The Imgrel ran.
Not with the unstoppable, mountain-crushing force it had shown when it first clawed its way into our world. Not with purpose. Not with hunger.
But with terror.
Its massive limbs dragged uneven trenches through the shattered district, claws raking the broken stone until sparks burst behind it. Every step shook fractured rooftops, sending loose tiles tumbling to the ground. Dust rose in waves under its weight, rolling outward like a suffocating fog.
Its armor—once obsidian black and impenetrable—was split open in dozens of places, molten cracks glowing like open wounds. Smoke rose from its joints. Void energy leaked out of the gashes in its hide like black steam.
And I could only watch.
Pinned beneath my own failing body, held upright only because Isabella and Marissa refused to let me fall.
Isabella's pale hair clung to her cheeks, stuck there by tears and sweat. Her arms wrapped tightly around my torso as she kept me from slipping back onto the rubble. Ma's shaking hands supported my head, shielding it every time a shockwave rattled the ground.
The golden moonlight washed over them both—soft, gentle, completely at odds with the destruction surrounding us.
Rogan's voice barked orders somewhere beyond the haze. "Move! Get the wounded out of the open! We need cover—now!"
But his voice sounded distant, muted behind the ringing in my ears.
Like I was underwater.
Like my body didn't fully belong to me anymore.
I forced my eyes open, blinking through the dust and burning tears.
The Imgrel neared the pit.
Just a few more strides.
Just a few more desperate, stumbling lunges—and it would be gone.
Gone back into whatever nightmare realm it crawled out from. Gone from our reach. Gone from the hunt.
And everyone around me knew it.
"Don't let it escape!" a hunter screamed, voice cracking. "Cut it off!" "Form up!" "Move, damn it—MOVE!"
Their shadows darted across the ruined district, silhouettes sprinting along broken streets, scrambling over collapsed homes, leaping over the debris trying to block their path.
But none of them could stop it.
Not like this. Not after what the Imgrel had already done to us. Not with the district in ruins and our forces torn apart.
Even if every hunter left standing threw themselves at it… it wouldn't matter.
This wasn't a monster.
It was a catastrophe.
The Imgrel's body folded forward, leaning into the momentum of its escape. Its claws dug into the ground for one final push—one last desperate plunge back into the abyss.
My breath caught. My heart clenched.
Please… no…
Then—
The World flashed.
Not gold. Not red.
White.
A light so bright it swallowed the ruined city in a single breath. It surged upward from the pit like a star tearing itself out of the earth. The ground vibrated. The air cracked with a sound so sharp, so violently pure, it cut straight through my skull and silenced everything.
For a heartbeat—
there was no sound. No movement. No screaming. Not even breathing.
Just light.
Blinding, overwhelming, heavenly light.
When it finally faded—
the Imgrel was gone.
Not slain in a single blow. Not torn apart by some visible attack.
Gone, as if the world itself had rejected its existence.
Its massive frame collapsed inward, molten armor folding like wet paper. Void energy sputtered and flickered as its limbs dissolved into ash. The monstrous body folded into the pit with a deep, echoing crash that shook the ground beneath us.
Silence followed.
Not the silence after a fight— but the silence of a world that didn't understand what had just happened.
Hunters stopped moving mid-step. Weapons lowered. Eyes widened. Breaths hitched.
Even the smoke seemed to pause, drifting in stunned stillness.
A cold breeze swept across the city and pushed the lingering haze aside, clearing the view of the pit.
Only then did I see them.
Five silhouettes— descending through the soft glow like falling embers.
Not jumping. Not gliding.
Falling, effortlessly, as if gravity only existed for everyone else.
Their outlines were sharp against the golden moonlight.
The Top 5.
The strongest Eidolons in Duskfall. The names whispered with awe and fear in every Hunter barracks. The powerhouses whose footsteps reshape entire districts.
And they were here.
At the pit.
At the end of the Hunt.
Isabella held me tighter, her breath catching. Rogan slowly lowered his weapon. Ma whispered a prayer under her breath.
Other hunters stumbled backward, nearly tripping over rubble as they tried to process what they were seeing.
I fought to lift my head. "...They came…" The words barely left my lips.
I wasn't sure if Isabella heard. Or Ma. Or anyone.
My body trembled, exhausted, shaking from the simple effort of staying conscious. My vision flickered. The silhouettes blurred at the edges.
The golden moon behind them pulsed once.
My breath hitched—
I only felt hands holding me. Isabella's voice calling my name—faint, echoing. Ma's tears hitting my cheek. Rogan shouting orders. Others rushing in.
And then—
nothing.
**
???
The golden light reaches even here.
Thin strands of it—fragile, trembling, delicate as spilled threads of silk—drip through the cracks in the colossal stone ceiling far above me. It slips through jagged fractures in the rock like liquid sunlight, each tendril shimmering as it breaks through the stale darkness of the cavern.
The moment it touches the ground, the reaction is immediate.
Chaos.
Creatures scatter with violent desperation. Claws scrabble across blackened stone as Roots yank themselves free and writhe away like severed tendons, hurrying back into their tunnels. Jaws slither across the dead soil, their rows of teeth chattering in distress as they burrow beneath the cracked earth.
Ravorns screech—a piercing, guttural sound that echoes off the cavern walls—before sprinting deeper into the labyrinth. Their limbs bend wrong as they flee, their bodies contorting in fear.
Even the mimics, so brazen in the dark, unhook their stolen faces and melt into hairline cracks along the walls, their forms dissolving into crawling shadows that refuse to let the moon's glow brush against their skin.
The entire cavern trembles. Not from impact—not from battle—
But from fear.
The golden moonlight continues crawling downward, flooding places it has not touched in countless cycles. It falls in slow, warm waves, dripping between the stone like the sky bleeding into the underground.
I stand still.
I do not flee with them.
I do not shrink or scramble or hide.
The heavy air around me shivers each time the light pulses, pushing back the shadows that belong to me—my shadows—my territory. The light is bold tonight, braver than usual, as if emboldened by something that happened above.
I breathe out slowly.
Not a sigh. A quiet exhale of amusement— or inevitability.
"So it really happened," I murmur, voice echoing softly against the hollow expanse of the cavern. "After all these years… after all these cycles…"
My lips curl faintly.
I tilt my head back and look toward the distant opening high above—the jagged circle of the pit's mouth. The faint halo of the golden moon spills around it, outlining the broken edges like the rim of a shattered crown.
Ash drifts down continually. The last remnants of the Imgrel's body crumble from far above, raining down like black snow. They dissolve before reaching the cavern floor, disintegrating mid-air from the remnants of the strike that killed it.
I had felt that strike.
Even from here, buried under stone and darkness, surrounded by creatures older than most mortal cities—I had felt the pressure of the blow. A quake. A tear. A reminder.
The Top 5 descending upon the titan.
"It seems they've grown bored," I murmur, my tone soft but amused. "Interfering with a fresh hunt… How unlike them."
My smile sharpens.
"How annoying."
The golden light descends further, licking at the cavern walls, scattering terrified screeches from every corner. The weaker beasts collide with each other in their scramble to escape the glow, desperate to reach the far edges where my shadows have already spread and deepened.
But I do not move.
The light reaches my feet and washes over the blackened stone around me. Its warmth is familiar—gentler, purer than the Red Moon's oppressive glow. It carries memories of a world long before this one.
Sun. Sky. Warmth.
Nostalgia curls faintly in my chest.
But the light cannot touch me.
It tries. It bends toward me like a cautious hand—
And then it pulls away.
It recoils, curling back like a frightened creature. It knows its place.
I watch the strands of golden glow retreat around my feet, avoiding my presence entirely despite their brightness.
"They finally destroyed the titan," I say softly. "I suppose I should be impressed. It lasted longer than most."
I glance upward again—toward the place where the Imgrel fell, where the five landed like descending gods, where the golden moonlight still spills down in trembling streams.
And where the boy lay.
The one with the scythe. The one who bled into a crater carved by his own dying strength. The one who should not have survived.
A thoughtful smile tugs at my lips.
"That child…" My voice dips lower, curious and almost pleased. "He's interesting."
The cavern around me seems to grow still, as if listening.
"That power inside him… it hasn't awakened yet," I continue. "Not fully. But it stirred. Just for a moment."
A slow breath. Enough to make the shadows quiver. Enough for even me to notice. Enough to draw attention from things far older than any Hunter.
"I felt it," I whisper. "Buried deep—pulling at the seams."
The shadows ripple outward from my feet like a tide responding to my pulse.
"He's fighting something inside him… or something is fighting to get out."
My fingers flex slightly.
A pulse of darkness sweeps across the cavern floor like a lazy wave.
"He'll be useful."
In the distance, stones crack. Creatures flee faster, tripping over themselves to escape the encroaching glow of the golden moon.
Above, I can faintly hear the celebration of hunters. Their cheers. Their relief.
But those sounds do not reach me.
Only the trembling of the cavern. Only the quiet retreat of beasts. Only the steady descent of warm, nostalgic light.
"The Top Five spoiled my meal tonight," I sigh. "How irritating."
The irritation fades quickly.
"They grow bold," I note, watching it stretch further into my territory. "They think this night belongs to them."
The creatures scatter until the cavern is almost empty—until only the bravest or most foolish linger on trembling limbs.
The light pools at the edge of my shadow, unable to push closer.
Step by step, I retreat deeper, letting the darkness swallow my legs, my torso, my face—leaving only my grin visible for one final moment.
"That boy will climb," I murmur. "He will climb higher than any of them expect."
The darkness swallows my face. Only the echo of my voice remains.
"And when he reaches the top…"
My smile widens unseen.
"…he will make a perfect offering."
I step backward, and the shadows consume me entirely.
"They can have their victory," I whisper into the dying light. "For now."
The golden glow fades behind me. The cavern falls silent. The darkness closes like a mouth around its prey.
And I wait.
For the next moon. For the next hunt. For the next chance to feast.
**
Warmth.
A steady, gentle warmth — surprising in how tender it feels against my skin. I cling to it instinctively, letting it pull me out of the darkness I've been drifting in. The darkness hasn't been frightening. Not painful. Not suffocating. Just… empty. A quiet void with no memories, no dreams, no sense of time.
But this warmth is different.
It feels real.
I breathe in softly, and my throat catches. The air is cool and clean, carrying a faint scent of lavender and something sharper — medicinal herbs crushed into water.
My eyelids twitch, resisting consciousness like they've been sealed shut for centuries. They open in slivers first, letting in blurry shapes and colors before everything sharpens into a soft, pale ceiling. Smooth stone. Subtle carvings. Lanterns along the walls sending out muted blue light.
My mind struggles to catch up.
Where am I?
I shift — or try to.
Pain blooms instantly across my ribs, radiating outward in deep thuds. A grunt forces its way from my chest, raw and cracked.
"…ah—"
My voice barely sounds like mine.
Dry. Weak.
Like it hasn't been used in days.
Then another realization hits.
Bandages.
They wrap my arms entirely. Thick layers of clean cloth run from my wrists to my elbows. Beneath the loose medical shirt, tight wrapping encases my ribs, stomach, and shoulders. Even my legs feel stiff, heavy, unused.
I try to lift my right hand.
It shakes.
Barely rising an inch.
Everything feels wrong — or maybe just unfamiliar. Like I'm wearing a body I haven't lived in for a long time.
"How—" My breath falters. "How long was I out…?"
The silence offers nothing.
I lie still for a few long breaths, letting the initial wave of pain settle. The room is too quiet — no screaming, no roaring, no cracking stone or collapsing buildings. Just the gentle hum of the lanterns and the whisper of curtains.
Memories drift in slowly, out of order:
Golden light cutting a Ravorn open. The emergence of something massive from the pit. Dark energy spinning like a forming black hole. People screaming. Isabella's pale hair. My mother's voice crying for me. The Red Moon fracturing.
Then nothing.
A hollow ache twists in my chest, something deeper than my injuries.
"Did I… die?"
It doesn't feel like it. But it doesn't feel like I survived either.
I attempt to push myself up. My muscles protest violently, but I force through, teeth gritted, until I settle into a hunched sitting position. Sweat pricks across my forehead. My breaths come harsh and uneven.
My fingers press faintly into the mattress.
Everything hurts.
But I'm awake.
Alive.
Barely.
I sit still for a long moment, letting my heartbeat slow. Letting my eyes adjust to the room. Letting warmth soak into me until the trembling in my limbs fades into something more manageable.
A breath escapes me.
"…I survived."
The words feel foreign.
I look down again at the bandages. The cloth is clean. Fresh. Someone's been taking care of me. My mother? A medic? Isabella?
I don't know.
Before I can process anything further—
Click.
The soft opening of a door breaks the silence.
I tense — instinctively — and my ribs punish me for it. I swallow a sharp hiss and lift my gaze toward the sound.
A man steps inside.
He closes the door slowly. Quietly.
Everything about him feels deliberate.
He's older, easily in his 50s.
Short gray-brown hair peeks out from beneath a wide black hat. A long black coat drapes over a dark suit, the fabric smooth and perfectly pressed. Gloves cover his hands, glinting faintly in the lantern light. His shoes make the softest tap against the floor as he walks in measured steps.
He looks like a man carved out of secrets.
But even as he moves closer, I feel… nothing.
Just silence around him — the kind that feels intentional, not empty.
He stops by the bed and regards me with a calm, gentle expression.
"Well," he says, voice low and smooth, "you've finally decided to wake."
My throat tightens.
I don't know him.
Not even vaguely.
He reads the confusion instantly and chuckles softly, a warm sound that doesn't match the coldness of his attire.
"Easy," he murmurs. "If I meant you harm, boy, I wouldn't have walked through the door."
That doesn't ease the tension in my shoulders.
He walks forward and sits on the edge of the bed — not close enough to crowd me, but close enough to make his presence unavoidable.
His posture is relaxed. His hands rest neatly atop his knee. His chin tilts slightly as he studies me.
"You look lost," he observes gently. "Understandable."
I wet my dry lips. My voice comes out strained.
"Where… am I?"
"In good hands," he replies lightly. "Better than most."
Then, after a beat, "You're in a medical ward."
That's vague. Deliberately vague.
I narrow my eyes.
His smile twitches.
"Sharp, even after three months."
Everything in my body freezes.
"…Three… months…?" My voice cracks.
He nods slowly. Sympathetically.
"Yes. You collapsed the night the Imgrel fell. You were brought here and immediately placed under heavy care. The healers didn't expect you to last the first week."
My stomach sinks.
Three months.
Darkness for three months.
"What… happened to everyone?" I whisper. "My mother? Isabella? Rogan? Ember—"
"They're alive," he says calmly. "Recovered, mostly. Worried, always."
Relief hits so hard my eyes sting.
He observes me for a moment, then continues:
"You, on the other hand, were hanging by a thread. Your body sustained extensive internal damage — enough to kill most Hunters twice over."
His tone isn't harsh. Just honest.
"And yet…"
He lets the silence stretch, watching me carefully.
"You're still here," he says softly. "Stubborn boy."
A shaky laugh escapes me. Barely.
His smile grows warmer.
"And your performance… well. Impressive doesn't begin to describe it."
My brows pull together.
"What… performance?"
He raises a brow.
"You don't recall what you did against the Imgrel?"
I hesitate.
"Only pieces," I admit. "Everything feels… scrambled."
"That will happen," he replies. "Especially when the body moves faster than the mind. Or when something inside you wakes that you weren't ready to understand."
My breath halts.
"Wakes…?" I echo.
The man nods slowly.
"We'll get to that. In time."
I swallow.
"But for now, understand this much: after that display, after the slashes you delivered, after buying the hunters and civilians enough time to survive… you have earned the attention of every major Hunter circle in the city."
My heart thuds.
"I'm not—"
"You will be," he cuts in gently. "It's only a matter of time. You're already being discussed as a future Ranked Eidolon — unofficially, of course. But inevitability doesn't need a title."
I stare.
He pats the side of the bed once, rising slowly to his feet.
"Before your mother and the others come rushing in, I requested a moment alone with you. A private one."
A knot pulls tight in my stomach.
"…Why?" I ask quietly. "What do you want with me?"
He steps closer to the window, though he doesn't look outside. Instead, he removes his hat with gloved fingers, holding it against his chest.
The lantern light hits his face fully now — revealing age, depth, experience, and a softness I didn't expect.
"I wanted to speak with you first," he says, voice steady. "Because there are things you deserve to know. Things tied to you long before the Imgrel. Long before this Hunt. Long before you ever picked up that scythe."
He turns his head toward me.
"Things tied to your father."
My breath catches in my throat.
"My… father?"
He nods.
Then, with a gentle smile that feels almost nostalgic, he finally gives me the truth I didn't know I was waiting for.
"My name," he says quietly, "is Nairix Serath."
The room feels suddenly too small.
My heart pounds against my ribs, painful and raw.
"And I," Nairix continues, placing his hat at his side, "Am a very close friend of your father."
Silence crashes down like a wave.
Nairix watches me with a patient, almost sorrowful look.
"We have much to discuss," he murmurs.