[Flashback – 15 years earlier]

  Their group was attacking the lair of a demon king that day.

  A shadow fortress nestled deep within a cursed ravine.

  It was meant to be their final mission.

  The one that would decide everything.

  The plains burned red—red with fire, red with blood, red with fury.

  And at the heart of the chaos, five silhouettes stood back to back.

  Tharion, the centaur, younger then, yet his gaze already as sharp as the iron he wielded.

  A seasoned fighter, even back then.

  Carea, a hooded human—tracker and assassin. Quick mind, supple body, hands always ready to strike.

  Kraes, the noble elven warrior—swift as lightning, his saber as graceful as it was lethal.

  Danbur, the grumbling dwarf healer—thick arms etched with rune-tattoos, always smelling of arnica.

  And Ratim, the mage. Tall, hunched, brilliant, and a little mad. His eyes burned brighter than his spells.

  Ratim was also Garlan’s father.

  They had been heroes. Legends.

  And on that day, they truly believed they could change the world.

  Among all of Tharion’s memories, this one returned often—like a coal that refused to die out.

  The fire rose in spirals, alive—

  as if hell itself was rejecting their presence.

  — “Danbur, to your left!” Ratim shouted.

  The dwarf raised a runed hand, detonated a healing glyph in a golden flash, and deflected the demon blade aimed at Kraes.

  They fought in a circle.

  Not by strategy.

  But by instinct.

  Back to back. As always.

  Carea glanced at Tharion.

  The centaur was bleeding from the shoulder but held firm.

  — “You haven’t changed,” Carea growled. “Always the first to charge.”

  — “And you’re always last to cover the rear.”

  A brief smirk.

  — “Promise me we make it out this time?” Carea asked under his breath.

  Tharion didn’t answer.

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  He clenched his jaw.

  But his eyes said yes.

  Not far off, Ratim raised his arms, hair ablaze, his staff crackling with mana.

  And for the briefest second, his gaze flicked to a memory—

  a boy hidden deep in his mind.

  Garlan. Small. Curious. Alive.

  "I’m doing this for you."

  But inside that lair, everything fell apart.

  Carea, Ratim, and Kraes died.

  Or so everyone believed.

  [Back to the present]

  Tharion stared at the man, his face trembling.

  — “You died,” he repeated. “I was there, Carea. I saw your blood. I heard your final breath.”

  The man only smiled.

  A tired smile.

  A sad one.

  — “Then maybe I did die, Tharion.

  Or maybe what you saw… was just a show.”

  He stepped forward.

  — “The world has changed.

  And you… you never saw it coming.”

  — “Why did you kill that man?”

  — “He talked too much. And he would’ve warned people who shouldn’t be warned.”

  Tharion’s fists tightened.

  — “Who sent you?”

  — “The one we tried to kill fifteen years ago.”

  Tharion stepped back—

  as if struck by an invisible blow.

  — “What? You became a demon… to come back?”

  — “Yes.

  And I have to admit… it feels so good to kill with an upgraded body.

  I finally understand why they were so damn hard to kill.”

  Tharion’s jaw clenched in fury.

  — “I’ll find him.

  And I’ll kill him.”

  Carea let out a short, almost sympathetic laugh.

  — “No, no, no, Tharion…

  You can’t even keep up with me anymore.

  What makes you think you stand a chance against him?”

  A heavy silence followed.

  Even the air seemed to pause—thick with static.

  Then, a sharp creak shattered the moment.

  Behind Tharion, the cottage door creaked open.

  Marenna and Garlan stepped out, pale and visibly at their breaking point.

  They had reached their limit—trapped in that house with a corpse.

  Marenna instinctively looked at Carea…

  And her heart clenched.

  Not from fear.

  Not from surprise.

  But from what she saw.

  Beyond the visible.

  Carea, to everyone else, looked calm.

  Controlled.

  Almost human.

  But what Marenna perceived… had nothing human left.

  A disjointed form.

  A silhouette torn from itself, twisted from within.

  His soul was bleeding.

  Not red blood—but ancient pain, thick, clinging to every fragment of what he once was.

  She saw—or thought she saw—a silent scream rise from his chest.

  Like a black vapor.

  Not a cry. An echo.

  Something you don’t hear with ears—

  but with your heart.

  And once you hear it, it never leaves you.

  Her heart tightened again.

  Not out of fear.

  Not from surprise.

  But because of what she saw, beyond the visible:

  A broken soul.

  Twisted with pain.

  Screaming in silence.

  A suffering that stains the heart forever once felt.

  She froze, unable to speak—

  while Garlan frowned, unsettled by the scene.

  He felt a cold hostility in the air.

  This person—this Carea—radiated a deep hatred toward Tharion.

  He wanted to step back.

  Or speak.

  But something rose inside him—

  a force he couldn’t control.

  His hand lifted on its own.

  A blue light sparked between his fingers.

  An arc of electricity surged forth.

  He cast a lightning spell—without warning.

  — “No!” Marenna shouted.

  — “Stop!”