The wind was still.The moon, full.And the earth beneath him—scarred.
Froy stood at the edge of nothing.Where once there had been streets, towers, homes—now only a yawning crater remained.Branlow was gone.Not burned. Not buried.
Just gone.
He glanced up at the sky. The stars blinked. The moonlight bathed the crater rim like a halo over a grave.
"That trip wasn't very fun," he said, voice flat.
He stepped forward, boots crunching dry dirt.No more blood. No more screaming.Just silence.
"City's gone," he muttered again. "Where am I supposed to sleep now?"
He wasn't panicked.Just annoyed.A ten-year-old boy who had outlived an entire city.
Then—A voice.His voice.But not his mind.
Sethvyr.
"I want you to go to a human school."
Froy blinked.
"You need to understand emotions," the voice continued. "Without them, you'll grow too cold. That coldness will rot you eventually—from the inside out."
"Go north, to Zolon. The capital of Solmira."
Froy squinted toward the horizon.Black trees. Empty road.Civilization was far—but not unreachable.
"Settle there," Sethvyr whispered. "Study them. Learn how they think. Learn how they trust. And use it."
"Test your strategies. Refine your manipulations. Mold your will with theirs."
Froy didn't argue.He never did.
He just sighed, brushing dust from his sleeve.
"A school, huh?"
"Fine."
"But if they give me homework, I'm setting the building on fire."
The moonlight caught the edge of his smile.
And with that—Froy turned north.Toward Zolon.Toward Solmira.Toward something new.
Froy exhaled, casting one last glance at the crater behind him.
Then, with the faintest hum of power, he spent his first miracle of the day.
The spell wasn't flashy. No thunder. No light.Just intent. And an expectation.
"Why should I walk," he muttered, "when I can ride for free without tiring my feet?"
Moments later, the soft rumble of wheels echoed down the broken path.A carriage—old but sturdy—rolled into view, lanterns swaying gently in the night breeze.
"Froy raised a hand and started crying, but made no move to board right away."
Instead, he limped forward, clutching his side, putting just the right wobble in his step."Performance time," he whispered under his breath.
The carriage came to a stop. A tall man leapt down.
Bald. Tan. Scowling.He looked like someone who'd bench-press a horse before breakfast.
Froy sized him up. Should I kill him? he wondered, just for fun.But then the man rushed forward—fast, heavy steps, heart wide open.
"Kid! Are you hurt?! What happened? Are you alright?!"
The boy didn't speak immediately. Instead, he sobbed. Loudly. Convincingly.His eyes welled with tears as his lip trembled like a leaf in wind.
"M-m-mommy… where's my mommy…?"His voice cracked.His nose reddened.Tears poured like practiced rain.
Perfect.
The big man dropped to his knees and wrapped Froy in a hug, patting his head with a gentleness that didn't match his frame.
"It's alright now. You're safe. Come with us, little one."
Froy allowed it. Leaned into the hug. Even buried his face in the man's chest a little.
The man carried him to the carriage and opened the door.
Inside sat a woman with smooth skin and kind eyes—orange hair curling down her back—and beside her, a girl no older than fourteen, mirroring her mother in every way.
The girl's eyes lit up when she saw Froy.
"Whoa, dad! Where'd you get the adorable stray? You didn't steal him, did you?"
The man laughed, voice booming.
"Hey! Give your old man some credit! I didn't steal him—I rescued him!"
He hoisted Froy up and settled him on a plush seat.
"We're headed to Zolon. If you've nowhere to go… you're welcome to stay with us, little guy."
The boy sniffled.His lashes fluttered.His eyes shimmered with innocent tragedy.
"Hic… sniff… th-thank you… so much…"
His nose was red, his cheeks damp.
Utterly adorable.
Inside, Froy was stone. Calculating. Watching.
But on the outside?
He was a fallen angel, wrapped in cotton, earning trust with every fake tear he shed.
And it worked beautifully.
The carriage began to move again.Wheels groaned softly against the dirt road, creaking with rhythm.
Inside, Froy sniffled. His body gave a small hiccup.Whether from cold, exhaustion, or perfect acting—no one could tell.
The orange-haired girl leaned forward, voice gentle.
"Hey, little guy. It's okay. Don't cry, alright?.""There was kindness in her tone. Sincere. Unforced.""Here, try this. Maybe it'll make you feel better."
Her mother, Emily, offered a small loaf of warm bread wrapped in cloth.It smelled faintly of herbs and something sweet. Safe. Comforting.
"I'm Amie. That bald giant is my dad, Owen. And this sweet lady is my mom, Emily."She smiled and reached out, touching both of Froy's cheeks with warm fingers.Soft. Careful.
"And you? What's your name, little one?."
Froy looked down for a moment, then up.His eyes still wet, voice barely more than a whisper.
"Froy."
A single name. A small sound.
Amie's smile grew wider.
"That's a nice name."
The road stretched on under the moonlight. The stars were bright. Quiet.For the first time in what felt like forever, the night wasn't filled with screaming.
They talked more as the hours passed. Small things.Where they came from.Where they were headed.
Owen's family had journeyed across the seas, leaving behind a fractured continent.They were merchants, planning to start over in Zolon—selling food, growing roots, building peace in a land that still had space for hope.
They laughed sometimes. Teased each other."Amie talked about her dream of having a little bakery.""Emily hummed soft lullabies without realizing.""Owen snored when he dozed off, even sitting up."
Froy didn't say much.But he watched.Listened.Filed every word into a corner of his mind reserved not for enemies, but….Something else.
Something he hadn't named yet.
A warmth, perhaps.
Or just curiosity.
He took another bite of the bread.It was sweet.But not too sweet.
Just enough.