The sun hadn't risen yet, but the world was already too quiet.
Vaelion sat at the edge of his bed, shirtless, staring at the floor. His bandages itched from yesterday's sparring match with Miora, but he didn't complain.
That's when the knock came.
Tap. Tap.
"Mmm. You up?" Miora's voice was unusually subdued. She pushed the door open without waiting. "You got a letter."
She tossed it onto his lap — parchment, clean edges, sealed with no emblem.
Vaelion raised an eyebrow. "No sender?"
"Nope. Just this."
He opened it. Three words written in an almost perfect script:
"Come. Alone. Valtros."
His heart skipped.
---
The place was an abandoned bell chapel on the outskirts of Gurren. Broken windows, cracked altar, and one faint sound: the creaking of chains.
Vaelion entered cautiously, shadows crawling along the ruined pews. "Valtros?" he called out.
No answer.
Then — a voice. Calm. Too calm.
"You came. That makes this easier."
A figure stepped out from behind the altar, hands folded, long white hair tied loosely, eyes veiled in shadow.
Vaelion moved on instinct, summoning a barrier — too late.
The next thing he knew, his legs collapsed. Paralysis. His magic wasn't responding.
Velgrin didn't even flinch.
"Do you know what happens," he said gently, kneeling in front of Vaelion, "when you crush the soul just right?"
He held out a writhing centipede—black and glistening.
Vaelion's eyes widened. "You're—"
The insect was forced down his throat.
---
The first hour was blurry.
The second was pain.
By the third, Vaelion could no longer scream.
Velgrin took his time.
He gouged out one eye, slowly, explaining something about "focus being the first illusion."
The second eye followed, but that came with a sermon on blindness and truth.
He whispered prayers as he worked.
Calm. Patient. Unforgivable.
When Vaelion begged for death, Velgrin kissed his forehead, almost tenderly.
And then—
Shhk.
The sound of his blade slicing cleanly through Vaelion's neck.
Darkness.
---
Tap. Tap.
"Mmm. You up?"
Vaelion jolted upright.
Miora stood at the door, same parchment in hand. "You got a letter."
His breath caught.
"No... No way."
He snatched the letter, his hands trembling.
"Come. Alone. Valtros."
Same words.
Same ink.
Same silence.
He stood and caught his reflection in the mirror beside the bed.
His hair—
Pure white, like frost under moonlight.
His eyes—
Both sapphire blue, glowing faintly like frozen fire.
He staggered back, breathing hard.
"What the hell… just happened?"
And deep in his chest, something whispered:
"You are not done yet."
---
To be continued...