Prologue: The White-Haired Curated Lie
A cold, absolute mist clung to the valleys of Kurnov, swallowing the small nation in a suffocating shroud. Through the dense fog, the rhythmic hoot of a distant owl offered the only sign of life, save for the lazy spirals of ash-gray smoke curling from the chimney of a solitary, weathered bungalow.
Inside, the atmosphere was entirely detached from the bleakness of the exterior.
A small boy, no older than seven, pressed his forehead against the chilled glass of the windowpane. His stark white hair and deep, crimson eyes caught the ambient firelight, casting an ethereal silhouette against the glass. He exhaled a soft, heavy sigh that fogged the view.
"Huh? Mother, when is the rain going to stop?" he asked, turning his gaze toward the kitchen hearth.
A few meters away, a woman stirred a simmering iron pot. She was striking—possessing the exact same cascading silver-white hair and deep, blood-red eyes. She wore simple, faded casual clothes that did little to hide a strange, subtle grace.
"Soon, Leon dear. Soon," she replied softly, setting a heavy wooden lid over the pot to trap the steam.
The boy—Leornars—leaped from the worn fabric of the sofa, his bare feet hitting the wooden floorboards. He folded his arms, pouting with the dramatic weight only a child could muster. "'Soon' could mean tomorrow… or the day after… or even a year from now!"
Frustrated by his own energy, he snatched a wooden cup from the table, gulped the water down in a single breath, and slammed it back down.
"Exactly," his mother countered, a knowing, gently teasing smile gracing her lips. She wiped her hands on an apron, turning her full attention to him. "Why are you in such a massive rush, anyway?"
"Well… tomorrow is the academy trip to Auturia!" Leornars beamed, practically vibrating with excitement as he bounded over to her.
"Auturia?" She tilted her head, her expression softening into something nostalgic. "Ah. The Land of Endless Water."
"Yes! And the best part?" Leornars grinned mischievously, looking up at her. "No parents allowed. Strictly forbidden. Those are the rules."
"I know, I know," she chuckled, her musical laughter filling the warm room.
As the evening light finally died beneath the horizon, she guided him to his small bedroom, tucking the heavy wool blanket tightly around his shoulders. She brushed a stray strand of silver hair from his forehead.
"Goodnight, Leon dear," she whispered tenderly.
"Night, Mother…" Leornars mumbled, already half-claimed by sleep.
She stood over him for a long moment, her smile slowly fading into a look of profound, aching melancholy. Then, slipping out of the room, she clicked the door shut with absolute silence.
## **Chapter 1: The Stain of Crimson**
The next morning was nothing short of an absolute catastrophe.
"Mother! I can't find my socks! The carriage is going to leave without me!" Leornars screamed.
He bolted out of his bedroom like a stray firework, wearing a single sock, holding one leather shoe, and trailing an unbuttoned shirt behind him.
"How am I supposed to know where you left them this time?" his mother called back from the hallway, already dropping to her knees to check beneath the heavy oak dressers.
For three minutes, the house was a storm of rustling fabric and clattering furniture until she finally emerged from the pantry. "Found it!" she called out, tossing the rogue garment into his face.
Leornars jammed his foot into the sock, forced his shoes on, grabbed his canvas backpack, and bolted straight through the front door without a backward glance.
His mother leaned against the doorframe, catching her breath as she surveyed the utter disaster her son had left in his wake. Then, her eyes fell upon a small, wooden shelf near the mirror. Her heart skipped a beat.
The shelf was empty.
The color instantly drained from her face. Panic, sharp and paralyzing, gripped her chest.
"LEORNARS! LEORNARS, STOP!"
She sprinted out of the house, her bare feet tearing across the gravel road.
Halfway down the dirt path leading toward the village square, Leornars skidded to a halt, hearing his mother's frantic, echoing cries. He turned around, confused. "Mother—?"
He didn't see the shadow shifting in the treeline behind him.
A rugged man dressed in dark, worn leather stepped out from the brush. A massive hunting bow was drawn tight in his grip, the iron tip of the arrow notched and aimed squarely at the center of Leornars' exposed back. The string hummed, milliseconds away from release.
*Thwack!*
A silver flash cut through the morning mist. A slender hunting knife tore through the air, burying itself deeply into the archer's throat before he could release the tension. The man let out a wet, choked gasp, dropping his bow as he collapsed forward into the dirt, twitching violently before going still.
Leornars froze. His breath hitched in his throat, his eyes wide and trembling as he stared at the fresh corpse bleeding onto the road.
Footsteps approached rapidly. His mother skidded to a halt beside him, her breathing ragged. In her hand, she clutched a small, intricately carved glass vial containing a dense, unnaturally dark blue liquid.
"How many times must I tell you?!" she scolded, her voice cracking with a volatile mix of absolute terror and fury. "Never. Ever. Leave the house without your dye!"
"I'm sorry, Mother… I forgot, I just—I won't do it again," Leornars whispered, tears welling in his crimson eyes as the reality of the dead man sank in.
Her anger evaporated, replaced by a weary, protective sorrow. She unstoppered the vial and poured the thick fluid directly onto his head. With practiced, frantic motions, she massaged the liquid through his stark white hair.
As the chemical reacted, the brilliant white strands darkened, absorbing the pigments until his hair was a dull, ordinary, unnoticeable black.
"Now go. Enjoy your trip," she whispered, capping the vial and shoving it deep into his backpack. She gripped his shoulders tightly. "Just… remember. Avoid the water. Do not let your head get wet."
"I promise, Mother!" Leornars nodded fiercely, wiping his eyes. He turned and sprinted down the road toward the academy carriage, desperate to escape the shadow of death behind him.
Emalian Seers Avantris watched her son until his small figure vanished beyond the hill. The warmth in her eyes died instantly. She turned to the dead hunter, her expression turning into a mask of cold indifference.
"Almost forgot about you," she muttered under her breath.
Gripping the dead man by his leather collar, she dragged his heavy corpse down the embankment to the rushing river, rolling him into the churning depths. The dark current swallowed him whole, carrying the evidence away into the wilderness.
She stared at the water, her hands trembling slightly. *How much longer?* she wondered silently. *How many years until he is strong enough to survive this world?*
## **Chapter 2: The Paradise of Fools**
That evening, the world seemed to return to its peaceful illusion.
Leornars came sprinting down the path, the sunset casting long shadows behind him. His mother was in the back garden, hanging the last of the wash to dry beneath the fading light.
"Leon?" she called out, a soft smile returning to her face as she saw him running toward her with an unburdened, brilliant smile.
Tonight was supposed to be a sacred night.
Inside the small, dark bungalow, the lights suddenly flickered and went out. Leornars stood in the center of the living room, waiting. From the kitchen, Emalian stepped out, her face illuminated by the flickering, warm glow of a single candle.
In her hands, she carried a small, homemade frosted cake. Written in neat, crimson icing across the top were the words:
> **Leornars Servs Avantris – 8 Years Old**
>
The young boy's face lit up, the horrors of the morning completely forgotten in the warmth of her gaze.
"Make a wish, Leon," she said gently, holding the cake out to him.
Leornars closed his eyes tightly, inhaling the sweet scent of the vanilla frosting. When he opened them, his crimson eyes bore a fierce, unyielding intensity that belied his age.
"I wish for a world where you can walk freely, Mother. Without fear. Without hiding who we are."
Emalian's breath caught. For a fraction of a second, her expression fractured—a profound, devastating darkness passing over her eyes. But as quickly as it came, she forced it down, pulling a bright, loving smile over her grief.
"Blow out the candle, dear," she whispered.
An hour later, the cake was finished, and Leornars was fast asleep, dreaming of an open sky.
The following morning brought the reality of the village back into sharp focus. Leornars rushed to the academy grounds, immediately converging with his small group of friends—a fiery red-haired boy, a bright blonde girl, and a quiet black-haired boy.
During the mid-day recess, the four of them hung around the rusty iron monkey bars, laughing about their upcoming exams. The peace didn't last. A shadow fell over them as a group of older, larger students marched over, their expressions sneering and malicious.
"Move it, trash. We want to use the bars," the lead bully growled, shoving the black-haired boy backward.
Leornars felt a knot tighten in his stomach. He didn't want trouble. He remembered his mother's warning. "Come on, let's just go somewhere else—"
"No way!" the red-haired boy snapped, stepping forward and spitting directly at the bully's boots.
In an instant, chaos erupted. Shouts turned into shoves, and shoves turned into a frantic, chaotic playground brawl. Leornars couldn't just stand by. Seeing his friend pinned to the dirt, he lunged forward, throwing his small weight into the older boy to tear him away.
"Get off him!" Leornars yelled.
"You little brat!" another older boy roared. Reaching into his satchel, he pulled out a heavy canteen meant for the heat, unscrewed the cap, and hurled the contents with a malicious laugh.
A torrent of cold, clear well water splashed squarely over Leornars' head.
Time seemed to slow to an absolute crawl. The water drenched his scalp, running down his face and dripping onto his collar.
And with it, the dark blue dye dissolved.
Like blood bleeding into a river, the artificial black pigment washed away, exposing the blinding, snowy-white roots beneath. The silver-white strands shimmered under the afternoon sun, unmistakable. Accursed.
Panic—pure, unadulterated terror—struck Leornars like a physical blow. He didn't look back. He didn't check to see who was watching. He turned and sprinted toward the academy building, tears blurring his vision as he slammed through the heavy doors and locked himself inside the lavatory.
With shaking hands, he tore open his backpack, grabbed the glass vial, and desperately reapplied the dye, rubbing it into his hair until his reflection showed a dull, uneven black once more.
"It's fine… it's fine… nobody saw," he whimpered, pressing his back against the cold tile wall, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
But when he finally stepped back into the hallways for afternoon classes, the world had changed.
His friends wouldn't look him in the eye. When he tried to sit at their bench, they quietly gathered their books and moved to the far side of the room. The other students shrank away from him, whispering behind raised hands, their eyes filled with sudden, cold revulsion.
The bell for dismissal hadn't even rung when Leornars crept near the faculty lounge, looking for an escape. Through the cracked wooden door, the hushed, frantic voices of two instructors drifted out.
*"…The townsfolk finally caught her in the western clearing."*
*"The white-haired witch? I knew she was hiding here. They're purifying the grounds now… she won't survive the hour."*
Leornars felt the ground drop out from beneath him.
He didn't think. He didn't grab his bag. He simply burst through the academy doors and ran.
## **Chapter 3: The Ash of Kurnov**
He ran until his lungs screamed for oxygen. He tore through the cobblestone streets, bypassing the market, and dove straight into the dense forest paths leading toward his home.
Then, he smelled it. The acrid, heavy scent of burning wood and scorched earth.
"No… please, no…" he gasped, his vision swimming as he pushed through the tearing briars.
When he broke through the final treeline into the clearing, the world he knew was gone.
The humble bungalow was fully engulfed in roaring, violent orange flames, the roof collapsing inward with a shower of deadly sparks. And there, in the center of the dirt yard, slumped amidst the ash and smoke, was his mother. Her silver hair was matted with dark, viscous blood, her body covered in deep, jagged lacerations.
"MOTHER!" Leornars screamed, a sound of pure agony tearing from his throat as he threw himself to the ground beside her.
Emalian's eyelids fluttered, heavy and weak. She looked up at him through a haze of pain, her voice barely a whisper. "Leornars… aren't you… supposed to be in school, silly boy? Let me see your hair…"
"What happened?! Who did this to you?!" he wept, his hands hovering over her wounds, terrified that touching her would cause more pain.
"They're hunters, Leon…" she coughed, blood staining her lips. "They kill our kind. It's what they do."
"I know! I know, but why now? We were safe!"
She reached up with agonizing slowness, placing a blood-stained, trembling hand against his cheek. Her thumb stroked his skin. "Listen to me, my darling boy. I may not have given birth to you… I may not be your biological mother… but you… you will always be my son."
Leornars collapsed against her chest, burying his face in her shoulder, his body shaking with violent, uncontrollable sobs. "I don't care! Even if you aren't… you're my mother! You're the only one I have!"
*Crunch.*
The heavy thud of a leather boot shattered the moment.
Before Leornars could react, a massive, calloused hand gripped the collar of his shirt and hoisted him into the air, throwing him backward with brutal force. Leornars tumbled through the dirt, his head striking a jagged rock. A sharp pain lanced through his skull, and warm blood began to trickle down his temple.
"Get the hell off the freak, boy," a gruff voice barked.
Leornars blinked through the blood in his eyes. A man stepped forward, reaching down and grabbing Emalian by her silver hair, dragging her broken body across the rough gravel. She let out a sharp, choked scream of agony that cut through Leornars' soul.
Staggering to his feet, Leornars tried to lung forward. "Let her go!"
A heavy leather boot planted itself squarely into his stomach, folding him in half. The force knocked the wind from his lungs, sending him crashing back into the dirt, coughing violently.
"What do we do with the whelp?" one of the men asked, stepping over Leornars' trembling form.
The man dragging Emalian didn't look back. He merely gave a curt, cold nod. "Bring him. Let him watch the purification. It'll be a lesson for any other monsters hiding in the dark."
Two massive town guards stepped forward, pinning Leornars' arms behind his back and lifting him off his feet. He thrashed against their grip, kicking and biting, his voice cracking into a ragged shriek.
"Why are you doing this?! We didn't do anything to you! Why?!"
The guards didn't answer with words. They only laughed—a low, mocking sound that echoed the crackling of his burning home.
Through the haze of pain and blood, Leornars looked at their faces. He recognized them. The baker who gave him extra sweets. The blacksmith who fixed their chimney. The townspeople. His neighbors.
"I'll kill you," Leornars hissed, his teeth gnashing together as a primal, terrifying rage began to stir deep within his small frame. "I'll kill all of you!"
A heavy wooden club swung through his field of vision. It connected squarely with the side of his head, and the world went instantly black.
## **Chapter 4: The Severing of a Soul**
When Leornars next opened his eyes, the world was a blur of torchlight and roaring voices.
His arms were pulled high above his head, bound tightly with rough hemp rope to a massive, splintered wooden pole in the center of the village square. The rough fiber bit into his wrists, cutting off his circulation. He tried to pull away, but his body was entirely drained of strength.
Then, his eyes focused on the center of the platform.
Emalian was tied to a matching post just meters away. She was barely conscious, her clothes torn to shreds, her body a canvas of dark purple bruises and fresh welts from a heavy leather whip.
A tall man stepped forward, raising his hands to silence the massive crowd gathered in the square. It was the village mayor—the father of Sahara, one of Leornars' classmates.
"Citizens of Kurnov!" the mayor's voice bellowed, echoing off the stone buildings. "Today marks our true solitude! Our true freedom! This is the final day this silver-haired witch draws breath upon our sacred soil! Let us rejoice in our permanent liberation from this harbinger of the apocalypse!"
The crowd erupted. The very people Leornars had smiled at just days prior were throwing their fists into the air, their faces twisted into masks of feral, unhinged hatred.
"KILL HER! BURN THE WITCH!" they roared in unison.
The mayor turned toward Emalian, a sadistic, self-righteous grin spreading across his face. He drew a long, gleaming silver blade from his hip, lifting it to his face to slowly lick the flat of the steel, his eyes locked onto the broken woman.
He stepped within striking distance. With a single, swift, practiced motion, the blade flashed through the torchlight.
*Slash.*
Emalian's right hand was severed cleanly at the wrist, dropping into the dirt below. Blood spattered across the wooden platform.
The crowd exploded into deafening cheers, stamping their feet, their eyes wide with bloodlust.
"NO! STOP IT! PLEASE, STOP!" Leornars screamed until his throat tore, coughing up blood as he thrashed against his bonds, his eyes bulging from his skull. "TAKE ME INSTEAD! DON'T TOUCH HER!"
Through the roaring din of the execution, Emalian slowly turned her head toward him. Her vision was failing, but she found his eyes. Through the unimaginable agony, through the blood and the dirt, she forced her lips to form a soft, incredibly gentle smile.
"Live the life you want to live, Leon…" she whispered, her voice carrying across the space between them through sheer force of will. "You will always… be my son."
The mayor raised the sword high above his head, the steel catching the moonlight.
"For Kurnov!" he shouted.
The blade fell.
A clean, horizontal stroke cut through the air.
The silver-haired head detached from her shoulders, rolling slowly across the wooden planks of the stage until it came to a stop just inches from Leornars' bound feet. Her eyes remained open, peaceful, staring up at him even in death.
Inside Leornars, something snapped.
It wasn't a metaphor. It was a physical, violent fracturing of his psyche. The seals on his hidden power groaned under a sudden, catastrophic pressure. A soul-shattering scream tore from his chest—a sound so hollow and filled with pure, unadulterated despair that it briefly drowned out the cheers of the crowd.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
The townspeople paid his agony no mind. Laughing and congratulating the mayor, the crowd slowly began to disperse, leaving the ruined boy alone under the cold moonlight with the remains of the only person who had ever loved him.
Leornars hung from the ropes, his body trembling violently as his dyed hair completely shed its color, returning to a brilliant, terrifying white. His crimson eyes burned with a dark, suffocating light.
"I'll kill you," he whispered, his voice dangerously quiet, vibrating with an unnatural, terrifying depth. "I'll kill every last person in this godforsaken town. All of you… the children, the old, the innocent… I'll murder every single one of you."
A guard marched up the steps,annoyed by the lingering noise, and swung a heavy iron-shod club into Leornars' ribs.
The boy didn't even blink as the bones cracked. He just stared at the guard with those bleeding, crimson eyes until the man shuddered, unnerved.
"Shut up, freak," the guard muttered, quickly cutting the ropes and letting Leornars drop like a stone.
Before he could collapse, they grabbed him by the hair, dragging his broken body down into the freezing, pitch-black depths of the subterranean dungeon, throwing him into a iron cage. The heavy iron door slammed shut, locking Leornars into a dark, silent void where only his hatred could grow.