Wind howled, stone bricks rumbling as they tumbled like sand dunes. Clouds thundered, throwing lightning down the earth.

  Hot air arose from the dry soil, the stench of blood misting up the ground. Not too far from the fallen fortress, a man staggered as he walked, a spear held tightly in his hand.

  Not far, laying on his back on the ground, another man watched as Zethir approached. His eyes were bloodshot, his body mangled and stained in red. Death was already hugging his waist, and he didn’t struggle.

  He knew it was futile.

  ‘Damned monster,’ he seethed in his mind, unable to utter his last words with his throat sliced open. ‘Who gave birth to this demon?!’

  Deaf to his thoughts, Zethir paid no heed to the man’s hatred as his steps halted. Raising the spear, his eyes gleamed red as he plunged the spear in the middle of the man’s face.

  Blood splattered as the spear went right through the man’s skull, staining his already bloodstained pants. Zethir’s body leaned forward, beckoned by the wind, but he steadied himself with a step.

  “Ha… Twelve…” he mumbled, shoving his trembling, bloodied hand down his pocket.

  When he took his hand out, a folded piece of paper fell out, and he was holding onto a feather soaked in crimson. Feeling his breath growing weak, he threw the feather at the man’s eye, smiling faintly when it stabbed deep into the latter’s eye socket.

  Then, his neck lost its strength, his vision forced downward.

  Before he could register the state of his body, his world was plunged into darkness. The last thing he heard was a heartbeat, a singular heartbeat from his heart as it stopped.

  ‘Am I dead?’

  He couldn’t help but muse.

  Unbeknownst to him, the dark clouds above his head swirled, with him at the eye of the storm. As darkness spread out, a gentle beam of light fell upon his body, black feathers raining down like snow.

  ~~~

  “... — — —!”

  Zethir frowned, his eardrums ringing when he came to.

  ‘Where am I? I can’t see anything,’ alarmed, he tried to move his body.

  However, his body was still as stone.

  “— — —!!!”

  Suddenly, a loud screeching noise penetrated his brain, stunning him mindless.

  “ — —~~”

  However, when a gentle, soothing sound vibrated around his ears, his thoughts returned.

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  ‘What was that? What’s going on?’ He willed his eyes open, but nothing happened. He was still drowning in darkness.

  “ — … — …”

  Right when he was going to try and access his magic, his mind registered a lethargic sound. Just hearing it made him want to fall asleep.

  ‘I can’t… think properly…’ He thought, his mind spinning.

  Before, he experienced feeling like his body was weighed down by iron bricks. Stretching a limb was a chore. Now, he was tasting that again, only this time, with his mind.

  “ —! —!!!”

  The deafening sound returned, making him feel as though he was about to be blown away. But this time, his thoughts were able to move.

  ‘Is this death? Is this the so-called afterlife?’ He wondered after the strange sound disappeared.

  ‘How long…’

  “...will this last?”

  He blinked. All of a sudden, he was standing in the middle of a temple. The roof was supported by fourteen pillars, divided into black and white.

  “Where… am I?” He looked around. Beyond the open temple, an endless grassland awaited him. The sky was pitch black, no stars twinkling in the dark.

  “Am I in hell?”

  “No,” a voice came from above, prompting him to raise his head. There, he saw a man with a loose, black cloth covering his hips and torso.

  Most importantly, an enormous pair of white wings spread out behind the man’s back.

  “Angel…? This is heaven?” Zethir rolled his tongue around his mouth.

  ‘That doesn’t sound right, I violated many of the gods’ “rules,”’ he thought.

  “First, it was hell, and now, it’s heaven,” the man spoke, his voice flatter than a tone deaf’s song. With a smooth flap of his wings, his bare foot touched the vibrant grass.

  “This place is neither,” the man looked at Zethir in the eyes, his golden one’s meeting the latter’s ruby-like irides. “This is my lord’s domain.”

  “...” Zethir stepped beck, his hand moving to his waist. But his hand grasped nothing.

  Glancing down, he realized that his sword was missing.

  ‘Right, I should be dead,’ he closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, the man was already standing before him.

  “What do you want?” Zethir spat out, his voice carrying a sneer.

  The man raised his hand, aiming for Zethir’s neck.

  “Your soul.”

  After the man spoke, his body suddenly froze, forcing him to watch helplessly as the man’s hand neared his throat.

  “Pu—hak!!”

  Blood gushed out of his mouth, spraying out like a fountain.

  “Cough! Cough!”

  Vomiting mouthfuls of blood, and possibly his guts, Zethir rapidly blinked his burning eyes. They felt as though they’d been soaked in chilli.

  “I’m back?” He tried to speak, but all that came out of his mouth was a hoarse gurgle.

  “I’m alive?!” He croaked out, cackling soundlessly.

  But his joy was short-lived—agony whipped him in waves. Using the pain to wash away his ecstasy, his glanced at his torso.

  Twelve spear shafts jutted out of his body, piercing all of his vital organs. Below him, the spearman was still lying on the ground with a spear shoved into his face.

  However, the feather in his eye was gone, replaced by black feathers soaking up the pool of blood around him.

  ‘Did someone come?’ He wondered, when his veins shone blindingly red. His body instantly heated up, enough to cook eggs into rubber, and his eyes burst in crimson light.

  ‘It hurts…!’

  Under the intense pain, he tried lifting his head. To his surprise, he saw a figure hovering above him.

  “Rest now, oh warrior,” the figure spoke, a smile smearing his face. He was wearing a dark green robe, and behind him, a pair of black wings was flapping diligently to keep him afloat.

  ‘Why did you… save me…?’

  His eyes begged for answers, his hand reaching out for the man. But his world was once again engulfed in black.

  “...Zethir?” A cotton-like voice filtered through his ears, and Zethir’s eyes snapped open in a flash.

  In front of him, a boy with pale blue eyes and wavy black hair was staring at him in confusion. His vision blurred, and his throat tensed up.

  “Daixi.”

  ~~~

  “GASP!”

  Blinking his eyes open, Zethir shot up, hissing in pain. Looking down, he saw his torso wrapped in bandages, though it was now scarlet with his blood. Gritting his teeth, he took a slow, but deep breath as he locked around.

  Surrounded by wooden walls, floor, and roof, he realized that he was in a hut. The furniture was minimal, with only a bed, a cabinet, and a table and chair. Everything was wooden, apart from the flower on a clay pot atop the table.

  However, though the hut was quaint, it was tidy—without a single cobweb visible.

  “Where am I?” He mumbled out, when a sharp pain in his head forced him to shut his eyes.

  Clutching his head, a burning sensation filled his brain, his heart thumping madly in his ears.

  “I can't remember—agh!” He threw his head back, his thoughts jumbled up as he felt like a rat was running around in his skull.

  At this time, the door creaked open, and a man entered carrying a basket of fruits. Seeing Zethir atop the wooden bed, the man dropped his basket on the floor and pried Zethir's hands off of his head.

  “Calm down! Breathe. Can you hear me?” The man spoke firmly, but not loud.

  Zethir growled, his eyes trembling but otherwise seemingly normal. Slowly, the gnawing pain disappeared and his mind cleared up.

  “What… was that?” he gasped, his voice hoarse and airy.

  The man sighed in relief, walking toward the door to pick up his basket of fruits. “Rest first, before we talk about it,” he said, dragging the chair next to the bed and sitting down.

  “Care to have some?” The man smiled at him, handing out an apple.

  “Who are you?”

  Zethir squinted, examining the man’s stature.

  The man was tall, taller than him, and had a lean body with wheat colored skin. He was wearing a loose, dark green robe and a pair of baggy white pants. His head was adorned with a simple straw sunhat, but it didn't veil his boney face and pale white eyes.

  The man smiled, taking off his hat and freeing his short, wavy black hair. Looking at him once, You'd think he was a harmless middle-aged dad.

  “My name is… Earleon,” he grabbed an apple, before biting down.

  Zethir's mind swirled. Although there was nothing behind the man's back… he recognized the face. It was the same face of the black-winged figure from when his energy was rioting.