“For many years — from the sky of Tha’i-o’rus... to the land of Earth...

  I have found you. Now, you stand before me.

  Your heart is mine; you do not possess it.

  Place it in my hand. I shall guide you through... all your Desires.”

  A voice, vast and formless, whispered from the abyss within Acheron’s mind.

  He was trapped in a trance—lost between consciousness and oblivion. His body stood rigid and unmoving, yet his soul plummeted into endless darkness. He fell, weightless, screaming without sound, struggling to move but bound by unseen chains. The only certainty was the descent.

  Only the voice—distant at first, fragmented, repeating in whispers—“For years… found you… your heart is mine…” echoed in the void, growing louder with each repetition.

  The Red Lady observed in silence, her empty gaze fixed on Acheron's frozen form. Nearby, Sail flickered like a fading shadow, his body marred by the scar she had left. (He had intervened before; in exchange, she had struck him down.)

  She raised her hands to the sky, then wrenched them downward, aiming to carve a hollow wound into Acheron's chest—to end him.

  But something stopped her.

  An unseen force seized her. Her arms froze mid-motion, trembling against a power greater than her own.

  The same voice—ancient, commanding—echoed from the void:

  

  “Not yet. His death is not destined by your hands. He must perish by the will of the divine—so the cycle may be fulfilled.”

  A blow, invisible yet immense, struck her.

  Her fingers cracked against each other, then her arms were thrown backward—muscles torn, ligaments snapped. Her limbs hung mangled, barely clinging to her shoulders. She dropped to her knees, quivering, her faceless void tilted toward the unseen master.

  A whisper escaped her, raw with submission.

  

  "Forgive me... Show your kindness, my lord. The Great God… The Devil."

  From the shadows, a calm voice broke the tension.

  

  “As I thought... Still, I never imagined I’d see this day—I found the boy. The sixth seal.”

  

  “I must go through it...” Ereos whispered.

  He stepped into the hollow boundary with effortless presence. He stood among the dense grasses and the strange purple tree. The Red Lady turned slightly, observing him through the slit of her bleeding, lidless eyes, sensing the disturbance.

  With a cold scream, she snapped her wounded arm apart—stitches of flesh bursting open, blood running from her eyes and mouth. Yet with that same, broken arm, she slammed her hand into the ground.

  

  "Saw me... Your darkness... The void you held..."

  The ground began to change.

  The peaceful forest dissolved. Grass gave way to buildings—houses like those once found on Street 49. Time itself seemed to walk backward, into night.

  The night when 107 people died.

  (Ereos carries the ghosts of that night.)

  The abandoned hospital appeared before him, disrobed and burning. Buildings on either side blazed. Even the dark sky glowed with the fire of that cursed memory.

  Ereos’s blue eyes, normally cold and unreadable, now shimmered with fear. He knew what was coming.

  From the smoke, a boy emerged—slowly, painfully. Ereos recognized the tattered uniform, the short brown hair, and the unmistakable red eyes, despite the burn scars.

  Keri.

  Keri had died that night.

  And behind him, more came. One by one, they emerged from the smoke—his late Master Zenos Hoshin, a mother carrying her burned child, an old man, a child, men and women alike.

  All 107 who perished.

  They walked slowly toward Ereos, circling him, their steps dragging like echoes of the past.

  He could barely breathe—whether from smoke or guilt, he didn’t know. Face to face with them, the circle closed tighter.

  

  “They all died because of you, didn’t they?” the Red Lady’s voice whispered.

  But she was gone. So was Acheron. So was Sail.

  Ereos stood alone.

  And now the ghosts stared at him—not just with sadness, but with blame.

  

  “Why?”

  “Your fault...”

  

  (“You did what you could. You can’t protect me—but you can protect the boy. The sixth seal… his birth marked the beginning of the end. Protect him with everything you have. And I believe in you. As Lord First did… so do I.”)

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  A calm voice—soft and gentle—reached Ereos's ears.

  The final words of his master, Zenos Hoshin, spoken in his last moments.

  They fueled his strength.

  Before the storm could overtake him, Ereos dropped his black overcoat to the ground. With a sharp knife, he cut into his palm and drew a circle on the coat. Inside it, a triangle. Within that, an inverted triangle.

  A Sigli—prepared long ago.

  He thrust his bleeding arm into the sigil. It vanished.

  His hand reappeared on the other side—on Earth, on Street 49. A thick black liquid followed, pulling his body through: shoulder, head, then all of him. He emerged from the hole, standing in the viscous black pool that had bridged worlds.

  Then—she appeared.

  The Red Lady. Without a word.

  Ereos lifted his bleeding hand, blood flowing in the air, defying gravity. The blood formed a sigil—a star within a hexagon, the hexagon inside a grand star, all encircled. Ancient runes glowed inside:

  

  "Exchange of my soul."

  His fingers blackened, turned skeletal. The black liquid around him rose as if gravity had abandoned the space.

  And then—she vanished.

  She knew what Ereos was about to do.

  He dropped to the ground, the liquid splashing down around him. For a moment, the weight he carried cracked through his armor. His breath was ragged, uneven. His body trembled.

  And from his left eye, a single tear fell.

  The first and only one.

  He exhaled—one long, shaking breath from mouth—as if trying to hold something inside from breaking loose.

  Acheron levitated a few inches above the ground—then dropped.

  The impact knocked him back to his senses. He tried to stand, but his arms wouldn't allow it. Trampling in the snow, he felt the cold ice burn beneath him. Dazed, he gazed at the sky. Snow was falling steadily. He felt sleepy. But before he could close his eyes—

  A laugh echoed in his mind. A joyful voice.

  “You know... why did the snowman call the doctor?”

  Acheron mumbled, “Don’t know.”

  “Because he felt melancholy—as his love of life melted last summer,” Sail replied, then added with a chuckle, “Like my love... for her.”

  He laughed.

  And somehow, even in the snow and pain, Acheron smiled.

  But then—Acheron opened his eyes.

  He looked around, found Sail.

  And froze.

  Sail's body lay in the snow, a white light slowly rising from it—his soul, beginning to slip away. The snow around him was stained red. His blood.

  Acheron's heart stopped. His smile vanished.

  He tried to stand. Failed. Crawled. The snow burned against his skin, but he didn’t stop.

  He forced himself upright, sweating in the cold.

  Sail lay unconscious. Still. His face tilted toward the west, eyes closed. The jacket he wore was torn—badly. A massive wound stretched from shoulder to stomach, just like Acheron had seen in his dream.

  Acheron dropped beside him in disbelief. He cradled Sail’s head, raised it to his knees.

  His eyes—already full—began to overflow with slow, helpless tears.

  “Sail...” he whispered. The word barely passed his lips.

  He tried pressing the wound, stopping the bleeding. Failed.

  Blood poured out, staining the snow, his hands, the earth. Red everywhere.

  “Help! Someone—please!” he screamed.

  He bent over Sail, shielding him from the snowfall, trying again to lift him. But he barely had strength to stand himself.

  “No, no, no... What should I do?”

  “Sail? Why you... why not me?”

  From the distance, Ereos approached.

  He wiped a tear from his eye—pretending something had just gotten in it.

  For the first time, Acheron saw him.

  “Please,” he begged, voice cracking. “Help... help him.”

  “Don’t move him,” Ereos said calmly.

  He walked over and knelt. From a pouch, he dipped his hand into a black liquid and pulled out a coat—now clean. The substance disappeared.

  Then Ereos began to murmur. His lips moved, but no words came out. His eyes turned white—pupils gone. A light formed in his palm. Gently, he ran his hand along the wound—from Sail’s abdomen up to his shoulder.

  Acheron could only watch. Powerless, but hopeful.

  The bleeding stopped. The blood... reversed. Flowing back into Sail’s body.

  Sail coughed—breathed—and barely opened his eyes.

  “Acheron... you’re such a crybaby,” he whispered, and passed out again.

  Acheron blinked.

  “Really?” he said, half-laughing, half-crying.

  “I stopped the bleeding,” Ereos said, “but the wound won’t heal instantly. He needs days. Maybe a week.”

  He covered Sail with his coat and hoisted him onto his back.

  “We should take him to a hospital.” His voice was firm.

  Ereos looked at Acheron.

  “The Sixth Seal...” he thought. “You’re the boy who will bring the end of this cursed world.”

  Acheron barely stood. But he moved. Jogging.

  “Where are you rushing to?” Ereos asked.

  “The hospital’s far. I’m going to ask for help,” Acheron replied.

  “No need to hurry,” Ereos said. “There’s a car at the end of this street.”

  The snow kept falling.

  Sail remained still, shielded by the coat.

  “Don’t you want to ask anything?” Ereos asked.

  “About that demon of yours?” Acheron replied.

  “We were unfortunate enough to meet it... but lucky someone like you was here.”

  Ereos looked away.

  “You don’t understand.” He paused.

  “Everything that’s happened... the deaths, the disappearances—every step was meant to lead someone to you.”

  Elaine Carter sat in a police car, watching Street 49.

  “It’s been almost thirty minutes, Ereos. The silence, dark street suffocating me... and This snow hasn’t let up.”

  Then she saw them. Ereos with Sail on his back. Acheron beside him.

  She stepped out.

  “Didn’t you hear the voice?” Ereos asked Acheron, serious now. “That voice in the abyss?”

  Acheron slowed. His chest tightened.

  “What do you mean everything is about me? I’m just an orphan. I have nothing to give...”

  Ereos stopped. Looked at him.

  “Your heart,” he said.

  Then he saw Elaine approaching and added—

  “We’ve reached the car.”