In the aftermath of the slaughter on that stormy night, Nordvik never truly recovered. The snow eventually covered the bloodstains, but it could not wash away the scent of death that clung to the wooden pores of every house. And for me, Napoleon, the silence that followed was a torture far more grueling than the screams of monsters.
Two days had passed since I shattered the skull of the last bear with a rusted axe. For those two days, our home had transformed into a tomb of communication. My father no longer looked me in the eye. If our gazes accidentally met, he would immediately look away, as if my eyes were black holes capable of swallowing his soul.
That morning, I sat at the dinner table, staring at a bowl of porridge that had already grown cold. My mother moved through the kitchen with stiff, almost robotic movements. She dropped a silver spoon on the floor, and its clatter—clang!—made her flinch so violently that she let out a muffled sob.
"Mom," I called out softly.
She froze. Her shoulders trembled. She did not turn around. "Yes, Leon?"
"Why do you all look at me as if I were a monster that just crawled in through the window, when I am the one who drove them away?"
My question hung in the heavy air. My father, who had been sitting in the corner trying to repair a fishing net that wasn't actually broken, finally spoke without looking up.
"It's not what you did, Leon," his voice was parose, cracked by a burden he could not carry. "But how you did it. You... you laughed when that blood splattered on your face. You didn't fight to save us. You fought because you enjoyed it."
I fell silent. Did I enjoy it? Yes. Down there, in the Abyss, there was no morality in survival. Joy was the only emotion that proved you were still alive. To me, that adrenaline was proof that my heart was still beating. But to the people of Nordvik, joy in violence was a sign of madness.
"This world is too quiet for you, son," Father continued. He looked at me now, and for the first time, I saw a firm resolve in his eyes. A decision born of a fear greater than love. "You need something more than this fishing village. You need... discipline."
I could feel something moving out there. Not the vibration of a monster, but something more rhythmic. The thud of horse hooves galloping with military precision. The sound of carriage wheels crushing the ice with an unusual weight.
"Who did you call, Father?" I asked, my voice now as cold as the wind outside.
My father did not answer. He simply stood and walked toward the door just as three knocks echoed against the oak. Knock. Knock. Knock. Each rap felt like a nail being driven into the coffin of my name.
The door opened, and the frigid Cyberian air rushed in, bringing with it the scent of expensive perfume and sharp machine oil. In the doorway stood a man who looked utterly foreign to this impoverished village. He was small, almost resembling a dwarf, wearing a top hat and clothes so luxurious that every stitch seemed to scream of power.
He was Haborym, the fifth Supreme Being of The Directorate.
He looked around our squalid shack with a look of condescension hidden behind a forced, wide grin. When his eyes met mine, that smile changed. It was no longer formal, but the smile of a collector who had just discovered a rare gem in a pile of refuse.
"Ah," he hissed, his voice smooth like silk being pulled over sandpaper. "So this is he. The little miracle of Nordvik who managed to slaughter three Frostbearing Beasts with a woodcutter's axe? Remarkable."
I stood up. Every instinct honed in the Abyss screamed in warning. The old man before me did not look physically strong, but the aura radiating from him... it was the aura of someone who had commanded thousands of deaths.
"Who are you?" I asked, my hand unconsciously finding a position to strike if necessary.
"My name is Haborym, Young Master Leon," he bowed slightly, a gesture that felt mocking. "I have come at your father's request. It seems he is worried you will destroy this village if you are left here without... proper guidance."
I looked at my father. He remained by the door, head bowed, not daring to defend himself. He had sold me. Not for money, but for the safety of himself and this village. A cold bitterness spread through my chest, severing the last remnants of my attachment to this place.
"You're throwing me away, Father?" I whispered.
My father finally looked at me, his eyes wet with tears he didn't dare shed. "I am saving you, Leon. In their hands, you will become something useful. Here... you will only become a destroyer."
Haborym let out a small chuckle, a sound like the rubbing of old parchment. "Don't be so dramatic, friend. I didn't come to punish him. I came to give him a stage."
He stepped closer to me, the scent of snow and power growing thicker. "This world is too noisy for you, isn't it, Leon? The vibrations of the earth, the whispers of the wind... you hear it all because you are no longer part of the frequency of ordinary humans. Come with me. In the capital, under the banner of Her Majesty Ereshkigal, that noise will become beautiful war music."
The carriage carrying me away from Nordvik was a traveling palace made of ebony and cold iron. Inside, the seats were upholstered in red velvet that felt impossibly soft against my skin, skin that usually knew only the touch of coarse burlap. Haborym sat across from me, his silk-gloved fingers rhythmically tapping his gold-headed cane.
We had been traveling for several hours, leaving the port of Nordvik behind as it shrank into the blizzard. I stared out the window at the endless expanse of white, which now felt like a blank page in a book yet to be written.
"You don't say much, Young Master," Haborym broke the silence. "Usually, children your age would be crying or begging to turn back once they realize they are never going home again."
"The Leon who wanted to go home died under the bear's claws," I replied without turning from the window. "The person sitting here is simply someone who is hungry."
Haborym chuckled, a sound that echoed in the cramped space of the carriage. "Hungry. I like that word. Hunger is the best fuel for ambition. However, be careful, Leon. In The Directorate, if you do not know how to control your hunger, it will consume you from the inside before your enemies ever get the chance."
He then pulled a small box from beneath his cloak. It was made of silver, engraved with the intricate coat of arms of the Cyberian nation. As he opened it, a powerful, cold energy surged out. Inside lay a badge. Not a Fusaka, but something darker, heavier.
"This is your first step," he said, sliding the box toward me. "Consider this a promise. In The Directorate, we do not wait for the blessings of fickle gods in the sky. We take our own power. We shape the world according to our will."
I touched the badge. Instantly, a strange vibration traveled through my fingers, synergizing with the darkness I brought back from the Abyss. It felt like reuniting with an old friend.
"What are you going to do to me?" I asked.
"We are going to break you," Haborym answered with brutal honesty. "We will shatter every remaining shard of human morality within you. We will throw you into the bloodiest battlefields, to the front lines where death is your only conversation partner. And if you survive, if you manage to crawl out from that pile of corpses just as you crawled out of the Abyss, you will become one of us."
He leaned forward, his eyes glinting behind his spectacles as if he could see directly into the chasm of my soul. "You said you wanted to fight to the death? I am offering you something better. I am offering you the chance to become a God of War in human form. I am offering you a place where you can dance upon your enemies' blades without ever having to feel guilt."
I clenched my fist over the silver badge. The suffocating feeling I had felt in Nordvik slowly evaporated, replaced by a vast, limitless space. That village was a prison; Haborym was the jailer who had just unlocked the cell door.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"To our citadel, the Central Cathedral," he answered, his voice now filled with genuine reverence. "Into the presence of our Queen, the Empress, Ereshkigal. There, you will learn that this world is not only noisy because of vibrations, but because of the screams of those you will conquer."
The carriage jolted as it crossed a steep ice bridge. I closed my eyes, letting the rhythm of the wheels become my new heartbeat. I imagined Malphas standing in the darkness, smiling coldly as he watched his pupil finally find the true path.
Goodbye, Leon. Goodbye, warm fish soup and sweet lies.