Arin dreamed of warmth.
Not fire or battle—but laughter. Shared meals. Carefree days beneath open skies, back when Eldrin still walked beside them. Back when the road ahead didn't feel soaked in blood.
He saw them training together, arguing, laughing. Eldrin's calm voice correcting his stance. His hand striking Arin's head lightly, followed by a rare smile.
Then the dream shattered.
Arin woke with tears streaming down his face, his breath uneven. The dim light of a cave greeted him, the scent of damp stone and ash lingering in the air.
Neblaheim sat nearby, handing him a piece of dried food.
"…Why were you crying?" he asked quietly.
Arin hesitated, then spoke of the dream—of the
days before Eldrin died, of moments he feared would fade with time.
Neblaheim listened, then nodded.
"That's exactly why we're here," he said. "So those days won't be the end of our story."
Arin wiped his face and looked around.
"Where's Hanase?"
"She went hunting," Neblaheim replied. "We were running low on food."
Arin sat up too quickly. "How long was I out?"
Neblaheim's voice was calm—but the answer wasn't.
"Five days. You've been asleep for five days."
Arin froze.
Before he could respond, footsteps echoed from outside the cave. Hanase appeared, dragging the
body of an orc behind her. Relief washed over her face the moment she saw Arin awake.
"You're finally up," she said with a tired smile.
Arin noticed the sword at her side—Eldrin's sword.
"…Why do you have that?" he asked.
She looked down at it. "I needed something for close combat. Orcs don't wait for chants."
Arin exhaled slowly, then nodded.
"Let's eat and move. We can't stay here forever."
They cooked the meat in silence. The journey ahead was too heavy for idle talk.
After eating, they set out once more.
The Death God's castle lay four months away.
The Monster Realm did not welcome them kindly—but it didn't stop them either. Orc leaders fell. Goblinkings were slain. Vampires burned to ash. Their movements grew sharper, their teamwork seamless. What once required struggle now demanded only focus.
Then they encountered something different.
A Wrath.
Arin charged first, blade flashing—
—and the strike passed through it like mist.
The Wrath moved instantly.
Pain exploded through Arin's body as his grip failed. His sword slipped from his hands, clattering against the stone. He hit the ground hard, breath knocked from his lungs.
The Wrath loomed above him, its form twisting with malice.
And then it attacked.