In the Virel Mansion, within the private chamber of the Virel Clan's leader, something occurred that had never happened before.
An unexpected guest.
The chamber itself was a reflection of its master—vast, austere, and carved from dark stone that bore the marks of age and conquest. Tall pillars lined the walls, etched with the sigils of past victories. Shelves filled with ancient tomes and sealed documents stretched from floor to ceiling, their presence heavy with authority. This room was not merely a study—it was a place where decisions were made that shaped the fate of the Virel State and, at times, the entire Eastern Empire.
And yet, standing at the entrance of this formidable chamber, trembling like a leaf caught in a storm, was Elden Virel.
It was the first time such fear had ever dared to appear on his face within these walls.
The leader of the Virel Clan—his father—was known across the empire for two things: his overwhelming physical strength and his terrifying intellect. He was a man who could crush rebellion with his fists and dismantle conspiracies with a single glance. Countless warriors feared him; countless scholars respected him. Even kings measured their words carefully in his presence.
So when his eyes fell upon Elden—standing at the study door, shoulders hunched, breath uneven, shoes scraping nervously against the marble floor—something inside him snapped.
His chair scraped violently against the stone as he stood up.
In a few long strides, he crossed the distance between them. His towering presence swallowed Elden whole, his shadow falling over him like an executioner's blade.
In a low, venomous voice, he spoke.
"Pathetic."
The word alone felt like a slap.
"You are a disgrace to this clan," he continued, his voice trembling with restrained fury. "I thought you could be the future of the Virel State. I believed you might one day carry my legacy forward."
He leaned closer, his eyes burning.
"But instead, you stand here trembling like a lamb awaiting slaughter—hoping for a miracle."
Before Elden could even react, his father bent his arm and slammed his fist into the wall beside Elden.
The impact was monstrous.
Stone cracked. Dust exploded into the air. The wall that Elden had been leaning against for support shattered and collapsed inward, chunks of stone crashing to the floor.
The force threw Elden off balance.
He fell to his knees once more.
Pain shot through his legs, but he barely felt it.
"Father—" Elden gasped, bowing his head. "I'm sorry. I know you had high hopes for me. But this—this is urgent."
His father turned sharply.
"Urgent?" he snarled. "Then speak."
His tone grew darker, colder.
"Tell me why a man like you is behaving like a scared cat. And understand this—your reason must be good enough. Otherwise, you are going six feet under the ground tonight."
Elden swallowed hard.
"I found him," he said.
Silence fell.
"A certain someone," Elden continued, his voice trembling but resolute. "Someone you might know as… the Vessel of Void."
For a brief moment, his father simply stared at him.
Then his lips curled into disgust.
"Utterly useless," he scoffed. "I don't know anything about such nonsense. And what kind of despicable name is that—Vessel of Void?"
Elden shook his head quickly.
"You may not know the name," he said, "but there is something in your bookshelf that matches the details I gave you."
His father's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"What are you talking about?" he said sharply. "I don't possess such a book."
"Just give me a second," Elden pleaded. "I know it was here. When you went to the capital years ago, I sneaked into your study. I found it then—it has to be here somewhere."
His father laughed darkly.
"You have thirty minutes to prove that," he said. "And if you fail, you know what will happen."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"And I promise you, son—you won't be disappointed like I was."
Elden rushed toward the bookshelf, his heart pounding like a war drum.
His eyes scanned the shelves frantically—ancient histories, sealed grimoires, military records, forbidden texts. None of them matched what he remembered.
Then it hit him.
That "book" had no pages.
It was only a transparent cover.
Simple, yet strange—crafted from a crystal-like material, decorated with embedded gems of blue, red, black, and green. At the time, Elden hadn't understood its purpose. But now, standing under the weight of his father's threat, he remembered every detail with terrifying clarity.
His hands moved faster.
And then—
There.
Hidden behind a row of ledgers, half-forgotten, untouched by time.
When his fingers closed around it, his breath caught.
It felt as though he had found a buried treasure.
Elden turned and rushed back.
"See?" he said, holding it up. "I told you it was here from the beginning."
His father stared at it for a moment.
Then he burst into laughter.
"Haaaaa… haaaaa… haaaaa…"
The sound echoed through the chamber, cold and merciless.
"You fool," he said once his laughter died down. "You know nothing."
He waved dismissively.
"It's just a useless cover, passed down through our family for generations. Nothing special. You know what? You've messed up big time, brat."
Elden clenched his fists.
"Wait," he said urgently. "Don't you think it's odd? Why would a mere book cover be passed down for generations? Didn't you ever find that suspicious? Didn't you ever try to uncover its truth?"
"Don't try to sweet-talk me," his father snapped. "It won't save you."
"I know how it works," Elden said quickly. "Just let me explain."
His father crossed his arms.
"Fine," he said. "Go ahead. I hope this is worth my time."
Elden moved swiftly.
He cleared the table, shifting documents and seals to another shelf. Then he dragged the heavy desk toward the main window, where sunlight poured into the chamber. He pulled back the curtains slightly, allowing controlled beams of light to enter.
Then he opened the transparent cover fully.
He positioned it upright and supported it with weighted objects so it would stand still.
"It's done," Elden said quietly.
His father scoffed.
"And?" he said. "It's still nothing special. And congratulations—you've just earned another reason to die. This is my study, not your bedroom."
"Just wait," Elden said. "Turn around."
Reluctantly, his father glanced at the wall behind him.
And froze.
The sunlight passed through the transparent cover, refracted by the embedded gems, projecting a massive, shifting image onto the stone wall.
A battlefield appeared.
The sky was dark, choked with storm clouds and streaks of lightning. The earth below was stained red with blood. Bodies lay everywhere—stacked into mountains.
Not just humans.
Other races.
Creatures of different forms, twisted and broken.
And atop one mountain of corpses stood a man.
Black hair. Pale skin.
His clothes were drenched in blood.
In his hand was a sword—engulfed in blue flames.
The same flames.
Rudra's flames.
"Stop wasting my time," his father muttered instinctively, turning away.
But then—
He truly looked.
His body locked in place.
His breath stopped.
His hands flew to his head as his legs began to tremble violently.
"No… no… no…" he muttered. "It's not possible…"
His voice cracked.
"I thought it was just a story," he whispered. "A tale from survivors… but it's real…"
His eyes widened in pure terror.
"It can't be him. There's no chance."
His voice dropped to a broken whisper.
"The Emperor of Death…"
His knees buckled.
And with one final, devastating glance at the image, the strongest pillar of the Eastern Empire collapsed unconscious onto the floor.
Elden rushed forward, panic overtaking him. He carried his father to his bedroom and ordered the guards to summon the physician immediately.
Within minutes, the entire Virel Mansion fell into a suffocating silence—as though the world itself had been swallowed by darkness after sunset.