Present time.
Eiden remained on the couch, his shoulders slouched under the weight of centuries, his eyes fixed on the empty space of his lap. The room was drowning in a dim, heavy twilight, illuminated only by drifting strands of white mana that floated through the air like slow-falling snow. The silence wasn't peaceful; it was thick and expectant, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.
Then—the rhythm of boots.
Soft at first, then sharpening into a measured, confident stride. Selyndra stepped into the frame of the doorway.
Her pale skin caught the stray mana-light, glowing with a soft, ethereal luminescence. Her black hair flowed behind her like a river of ink, brushing against the dark fur coat draped over her shoulders. The gold embroidery on her shimmering black dress caught the light with every step.
"Hey, Eiden," she said gently.
She walked past him to the window, pausing to look out at the silvered landscape. Outside, the full moon hung low and swollen, bathing the white trees in a ghostly, luminous glow. She turned back and sank into the couch across from him, folding one leg over the other with effortless grace.
"Your mother says you arrived six hours ago," she said, her voice a soft probe. "And that you've been sitting in this exact spot the entire time."
Eiden didn't respond. He didn't look up. He didn't even seem to breathe.
Selyndra exhaled a soft, weary breath. "Could you at least look at me? You haven't seen my face in years, Eiden."
Slowly—reluctantly—Eiden lifted his head.
His grey eyes met her blue ones, a collision of storm and sea for the first time in centuries. He reached up and scratched the side of his neck, his gaze already drifting back toward the shadows.
"Was just… thinking," he muttered.
Selyndra nodded slowly. "Mmm..."
A heavy silence settled between them. It wasn't awkward, but it was weighted—the kind of silence where every word is weighed for its cost before it is spoken.
"Eiden… when are you going to stop this?" Her voice was quiet, but the raw worry beneath it was a sharp edge. "I worry about you. When I heard you'd started working with that Titan… I thought you'd finally lost your mind."
She leaned forward, her presence pressing into his space. "What was the reason? Why join them? I need to understand."
Eiden let out a long, ragged exhale. "My mother always told me I was weak," he began, his voice hollow. "When I turned eighteen and left this place, I was obsessed with proving her wrong. I sought strength through blood—continuous battles, over and over."
His eyes tracked a stray mote of mana on the floor. "I found Civilar. He was working with a man named Yajin. We became close, and I joined them. Eventually, two others followed. We became a pack. We hunted together."
Selyndra watched him, her expression a mask of quiet contemplation.
"They all had their reasons," Eiden continued. "Civilar wanted a foe that could actually kill him. Yajin just wanted to see the world burn. Reia fought for the Devil King's forces, trying to stop the slaughter of her people. Ou'weii just wanted humanity to stop hunting demons like rabid animals."
He rubbed his thumb against his palm, a nervous, rhythmic motion. "But me? I just wanted to be strong. I wanted to face every skill, every power, and adapt until I was untouchable. And it worked. We eventually hunted the Grand Mage—the legend himself."
Selyndra's eyes widened, a flicker of shock breaking her composure, but she didn't interrupt.
"After we killed him, I found a map on his body. It led to an infinite grimoire. I didn't believe the stories, so I went after it alone. And I found it." His voice softened, tinged with a strange reverence. "It held more spells than I could ever count. Then, I found its secret."
He paused, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "I was resting, the infinite grimoire open on my lap, while I studied a separate text. I set the smaller book down on the open pages of the infinite grimoire to drink some tea. When I looked back… the book was gone."
Selyndra blinked. "Gone?"
"The infinite grimoire had consumed it," Eiden nodded. "New pages had appeared—the exact spells from the other book. I realized I could absorb any magic I found. I grew stronger with every spell I added, every hour I practiced with the others."
He clenched his jaw, the old bitterness returning. "But I come back here, and she still looks at me like I'm that five-month-old child trembling on the floor. She still sees me as weak." He scoffed, a dark, jagged sound. "Just how strong do I have to be for her?"
Selyndra leaned back, crossing her arms. "Maybe she says it to keep you moving. To ensure you never settle. You might already be stronger than her, Eiden, but she uses those words as a whip to keep you ahead of your enemies."
Eiden remained silent.
"I believe you've changed," Selyndra said, her voice turning tender. "But you won't find peace on this path. Not with the blood on your hands."
Eiden nodded slowly, a somber realization settling over him. "I know. And I plan to change it. It's just… it's going to take time. I have to untangle myself from what I've built. But I will. Believe me."
Selyndra's eyes softened, a warmth returning to her face. "Okay. I believe you. Just… don't die before you get the chance."
She stood up and began to walk toward the hall, her boots clicking softly. At the doorway, she paused. "And Eiden… visit Aurelienne. She's been worried sick."
Then she was gone, her footsteps fading into the cold stone of the castle.
The Next Morning.
Eiden was back on the dirt road, the dust of the path rising to meet his boots as he headed toward the Ironcrest Clan.
He was close, but the miles felt long. He walked for hours until his legs turned to lead and his eyelids grew heavy with a bone-deep exhaustion. Eventually, he surrendered, wrapping his cloak around himself beneath a sprawling tree and slipping into a dreamless sleep.
When he woke, the sun was high. Only a few days remained before the scheduled attack. He scrambled to his feet and pushed forward, his body aching with every stride. He stopped once more for a brief rest, but when he woke, the afternoon sun was already beginning its descent.
Cursing under his breath, he sprinted.
As the sky caught fire with the orange glow of sunset, the Ironcrest village finally appeared.
Wooden houses lined the road, their beams carved with the intricate black-and-grey patterns of the clan. Smoke drifted lazily from the chimneys, and the air was thick with the scent of pine needles and damp earth. Elves in matching robes moved with the calm, steady rhythm of a people who felt safe in their isolation—tending gardens, repairing fences, and watching children play in the cooling dust.
As Eiden entered, the rhythm faltered. The whispers started immediately.
"That's him… the Whitecrest's mad son."
"Why is he here? Is he bringing destruction to our doors next?"
"Look, Civilar isn't with him. Maybe he's alone."
The murmurs followed him like a bad smell. Then, a blur of motion broke the tension.
Aurelienne.
Her black robes trailed behind her like a shadow as she sprinted toward him, her long golden hair catching the dying sunlight. She didn't slow down. She launched herself at him, her arms locking around his neck as she buried her face in his chest. Her feet dangled in the air.
"Thank the gods," she whispered, her voice muffled against his cloak. "You actually came."
Eiden caught her, his arm wrapping around her waist for support. He lowered himself to one knee so she could find her footing again.
She stepped back, her golden eyes scanning him for wounds or weariness. "You look absolutely ruffled," she said, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. "C'mon."
She grabbed his arm with a firm, familiar grip and pulled him toward a small, secluded cabin. She tugged him inside and closed the door, shutting out the whispers of the world.