead, he had become the center of a great secret that had been buried for a thousand years.