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Arc 1 - Blind Faith
Blind Faith - Kairo Mercer - Part 2.
Written by - Ellien S. Vorein
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Kairo lifted his fork, preparing to eat—
then it slipped from his hand and clattered softly against the marble.
"…Huh…?"
He blinked slowly, confusion finally settling into his eyes.
"Wait…
Where the hell are we?"
His voice wasn't loud — just quietly stunned, like reality had only now managed to catch him.
Cyran giggled softly behind a raised hand, the sound warm and almost melodic.
"Oh right," he said with a light laugh, "you don't know yet, do you?"
Faran sighed, stretching lazily in his chair.
"Knew this moment was coming," he muttered.
Beside Kairo, Elyra rubbed her hands together with a tiny spark of excitement, ready to dig in.
Cyran leaned forward slightly, his tone gentle, perfectly composed.
"We are in the Castle of Velronia," he said, each word smooth and polite.
Kairo blinked.
"…Huh?
But… how can that be?"
He looked around again, brow furrowed.
"I remember walking into Velronia. I didn't see any castle. I would've seen it instantly…"
His confusion felt genuine — almost boyish.
Elyra sliced into her food—
SLICE
—clean, precise, effortless.
She took a bite like nothing about the situation was strange at all.
"You'll see," Faran yawned, lifting a glass of water and taking a slow drink.
"You just woke up. Your head's probably still foggy."
Cyran smiled at Kairo — soft, reassuring, graceful.
"Kairo," he asked lightly, "what is your favourite food?"
Kairo stared at him for a moment — genuinely caught off guard.
His eyes lowered, focusing on the plate as if searching for an answer hidden in the marble patterns.
My favourite food..?
…I guess… stale bread.
"…Stale bread," he said aloud, voice quiet and honest.
Elyra paused mid-bite, her eyes widening in soft disbelief.
Faran snorted into his drink.
Cyran blinked once — surprised, but in a charming, amused way — then laughed quietly behind folded fingers.
"Stale bread?" he repeated with a warm smile.
"Interesting choice."
Elyra leaned closer, her voice gentle and sincere.
"That's all you've ever eaten… isn't it?"
Kairo didn't answer immediately.
He looked down.
His shoulders softened a little — embarrassed, unsure, but calmer than a few minutes ago.
The sunlight filtered through the tall glass windows, brushing warm gold across the table.
Fresh scents drifted in — baked pastries, warm bread, fruit, and the faint sweetness of morning flowers.
For a moment, everything felt… normal.
Normal in a way Kairo wasn't used to.
Faran grabbed another bread roll, tearing it open with his hands.
"You'll eat real food now," he said simply.
"Velronia won't let you starve."
Cyran nodded politely.
"You're a guest here," he added with that same elegant, effortless charm.
"You'll be treated as one."
Elyra's feet kicked happily beneath her chair as she nudged a plate slightly closer to Kairo.
"Kairo," she said softly, "you can eat whatever you want. Take your time."
Kairo looked at her.
At Faran.
At Cyran.
Then down at the food that hadn't existed a moment ago.
His fingers curled slowly around his fork.
The atmosphere was calm.
Warm.
Gentle.
Velronia felt like the first safe place he'd ever stepped into.
And Kairo — after everything — didn't quite know what to do with that feeling.
Elyra dug into her meal like she was competing in a tournament.
Kairo blinked.
He'd seen her eat before — soft, gentle, almost shy.
But now?
She was devouring her plate with the focus of a seasoned warrior.
He couldn't help it — a small laugh slipped out of him, soft and genuine.
"You can slow down," he said, smiling a little.
Elyra froze mid-bite.
She swallowed, grabbed a napkin, and wiped her mouth with exaggerated politeness.
Then she finished her glass of water in one long sip and set it down neatly.
"No can do," she said confidently.
"I have to meet up with Mister Noah."
Kairo stared at her empty plate.
He blinked once—
FLOOM.
A flash tore across the kitchen.
Winds rushed past the table, rattling the cutlery.
A streak of light spun through the room in under a second — so quick the air itself looked confused trying to keep up.
Kairo's head snapped around.
"…Gone already??"
Faran burst out laughing.
"You'll get used to it," he grinned.
Cyran clasped his hands gently, posture perfect, voice calmly amused.
"Oh right," he said with a charming tilt of his head,
"You haven't met Sir Lucan or Sir Noah yet, have you, Kairo?"
Kairo sliced into a pancake and took a bite.
His eyes widened slightly.
Damn… this tastes goo—
"Noah…?" he muttered softly.
"Lucan…?"
His gaze unfocused as the names slipped out of his mouth — like his brain finally connected two wires that had been dangling loose.
Then everything clicked at once.
He shot to his feet.
BANG.
The table rattled.
"Wait— holy shit! You're Cyran! And— wait, wait— you mentioned Lucan?
The Lucan?
The Protector of Velronia??"
It was as if his mind had processed the last five minutes all at once — five minutes too late.
Cyran blinked, amused.
Faran nearly choked on his bread roll.
Elyra stood up so quickly she nearly tipped her chair.
She bowed politely toward the table, flashed Kairo a bright smile…
…and waved.
"I'll see you later!"
She darted out of the room.
Except—
To Kairo, after witnessing the "noble servants" who moved at blinding speed…
Her running looked slow.
Painfully slow.
Almost like the entire room was moving at half speed except him.
But it wasn't supernatural.
It was just perspective.
Kairo was behind.
Everyone else had already adjusted.
Faran yawned loudly, stretching back in his chair.
"Yeah, that dude," he muttered casually.
Cyran chuckled softly, leaning his cheek against his hand with effortless charm.
"I heard you were big fans of us and the Guardians," he said with light confidence.
"Faran told me."
Kairo blinked — almost embarrassed.
Faran only smirked.
Cyran reached for a napkin, hand moving gracefully toward his lips—
FLOOM.
A napkin appeared between his fingers at the exact moment he patted his mouth.
No flash.
No sound.
No strangeness.
Just a perfectly timed servant.
Cyran didn't even react — he simply dabbed the corners of his lips with noble elegance, as if this was the easiest, most ordinary thing in the world.
Faran snorted behind his cup.
"You get used to that too," he muttered.
Kairo stared.
Velronia — its nobles, its servants, its pace — all of it felt like a world already in motion long before he ever opened his eyes.
Cyran gave a soft, casual whistle.
FLOOM.
A rush of air folded inward.
A woman appeared instantly — kneeling on the marble floor with perfect posture, head bowed, hands folded neatly over her lap.
She wore a maid outfit, but nothing about her looked ordinary.
Youthful, yet unmistakably mature.
Delicate, yet firm.
Soft features, yet strong lines.
Purple eyes lowered to the floor.
Long hazel-brown hair cascading down her back — almost touching the ground behind her.
She stood one Kairo tall when upright.
Her voice was gentle but naturally deep — the kind that carried confidence even when spoken softly.
"Yes, my Lord Cyran," she said, tone composed and unwavering.
Faran snickered under his breath, leaning toward Kairo with a sly grin.
"Hey, Kairo," he muttered.
"What do you think?
She your type…?"
He tried (and failed) to hold in a laugh.
Kairo blinked, heat rising to his face.
"H—huh? Where did that come from…?"
he whispered quietly, voice cracking in embarrassment.
Lisa, still kneeling, didn't react. She remained perfectly still, eyes lowered to the marble floor.
Cyran hid a small laugh behind his hand, shoulders shaking slightly.
Faran shrugged, grinning.
"Just a warning," he whispered loudly,
"she would absolutely kick your ass."
Cyran clapped his hands once — gentle, elegant.
The kitchen stopped.
No footsteps.
No clatter of plates.
Just quiet.
Then, with that soft noble tone:
"Kairo," he said warmly,
"meet my humble servant.
Her name is Lisa."
Lisa rose from the ground with calm precision, her hair flowing behind her as she stood. She bowed smoothly, her posture perfect.
"Hello there, young Kairo," she said firmly, her deep voice controlled and polite.
Kairo swallowed, studying her.
Her uniform matched the other maids exactly — spotless, clean, refined —
but around her neck hung a green necklace, a thin chain carrying a jade amulet.
It shimmered faintly when she moved.
That detail caught his eye instantly.
Kairo pushed himself up from the table, awkwardly straightening his shirt.
"I'm… Kairo," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Lisa, right?"
He sounded almost shy — awkward, respectful, not sure how to act around someone this composed.
Cyran placed his hand lightly on the table, posture straightening as his voice deepened with quiet authority.
"Kairo," he said firmly,
"Lisa is my top servant. My personal favourite. She excels in everything."
He nodded toward Kairo's katana.
"And I see you wield a blade. Faran tells me you're promising in combat.
Lisa would make the perfect practice partner for you."
Faran raised his cup and took a sip of tea.
Kairo blinked.
…Cup?
Where did that come from?
His eyes widened slightly.
Did he have that earlier?
No. I would've seen it.
So when—
Lisa's hands returned to her lap with a tiny, almost invisible movement.
And then it hit him.
In a single breath — no, in less than that —
FLASH.
She had moved.
Not fast enough to make noise.
Not fast enough to disturb the air.
Not fast enough for Kairo's eyes to follow.
He only registered the sequence after it already happened:
She had gone to the back counter—
grabbed a cup—
poured boiling water—
placed tea leaves inside—
added sugar—
stirred it—
retrieved an extra cup—
prepared a second serving—
and returned to her exact kneeling spot…
All without a footstep.
All without a sound.
All within a single blink.
Cyran held a warm cup of tea in his hand, steam rising gently.
He smiled.
Lisa didn't say a word.
Kairo just stared, stunned.
Kairo opened his mouth—
nothing came out.
He tried again.
"…How… did you—"
Lisa lowered her head slightly, voice steady.
"It is my duty to serve Lord Cyran with efficiency," she said.
"Speed is merely a requirement."
Faran snorted.
"A requirement, she says," he muttered.
"Kid, if you blink another second too long, she'll braid your hair without you noticing."
Kairo's hand twitched up to his fringe on instinct.
Cyran laughed softly — light, elegant.
"Lisa is exceptional," he said proudly.
"She was trained in the Inner Velronian School. Only the finest servants graduate."
Lisa bowed again.
"Lord Cyran praises me too kindly."
"Too kindly?" Faran choked on his tea.
"She outran Lucan once."
Kairo's head snapped up.
"Lucan!?"
"The Lucan!?"
Lisa looked downward awkwardly.
"…It was only for three seconds," she said.
"Sir Lucan allowed it."
Faran smirked.
"He didn't allow it. You embarrassed him."
Lisa's cheeks stiffened — the closest thing to emotional reaction Kairo had seen from her.
Cyran waved a hand gracefully.
"Well — regardless.
Kairo, I believe training with Lisa will be perfect for you."
Kairo stiffened.
"W—wait," he muttered.
"You want me to train with— with her?"
Lisa blinked once.
Her purple eyes lifted to meet his.
Calm.
Measured.
Unshaken.
"I will adjust to your level," she said.
"Though I apologise in advance if my speed causes discomfort."
Faran wheezed.
"She's not joking. She talks like she's about to teach you basic breathing."
Kairo swallowed.
Hard.
Kairo stiffened, panic rising into his throat.
"W-wait—" he stammered, pointing at Lisa.
"You want me to fight her—?"
Everything went black.
Not dim.
Not flickering.
Just gone.
The sound vanished.
The warmth vanished.
The room vanished.
Kairo blinked.
The kitchen was still there —
or something shaped like it —
but all the light had been sucked out, leaving only silhouettes of golden chairs glimmering faintly in the void.
Everyone was gone.
Except one person.
Someone sitting in Cyran's seat.
Kairo's breath hitched.
It was…
him.
But older.
Taller.
Broader.
A harder build — muscles carved like stone.
Long, silver hair tied loosely behind him.
Eyes the exact same shade of cold blue…
but emptier.
Calmer.
Deader.
He looked like Kairo,
and nothing like him at all.
The silence was so heavy it felt like the entire world was holding its breath.
Kairo turned slowly, scanning the room.
No Elyra.
No Faran.
No Cyran.
No servants.
No sunlight.
No sound.
Just him…
and the man he could become.
The man didn't move.
He just sat there, a massive claymore resting against his back, his posture perfectly still, his presence suffocating.
Kairo swallowed hard, struggling to breathe.
His chest tightened as if invisible hands were squeezing his ribs.
"…Who…" he whispered, voice cracking.
"Who are you…?"
No answer.
Kairo took a shaky step forward.
"Hey…
I said…"
He swallowed, throat aching.
"…who the hell are you…?"
Slowly — painfully slowly —
the man lifted his chin.
Blue eyes locked with blue eyes.
Kairo froze.
The older him spoke.
Quietly.
Flatly.
Cold.
"I'll be waiting."
The floor cracked.
Chains burst from the darkness — golden links snapping outward like living metal — wrapping around Kairo's arms, his torso, his legs.
He gasped.
"W-wait— hey—!"
The chains yanked him backward, dragging him across the floor.
"H–HEY! WHAT IS THIS!?"
The man didn't move.
Didn't react.
Just watched.
Expressionless.
Unfeeling.
Inevitable.
Kairo clawed at the air, nails scraping nothing as the chains tore him away.
"HEY—! STOP—!!"
The world snapped—
"Um… young Kairo?"
A calm voice.
Soft.
Grounded.
Real.
Kairo jolted upright.
Lisa stood beside him, hands folded, purple eyes slightly concerned.
"Are you ready for your training?" she asked softly.
Kairo spun around.
Cyran was gone.
Faran was gone.
The kitchen was gone.
He was standing in a courtyard — cool morning breeze brushing against stone pathways, sunlight glowing off trimmed hedges and tall castle walls.
Just him.
And Lisa.
Kairo looked around.
Then down at his hands.
Then at his boots.
Then back at Lisa.
Then at the amulet hanging around her neck.
Around.
Hands.
Boots.
Lisa.
Amulet.
He blinked once.
Around.
Hands.
Boots.
Lisa.
Amulet.
The pattern repeated in his head like a broken wheel clicking against itself.
His throat tightened.
"…Where," he muttered slowly,
each word dragging itself out of him,
"…are Faran and Cyran…?"
FLOOM.
A wooden dagger pressed against Kairo's neck.
Not painfully.
Not aggressively.
Just there.
Kairo froze.
His eyes lowered slowly.
"…Huh…?"
He stared down at the blade, at the smooth wood resting against his skin — and only then did the situation register.
The dagger withdrew just as quietly as it appeared.
Lisa spoke, her tone steady and professional:
"Your head isn't in the mood for combat, young Kairo."
Kairo blinked once.
Then again.
"…Oh."
His voice sounded distant, delayed — as if it took him several seconds to realise she had just struck him, tested him, evaluated him.
He stared at the wooden dagger held delicately between her fingers.
It took him even longer to understand what that meant:
He hadn't reacted.
Not a flinch.
Not a guard.
Not even awareness.
He was still too out of it.
Too slow.
Too far behind the world around him.
Kairo tightened his grip on the sheath.
One breath.
One motion.
shff — the katana slid free.
He stepped in and swung toward her shoulder — a clean diagonal cut.
Lisa didn't move.
Not at the start.
She waited until the blade was almost on her —
until the steel was close enough to kiss her sleeve.
Then—
tap.
Her palm met the flat centre of the blade,
not the ground.
She pushed off it lightly—
weightless—
lifting herself into a one-arm handstand balanced on his katana.
For a split second, she hovered above the weapon, upside-down, perfectly stable.
Then she kicked off.
Her body flipped once,
graceful as a ribbon,
cartwheeling over the arc of his swing.
By the time Kairo's blade finished its motion—
she was already behind him.
THUD.
Her heel struck his back — precise, controlled, and fast enough to make him stumble.
"You'd be dead by now," she said coldly.
No malice.
Just the truth.
Kairo's fingers trembled.
His katana slipped from his hand—
clink.
—echoing across the courtyard as he dropped it.
Kairo bent down to pick up his katana…
but stopped.
He turned around slowly.
"Hey… Lisa," he said, voice low.
"Have you ever… daydreamed so much that everyone around you vanishes…
and you're just somewhere else… alone…
and then you suddenly snap back into reality…?"
Lisa froze.
Her expression didn't break —
but something in her eyes tightened.
Concern.
Real concern.
"No."
The word was firm.
Immediate.
She looked away for a moment, her eyes dropping to the stone floor.
Her thumb brushed lightly against her lip —
biting it, just once —
a tiny gesture she usually wouldn't allow herself to show.
She muttered something under her breath, too quiet for Kairo to make out.
Her focus sharpened, almost anxious.
Then she straightened.
Her voice returned to that composed, professional firmness:
"I recommend you speak to Lord Faran and Lord Cyran regarding that matter, young Kairo."
She bowed deeply, gathering the hem of her long maid dress carefully in both hands — flawlessly polite.
Her hair fell forward like a curtain as she lowered her head.
Lisa stepped back, lowered her head once more, and spoke softly:
"Excuse me."
Her voice barely rose above a whisper.
Then—
fwip.
She moved with that same quiet swiftness, disappearing from the courtyard in a blur of fabric and controlled footsteps.
Kairo was left alone.
He stood there, katana in hand, breathing slowly as the silence settled around him.
He looked down at the floor —
dusty from decades of sun and wind,
yet somehow clean,
well-kept,
cared for.
The courtyard stones were old enough to be worn smooth,
but maintained so meticulously they almost gleamed.
He lifted his eyes.
The trees surrounding the garden were towering and grand —
thick trunks, heavy branches —
yet every leaf seemed groomed and trimmed with unnerving precision.
Even nature here looked noble.
A soft rustle.
Kairo turned.
Two squirrels perched on a stone pillar, staring directly at him.
Little crowns rested on their heads —
tiny golden circlets that glimmered in the sunlight.
They didn't move.
They didn't run.
They just… looked at him.
As if every living creature in this castle
— even the animals —
were born into royalty.
Kairo blinked.
"…What the hell is this place?"
Kairo wandered through the castle halls, mind drifting, feet moving without direction.
Velronia's corridors were impossibly long —
wide enough for ten men to walk side by side,
lit by chandeliers that didn't seem to cast shadows,
lined with polished marble that reflected his steps back at him.
He wasn't looking for anything.
He just walked.
Until something caught his eye.
A door.
Not an ordinary one.
Its handles were carved from silver,
inlaid with gemstones — rubies, sapphires, emeralds — arranged in patterns too delicate for his eyes to follow.
Even the light bent differently around them.
He paused.
Two voices echoed faintly from behind it.
Recognisable.
Warm.
Grounding.
Cyran's smooth, composed tone.
Faran's rough, straightforward voice.
Kairo stared at the gemmed handle for a moment…
then reached forward.
His fingers wrapped around the ruby grip.
He twisted it slowly.
The door opened with a soft, noble creak—
and he stepped inside.
Waiting for him,
just as they had been earlier,
were Cyran and Faran.
Cyran turned first, smiling with that practiced gentleness.
Faran leaned back in his seat, one eyebrow raised.
"Kairo," he muttered, "you finally found us."
Kairo took a step forward.
"…Yeah," he said quietly.
But his eyes didn't leave the gem-studded door behind him.
As if something about it felt
important.
Wrong.
Or both.
The door behind him closed on its own.
No breeze.
No footsteps.
No magic flare.
Just a slow, heavy click —
as if the castle itself decided the conversation should be private.
Kairo stood before them, heart tight, fingers curling at his sides.
"Hey…"
His voice wavered slightly.
"Cyran… Faran… I wanna talk to you about something."
Faran stretched lazily, rubbing one eye like he hadn't slept in days.
"Sure thing, kid," he said through a yawn.
"What's up?"
Cyran didn't speak.
He simply nodded, offering silent permission — posture straight, eyes soft but attentive.
Kairo swallowed.
He lowered his gaze to the floor —
a golden floor, polished so perfectly he could see his own reflection trembling back at him.
His hand tightened into a fist.
"For a while now…" he began, voice thin,
"…I've been seeing things."
He inhaled sharply.
"Visions. Memories. The future… or the past… I don't even know anymore."
His breathing quickened.
A tremor ran through his voice.
"I don't get it.
I don't understand.
I'm really confused…
and it's been happening for a while now."
The words tumbled out — raw, embarrassed, scared.
For a moment, neither man moved.
Then Faran's entire expression shifted —
his eyes narrowing, posture straightening, all the sleepiness gone.
Cyran's warm composure evaporated instantly — replaced by something sharper, colder, calculating.
They exchanged a single glance.
Then, in perfect, heavy unison:
"Kairo."
The way they said his name sent a chill through the room.
Not angry.
Not dismissive.
Not confused.
Just serious.
Very, very serious.
Cyran leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but edged with something sharper:
"What is it you see in these… 'visions,' Kairo?"
Kairo's breath caught.
Seeing them like this —
Faran with his arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes locked onto him…
Cyran completely still, every trace of playfulness gone…
It felt wrong.
Alien.
He'd only known them a short time, but even in that short time,
they were never this serious.
He swallowed hard.
"I don't…"
His voice trembled.
"…know. It's never a set thing."
Both men listened without blinking.
"One day," Kairo continued slowly,
"It's about a priest."
Cyran's eyes flickered — just a fraction.
Faran's nostrils flared, barely noticeable.
Kairo didn't notice.
He just kept talking, the words shaking loose from fear.
"And the next… it's about kids crying in a ruined city somewhere far away."
The room felt colder.
Neither Faran nor Cyran moved an inch.
"And then another time… I saw someone."
His hands shook now.
"They… spoke to me."
He didn't want to remember that voice.
Those eyes.
That presence.
"And then—"
He exhaled shakily, fingers digging into his palms.
"I come back."
His voice broke.
"Like nothing ever happened."
Silence.
Not gentle silence.
The kind that pressed on the ears.
The kind that meant something was wrong.
Cyran and Faran exchanged a slow, heavy look.
A look Kairo wasn't meant to see.
Faran exhaled through his nose, folding his arms.
"Well, Kairo," he said, brow raised,
"what do you even call this thing that happens to you?"
Kairo blinked.
"…Huh? Call it… something?
You want me to give it a name?"
Cyran smiled softly, nodding with polite encouragement.
"Yes. A phenomenon like this should have a name, don't you think?"
Kairo scratched his cheek, thinking hard.
"Uh… okay… um…"
He lifted his chin.
"Memory projecting."
He said it confidently, proud of himself.
Silence.
A long, heavy pause.
Then—
PFFT.
Both Cyran and Faran burst out laughing.
Faran slapped his knee.
"That's a horrible name!"
Cyran wiped a tear from his eye, struggling to breathe.
"Oh dear gods— Kairo, please—" he laughed, "never name anything again."
Kairo flushed red, crossing his arms.
"W–well what the hell would you name it, then!?"
Faran sniffed, composed himself, then stood up with fake grandeur.
"Ahem. Obviously—"
He raised a finger dramatically.
"M.O.O."
He paused to let the letters sink in.
"Memory.
Optical.
One."
He smirked proudly.
"Sounds cool, right?"
Kairo just stared at him.
"…Huh.
That's… even worse than what I said."
Faran clicked his tongue in annoyance.
"Tch."
He turned to Cyran.
"Alright genius. What would you call it?"
Cyran placed a hand under his chin, thinking for a moment.
Then his expression shifted —
something calm, refined, almost elegant settling over him.
"Hm… how about…"
He opened his eyes.
"Scheing Rever."
The room fell silent.
Not awkward silence.
Not comedic silence.
A stillness that felt like the air itself stopped moving.
Kairo repeated it softly.
"…Scheing Rever…"
Faran nodded once, smiling.
"Sounds good."
Kairo brightened a little.
"Alright then," he said innocently,
"This power is called Scheing Rever."
He didn't know.
Not yet.
He didn't know what weight he'd just given it.
He didn't know what history that name carried.
Or how much that name would haunt him.
How much it would break him.
How much it would become the reason he could never escape what was coming.
Little did he know…
This was the moment his burden began.
To be continued…