A/N: Hi guys, thanks for reading my novel. Please note that this chapter is fastpaced.
Blindness swallowed Ethan whole. There was no light. No shadow. Only an endless, suffocating dark.
He staggered forward, one trembling step at a time, arms stretched uselessly into the void. His feet scraped over broken stone and wet ground, though he couldn't tell what soaked his boots.
"My eyes… damn it…"
The words tore from his throat, raw and fractured. The pain in his chest was worse than any wound he had ever suffered, worse than death itself. Not even his past life had prepared him for this.
He tried to walk again and nearly fell.
Then—
Footsteps, many of them. Heavy, armored, organized.
They came through the shattered gates of Almsworth in disciplined rhythm, hundreds upon hundreds. A full army. Steel clashed softly. Banners rustled in the cold air.
Ethan froze.
Demons…?Reinforcements…? He thought
His grip tightened around nothing. His body tensed, ready to die again if needed.
"Who's there?!" he shouted into the darkness, his voice cracking. "Show yourselves!"
No answer came.
The army advanced deeper into the ruined city. What they saw silenced even hardened soldiers.
Bodies lay everywhere, humans and demons alike. Limbs torn apart. Torsos split open. Blood had soaked into the stone streets, dark and sticky, as though the ground itself had bled.
Then they found it.... Herod.
Or what remained of him.
His massive body was torn open, his chest ripped apart from within. Organs lay scattered like butchered meat, his heart gone, his intestines spilled across the ground.
Commander Rivington stopped dead in his tracks.
"…By the gods," he muttered, his face pale beneath his helm. "This wasn't a battle."
"This was slaughter."
Even veterans of countless wars felt their stomachs churn. No strategy. No mercy. Just raw, unrestrained violence.
"A devilish war," Rivington said quietly. "One no sane man would ever choose to fight."
He raised his hand sharply.
"Search the city. Every street. Every ruin. Look for survivors."
The army scattered, minutes passed.... Then longer.
Shouts echoed through broken alleys, then faded into uneasy silence.
But.... Nothing.
No living soldiers, no villagers, no children.
Almsworth was… extinct.
Rivington clenched his fist.
What kind of demon could do this?
What kind of monster leaves nothing behind?
He immediately heard a scream...
"Commander!" a soldier's voice rang out, sharp with disbelief. "Commander Rivington!"
Rivington turned instantly. "Report."
"We… we found someone, sir."
Rivington stiffened. "…Someone?"
"Yes, sir. One survivor."
For the first time since entering Almsworth, true shock crossed his face.
"One… out of all this?"
He exhaled slowly. News of the demon invasion had reached him the night before, and he had marched without rest. But this...
This went beyond anything he had imagined.
"A high-level demon," he murmured. "No… something worse."
He straightened.
"Bring the survivor to me. Now."
Unseen to them all, Ethan stood trembling in the ruins, blind, blood-stained, and broken,
the sole living witness to Almsworth's end.
Rivington stepped closer. For a long moment, he said nothing, only studied the boy standing before him. Blood matted Ethan's hair. His posture was unsteady, yet there was something stubborn in the way he remained upright, as though sheer will alone refused to let him fall.
"What's your name, kid?" Rivington finally asked.
Ethan swallowed.
"My name is… Ethan," he said softly. "Ethan Cole. From the Cole family."
Rivington's eyes widened, just slightly,
but enough.
"…The Cole family?" he repeated. "Then the chief, Zane—where is he?"
His voice trailed off, the unspoken answer hanging heavily between them.
Ethan bit down on his lip, his mouth trembled. His fists clenched. Tears slipped free, tracing silent lines down his dirt-stained face.
Rivington didn't need to hear the words.
He closed his eyes and stepped forward, resting a firm hand on Ethan's shoulder.
"Your father…" he said slowly, with rare sincerity, "…will be remembered as a legend."
The words weren't hollow. Rivington had known Zane Cole. Had fought beside him. Had shared drink and strategy within these very walls when Ethan was nothing more than a crying infant in his mother's arms.
Now, the child had grown and the city was gone.
Rivington exhaled quietly, then asked, "What happened to your eyes, Ethan?"
Ethan hesitated.
He couldn't speak of the system. Couldn't speak of the voice, the power, the Executioner—the thing awakening inside him.
"One of the… demons," Ethan replied at last, his voice strained. "I was blinded during the fight."
Rivington studied him again, longer this time. There was something off, something deeper. But he chose not to press.
He sighed and turned sharply to his men.
"Prepare transport," he ordered. "The boy is coming with us."
Several soldiers nodded immediately, their expressions softened by pity, and something closer to awe.
"We're returning to Gondolin."
At the mention of the name, a low murmur rippled through the ranks.
Gondolin.
One of the greatest cities in all of Eriya.
As the soldiers gently guided Ethan forward, he took one last step across the ruins of Almsworth.... the city that had raised him, the city that had died screaming.
Blind, grieving, and unaware of the path opening before him, Ethan Cole was carried away from the ashes…towards a new environment.
*****
The journey to Gondolin lasted five days.
Five days of dust and rattling wagons, of aching silence broken only by the trample of boots and the groan of tired horses. Ethan barely remembered the road itself. Blindness swallowed distance. Time blurred. Each step felt like walking deeper into a future he could not see, only feel pressing against him like cold iron.
They arrived at noon.
Even without sight, Ethan could tell the city was vast.
The air changed first, thicker, richer, humming with life. Voices overlapped in countless layers. Carriages rolled over stone roads. Bells rang. Somewhere nearby, steel clashed rhythmically, training grounds. Gondolin breathed like a living giant.
It was the third greatest city in all of Eriya. A city of wealth and trade. Of academies that forged legends. Of walls so heavily guarded that even demons hesitated before testing them.
Rivington guided Ethan carefully through the districts, past bustling markets and towering structures, until the sounds softened, replaced by disciplined footsteps and echoing halls.
The King's Castle.
Cold marble greeted them. Every step rang with authority. When they reached the palace gates, armored knights moved as one, halberds crossing with a sharp metallic snap.
"Halt," one commanded, his voice deep and imperious. "Identify yourselves."
Rivington stepped forward and struck his fist against his chest, the impact loud and proud.
"I am Rivington of the Lion Guild," he declared. "I seek an audience with His Majesty."
The knights exchanged glances. After a tense pause, one turned and pushed the massive doors open. The hinges groaned like something ancient being disturbed.
They entered.
The palace interior swallowed sound. Instinctively, every soldier dropped to one knee. Rivington guided Ethan down, pressing gently until the boy knelt as well, head bowed.
Ethan's heart pounded.
In his past life, he had knelt before kings only through a screen, pixels and code, power fantasies controlled by his fingers. Now, the weight was real. The air itself felt heavy enough to crush him.
A calm voice echoed from above.
A calm voice echoed from above. "You may rise."
They stood.
King Cazer Quinn sat upon his throne, carved from black stone veined with gold. His expression was unreadable, neither cruel nor kind. Two royal guards flanked him, motionless as statues.
"What do you seek, Rivington?" the king asked, one hand lifting lazily.
Rivington placed his hand on Ethan's shoulder.
"My lord," he said, voice firm but respectful, "this boy is from Almsworth. His name is Ethan Cole, son of Zane Cole, the Sun Fighter."
The name struck like thunder.
The king's eyes widened.
"…Zane?" he murmured. "What happened to Almsworth?"
Silence stretched for a while.
Rivington bowed his head. "It fell, my lord," he said quietly. "To a demon invasion."
The words rippled through the hall.
The royal guards stiffened. One inhaled sharply, unable to hide his shock.
King Cazer stood. He descended the steps slowly, his gaze fixed on Ethan. Zane had been more than an ally, he had been a brother in arms. A rival in the academy. A friend who had bled beside him in wars long past.
Now, only the son remained.
"So," the king said softly, stopping before Ethan, "you are the last."
Ethan said nothing. Grief tightened his chest until breathing hurt.
"What is your request?" the king asked.
Rivington straightened, resolve hardening his features.
"My lord, given the calamity that befell him.... and his royal blood..... I humbly request that Ethan Cole be permitted to remain in Gondolin under your protection."
The king returned to his throne.
He sat, resting his cheek against his knuckles, studying Ethan in silence. Long. Measuring. As though weighing not a boy, but a future.
"I refuse." The king said, his eyes still locked on Ethan.
The word fell like a blade.
"The boy will not remain here," King Cazer continued coldly. "His family is extinct. He stands alone now. He must learn to survive on his own."
The hall went silent.
Ethan's fingers curled. Blind, broken and orphaned.
And rejected by the city that could have saved him.