The world outside the rift was... silent.
Not like the silence of Hell — that was dense, paralyzing, too alive.
This... was light. Empty. Like the pause between two whispers.
Jin took his first step onto the damp grass. His bare feet sank slightly into the cold earth. For a moment, he thought he would sink as he had before — but the ground held firm.
The breeze touched his face.
He shivered.
It was light, simple... but real. So real that his body seemed not to understand.
He closed his eyes slowly.
And Hell returned.
Not with the heat — but with the memory.
Images sliced through his mind like blades: blood boiling between his fingers, screams echoing through endless corridors, suffocating, repetitive illusions peeling away his sanity in layers.
The voices returned — mocking, whispering, commanding.
The smell of burning flesh, footsteps in the dark, the wet sound of bones breaking.
He trembled.
For a moment.
But he didn't scream.
Because, even with his eyes closed... he felt it.
The wind.
The cold of the grass.
The wind slid over the still-open scars, through his disheveled hair, and across every piece of skin that no longer remembered what it was to be touched without pain.
Then the light came.
Timid at first. Then fierce.
The sun broke through the clouds and struck his eyes with violent gold.
Jin squinted.
He raised his left hand to his face, fingers trembling — not from fear, but from surprise.
Light.
True.
After two years... the warmth didn't burn, didn't devour, didn't make him bleed. It was gentle. Alive. Present.
He stood there, still, eyes half-closed. His body still trembling, his chest rising and falling slowly. As if his very soul feared leaving its prison.
But he was out.
Finally.
Jin lifted his face to the sky. His eyes, half-open, teared up from the light he no longer knew.
And for the first time in years... he took a deep breath.
Truly.
The air came in with the scent of pine, wet earth, and distant leaves.
No sulfur.
No burnt flesh.
No hatred.
He closed his eyes.
Felt the sun touch his face.
And allowed the world — the real one — to touch him back.
Behind him, Lyssandrel watched.
She said nothing.
She only looked at him as one might look at a broken newborn and an adult at the same time.
There was pain in her eyes — but also a silent respect.
She knew: even now, with Hell behind him and the sky before him, Jin still carried the weight within.
And yet… he stood.
And yet… he felt.
---
**One week earlier — The capital, Marble Hall**
The Marble Hall was in absolute silence.
King Aserion sat on his elevated throne, hands clasped in front of his face, eyes half-closed.
To his left, Prince Kaeron watched in silence, his expression rigid. To his right, Princess Eriane stood straight, but her restless fingers betrayed her nervousness.
Around them, high-ranking nobles occupied their ornate chairs, but none dared to speak. The air in the room felt heavy, as if the very structure knew the gravity of the moment.
Then, the great door opened with a heavy thud.
A scout entered.
Or rather… stumbled.
Covered in dust, his left arm bloodied and his leg limping, he crossed the hall like a shadow barely stitched to reality.
When he reached the center, he knelt.
His head touched the cold marble with painful reverence.
"Your Majesty…"
His voice was hoarse, rough with dust and fear.
"Report," ordered Aserion, with the firmness of one who already dreads the words to come.
The scout took a deep breath, his chest heaving with effort.
"We found the northern watch group… dead. All of them. No signs of chaotic combat, no mistakes. They were… decimated. With precision."
The king's eyes narrowed.
"Demons?"
The scout nodded, but his face twisted with concern.
"Yes… but… they aren't ordinary demons."
A murmur rippled through the nobles.
Kaeron stepped forward, tense.
"What do you mean by that?"
The scout raised his eyes just enough to meet the prince's gaze.
"They move… in formation. Like soldiers. They… waited. They used tactics. Ambushes. Calculated retreats. Ordered advances."
And then, the sentence that silenced everyone:
"They… obey orders."
Silence fell like a verdict.
Eriane pressed her lips tightly.
One of the generals present stammered:
"Demons are arrogant. Prideful. Savage… They don't follow orders."
The scout replied, now trembling:
"These do. Someone is guiding them."
He pulled a tattered parchment from his waist.
"The last sign left by one of the watchers was this: 'There are more than a thousand… at least a thousand. Several with strength equivalent to A-rank adventurers. Some… S-rank.'"
A chill swept through the hall.
Kaeron clenched his fists.
"This is an invasion."
Eriane whispered, almost unintentionally:
"Or a declared war."
King Aserion remained silent for a few seconds, his eyes fixed on nothing.
Then, he raised his voice with clear authority:
"Send a delegation to Mitivél. And a letter…"
The court stirred.
One of the older nobles, clad in heavy robes and a bitter expression, lowered his head and said, in a tone that almost sounded like criticism:
"We will ask for help from a neighboring kingdom…?"
The king turned slightly toward him.
"Our agreement with Mitivél was clear. They would aid us in times of need. And we would do the same."
The noble held his gaze but didn't respond.
Aserion then concluded:
"That old man may be eccentric… but he's strong enough to help us with this."
The words hung in the air like the start of a march no one wanted to follow.
---
**At the same time, at the capital's gates**
The great iron gates opened, and the group led by Kaellia crossed through.
The sound of merchants' wagons mixed with the weary trotting of horses and the dragging of heavy boots on the stone road. Everyone was exhausted — some with torn clothes, others covered in dried blood. But alive.
And for an escort mission in demon-infested territory, that was already an invaluable victory.
Allan and Lyn, despite visible cuts and fatigue on their faces, kept their weapons in hand as they guided the merchants through the city streets. One by one, the merchants dismounted from the wagons, offering silent thanks, not daring to disturb the hunters who had saved their lives.
Kaellia, on the other hand, dismounted her horse with a muffled groan of pain. Beside her, Saphira removed her hood and wiped the sweat from her face with the back of her hand.
"Straight to the king?" Lyn asked, without looking back.
"Yes," Kaellia replied, already walking toward the palace, not even bothering to change her dust-and-blood-stained armor.
Saphira followed in silence.
The stairs to the Marble Hall felt longer than usual.
The door was ajar, and a scout was leaving, his shoulder bandaged, his face pale, as if he had just escaped a nightmare.
The two paused for a moment upon seeing him. Kaellia glanced at Saphira, and something silent passed between them — the kind of understanding shared after years together.
They entered.
The hall was still thick with tension.
King Aserion remained in his position, unshaken. Kaeron stood with his arms crossed, and Eriane turned as she saw Saphira approach.
Kaellia knelt in the center of the hall, and Saphira gave a brief bow before moving to stand beside the princess.
"I believe we have a serious problem, Your Majesty," Kaellia said, still on one knee, her voice firm despite her exhaustion.
Kaeron let out an ironic sigh, his eyes turning to her.
"More problems? I hope it's a coincidence… but I fear it isn't."
The king made a subtle gesture with his hand, authorizing her report.
Kaellia stood, cleared her throat, and faced the throne with eyes marked by experience.
"Our mission was simple: escort five merchant caravans through a protected route to the capital. We'd heard rumors of demonic activity nearby, but nothing confirmed."
She paused, and her expression hardened.
"We were ambushed four times. Always at critical points. Always at night. Seemingly disorganized… but after a while, we noticed the pattern."
Kaellia ran a hand through her hair, pulling it back with contained frustration.
"They waited for the right moments. They always attacked when the number of lookouts was lowest. Sometimes they let us rest for hours just to catch us off guard. But they never went all the way… When they started losing ground, they retreated. In formation."
An uncomfortable silence settled over the hall.
"Retreated where?" Eriane asked, tense.
Kaellia nodded slowly.
"Always in the same direction. West. The same point where the scout reported the main march…"
Kaeron narrowed his eyes, absorbing the information.
"So it's true. They're not just multiplying… someone is organizing their every move."
The king said nothing for a moment. Then he rose slowly, the sound of his armor echoing in the silent hall.
"What we have… is not just a horde."
He looked at those present, his voice as steady as the stone beneath his feet.
"It's an army."
---
**Present…**
Jin stood motionless, his eyes half-closed, as the wind whispered softly against his skin.
The sunlight hit his face, uncomfortable, almost alien after so long in the cold silence of the rift.
Lyssandrel was by his side, watching him with calm patience.
She finally broke the silence, her voice low, almost a whisper:
"I won't ask you anything. You've been in that hell long enough to relive every moment…"
Jin opened his eyes, staring at the gray horizon.
He didn't respond, only nodded.
Lyssandrel gave a faint smile, sensing how fragile he still was.
"Then it's to Mitivél we go. A nearby kingdom, where you can rest far from the shadows."
Without further words, they began walking down a dusty road that wound through gentle hills.
Jin dragged his feet, heavy, as if each step demanded immense effort.
His body still felt the torment of recovery — a prison of aching muscles and bones.
After a few hours, they spotted a lone merchant leading a wagon loaded with supplies.
As they approached, he looked at them with curiosity.
"To Mitivél?" the merchant asked, his voice strong but friendly. "I can offer you a ride."
Lyssandrel exchanged a quick glance with Jin, who gave a brief nod.
Without resistance, they climbed onto the wagon, which continued its slow journey down the road.
As the road left the forest's shadows behind, the trees grew sparse.
The sky widened above them, clear and blue, until, upon rounding a hill, the world opened before Jin.
Mountains.
Tall, distant, eternal — they cut the horizon like ancient walls.
The sun bathed them in soft golden light, highlighting every curve, every snow-capped peak, as if time had paused there just to be admired.
Jin said nothing. He just looked.
Then, a soft voice echoed in his mind — dry, sarcastic, but strangely light:
"Glad you found me new company."
It was Bouros.
Jin didn't respond, merely accepting the fact.
Bouros smirked at his audacity for not answering.
He continued to watch the world.
The wind tousling his already tousled hair.
Like someone who, for a moment, forgets the weight he carries on his shoulders.
Upon rounding the final bend in the road, Mitivél came into view amidst open fields.
It was a walled city, built on terraces that rose gently to a central hill, where a silver tower stood like a silent beacon.
The rounded rooftops in shades of blue and slate reflected the light of dusk, and banners bearing the symbol of a double leaf fluttered from the towers — a sign of peace, but also readiness.
The city was alive.
Adventurers of all kinds roamed the clean stone streets, children darted between fruit stalls, and blacksmiths shaped steel with precision.
There was order here — but also strength.
A place prepared to resist, if necessary.
Among those waiting at the gate was the king of Mitivél, Lord Caelan Vorin, a man of firm posture and a keen gaze, his gray hair revealing years of experienced rule.
Upon seeing Lyssandrel, Caelan took a few steps forward, concern marking his features.
"Queen Lyssandrel… What brings you here, and why are you accompanied by a demon?" His voice was firm but carried genuine tension.
"And where is the seal? Your presence is causing fear among the people."
Before she could respond, the merchant hurried toward the gathered adventurers.
"A demon?…" he repeated, offended by the accusation. "I found them by the roadside. Exhausted, hungry, alone. I couldn't leave them behind."
Lyssandrel then stepped forward, her posture serene but her voice laced with resolve.
"I don't see him as a demon, Caelan."
The king studied her for a moment. Then he looked at Jin, who struggled to stay on his feet.
"I see him as a child… But his aura says otherwise."
Those words hung in the air like a verdict.
Jin felt the world spin. The pain in his body was already dull — but the exhaustion, now that there was safety, crashed down like a stone.
And then, he collapsed.
The weight of exhaustion overpowered him completely, and he fainted.
Lyssandrel rushed to him, catching his fall with care. She looked at the king with controlled urgency.
"We need help. He needs rest. I'll explain everything… as soon as possible."
Caelan hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
He made a brief gesture to the guards, who hurried to prepare an escort to the inner chambers.
That moment, simple at first glance, was the beginning of something greater.
A new stage.
Tense, uncertain.
And perhaps decisive for the fate of all.