Morning came—not as relief, but as proof that the night had failed to finish its work.

  Graham woke to a faint creak of wood.

  Kael’s roof still held—cracked in places, but standing.

  Morning light slipped through gaps in the planks, falling onto the cold dirt floor. The air carried the scent of old smoke and metal, lingering in his throat like a stain that refused to fade.

  His body felt heavy.

  Not sharp pain, but a strange exhaustion—as though every nerve had been stretched to its limit and suddenly released. Graham slowly raised his hand.

  No wound.

  His skin was clean. No blood. No burns.

  He frowned.

  That night… he remembered heat devouring him from within. The screams. The collapsing ground.

  Something moving in the darkness, far too close.

  Yet his body denied it all.

  “Graham?”

  Alice’s voice came from the corner of the room.

  She sat near the wooden table, clutching a metal cup gone cold. Her deep black eyes were rimmed red from lack of sleep, her shoulder-length hair with its faint red inner gradient tied back carelessly. Her pale skin, dusted with light freckles across her nose and cheeks, looked almost translucent under the dim morning light.

  “You’re awake,” she said, voice trembling slightly. Relief flickered there, but beneath it, Graham sensed tension—like a thin wire pulled near snapping.

  “Are you okay, Alice?” he asked, voice hoarse.

  Alice glanced down at the black knitted wool bracelet on her wrist, fingers tracing the threads again and again. Her lips pressed tight, gaze flicking between the doorway, the table, and him—body taut, ready to flee if necessary.

  “Um…” she murmured, almost a whisper, throat tight as if the words themselves were painful.

  “Thank God.”

  “Where’s Uncle Kael?”

  “He went up the hill to gather wood and fruit,” she replied.

  Her voice wavered, betraying worry. Her eyes darted to the window, imagining him alone among the tall trees, exposed. A cold knot twisted in her stomach.

  Graham pictured Kael moving between the trees, axe slung across his back, eyes scanning every shadow. Strong, steady, as if the world could crumble and he would still stand firm.

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  “How long was I out?”

  “It’s morning now.” Alice stepped closer, hands trembling slightly, brushing her hair unconsciously.

  “Someone saved us. Uncle Kael told us to come here. You… didn’t stop, even when I called.”

  Graham exhaled slowly. His memory cut off at the threshold of this house.

  “I don’t remember coming inside,” he muttered.

  Alice didn’t answer immediately. She looked away, jaw tight. For a moment, she seemed frozen, fighting echoes of screams and collapsing walls. Then she met his eyes again.

  “Your body…” She hesitated.

  “You should have—”

  “I know.”

  Silence settled between them.

  Outside, the morning wind carried ash from the direction of the village.

  Graham stood. Legs wobbled for a moment, then steadied. A warm sensation spread beneath his skin—not comforting, but familiar in a wrong way.

  “I want to go back,” he said.

  Alice flinched, fingers tightening on the cup she had set down.

  “Now?”

  Her voice sharpened briefly, betraying buried fear.

  “Graham… we don’t know what’s out there. We… might not get another chance if we—”

  “We have to see,” he cut in, calm but firm.

  “But at least eat something first…” she urged, voice cracking, almost pleading.

  She realized he’d already turned toward the door, ignoring the small act of care she offered. Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to follow, heart hammering. Every step felt like marching into the unknown, every shadow twisting her gut.

  The path to the village was a frozen nightmare.

  Houses lay in ruins, some still faintly smoldering. Black, cracked earth mixed with shards of wood and stone.

  Graham walked slowly, each step pressing down memories that tried to surface.

  This was where he grew up.

  This was where everything ended.

  Alice followed behind, shoulders stiff. Every few steps she paused, closing her eyes briefly, willing the scene to change or praying the ground would swallow the horrors before her. She pictured the screams, the flames, the bodies… and shivered at the thought of losing him too.

  It didn’t happen.

  Graham stopped in the middle of the main road.

  Something felt… wrong.

  Not the destruction—but the absence.

  No bodies.

  No remains.

  Only dark stains dried into the ground.

  “This wasn’t an ordinary attack,” Alice whispered, voice trembling. Her eyes widened, scanning the emptiness as if threats might still lurk unseen.

  Graham nodded. “Uncle Kael was right.”

  He crouched, touching the soil. Cold. When his fingers brushed the black stain, his left arm throbbed—a short, sharp jolt, as if something alive stirred inside his veins.

  He yanked his hand back.

  Alice watched him, fear tightening her chest.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, voice small, nearly breaking.

  “Nothing.”

  That was a lie.

  Footsteps sounded from the north.

  Graham stood instinctively, pulling Alice slightly behind him. She clutched his arm, knuckles white, heart racing.

  Her mind screamed to run, yet she couldn’t let go.

  Three figures emerged from the thin smoke.

  They wore dark coats with an inverted triangle symbol on the chest—sharp lines that seemed to swallow the surrounding light.

  OBLIVION.

  “Survivors detected,” one said in a flat voice. “Two individuals.”

  Graham’s eyes locked on the symbol.

  Inverted triangle.

  Not protectors.

  A reminder: if the world falls, they will erase whatever remains.

  “We… are from this village,” Alice said quickly, voice tight, trembling. “We survived.”

  One Oblivion member stepped closer. His helmet opened slightly, revealing cold gray eyes.

  “Names.”

  “Graham.”

  “Alice.”

  The gaze lingered longer on Graham.

  “You’re injured?”

  “No.”

  “No injuries at all?” he repeated, slower.

  “No.”

  The man turned to his companion with a small gesture.

  “Anomaly detected in this area,” he said. “Mid-level Abyss involvement. You shouldn’t be alive.”

  Alice gripped Graham’s arm tighter, fear and relief flooding her. She almost wanted to beg them not to take him, but knew there was no choice.

  The man stepped back.

  “We will seal the area. You’re coming with us.”

  “Where to?” Alice asked, voice barely holding together.

  “To the temporary base.”

  “But we were already saved by Uncle Kael,” Graham said.

  They seemed surprised to hear Kael’s name.

  “Oh, Kael? Sorry for the late introduction. I’m Wetra, Oblivion Division 1 Vanguard. We coordinated with Kael. Just come with us now—we’ll request Kael to join later.”

  Graham and Alice exchanged a small, almost imperceptible nod—a silent agreement, a shared understanding of what they had to do.

  As they followed Wetra away from the ruins, the charred remains and dark stains faded behind them, but the memory of that night pressed against Graham’s mind like cold weight. He swallowed, feeling it all again—the screams, the heat, the fear.

  Beneath his skin, a subtle, cold presence stirred once more—lurking just beyond sight, inside him, waiting.

  The dusty road stretched toward the horizon, leading to a distant structure of solid Caelum bricks, watchtowers rising like silent sentinels:

  Oblivion headquarters.

  Reinforcements that had come too late.

  Graham’s left arm gave another faint throb, as if in quiet protest.

  They were walking straight into the people who hadn’t saved his village in time.

  And Graham knew, deep down, that whatever awaited inside… would change everything.