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Dawn arrived without color.
The streets of Eldoria were unrecognizable — smoke, dust, and the metallic scent in the air.
The city that once pulsed with life, with its golden lights and vibrant markets, had now become a cemetery of echoes and memories.
The Bahad Armed Forces crossed the ruins in armored vehicles, collecting the wounded.
Out in the fields beyond the city was where the real work took place — bodies and survivors scattered everywhere.
Through the gray mist, soldiers of Eldoria and Bahad exchanged weary glances, trying to restore order amid the chaos.
The alliance between the kingdoms had been activated in haste, but even with reinforcements, all that remained there was silence — and loss.
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Among the wreckage, Lorian walked in handcuffs.
His wrists were wounded, his face stained with dirt.
Despite the grime and dried blood, his eyes still carried that cold gleam — the look of someone who knew everything had gone exactly as planned.
The chaos had been nothing but a curtain.
While the city faced the terror of Niyx, the real strike took place elsewhere — at the Royal Auction of Eldoria.
The event's security had been redirected to the underground shelters, where civilians crowded together to escape the collapse.
And it was in that window, that fleeting moment of collective panic, that the plan was completed.
The artifacts — every one that mattered — vanished.
No trace. No alarm.
Objects of immeasurable power, treasures coveted even by kings, were now in the hands of Erebos and Xanthir.
"They waited for the chaos to begin… and then they acted," murmured one of Bahad's generals, flipping through soot-stained reports. "They planned everything. Even the timing of the evacuation."
Lorian heard that and let out a low, amused chuckle.
He raised his eyes to the man, and even in chains, he sounded in control.
"You still think it was bad luck…" he said, smirking.
One of the guards shoved him with the barrel of his gun.
"Shut up and walk."
Lorian shrugged.
"Heh… it's over anyway."
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Hours later, gray skies loomed over Eldoria's Central Barracks.
Distant lightning illuminated the ruined city.
Lorian sat alone in a reinforced cell, its walls covered with sealing runes.
The air smelled of iron and ozone. The cold flames of surveillance crystals cast blue reflections over the damp floor.
Two officers observed him through a magical mirror, keeping their distance.
"He hasn't said a word since he got here," one of them muttered, frowning.
"We're still reviewing the mana field around the auction, but… the artifacts vanished without triggering a single alarm."
"So someone disabled the defenses from the inside."
A heavy silence followed.
Inside the cell, Lorian remained motionless, staring at the floor.
Drops of water dripped from the ceiling, striking his arm — ticking like a clock.
Then, he whispered — without looking up:
"The contract's over… I want a new one."
The air began to vibrate. The walls pulsed.
"What's happening to him?!" one of the guards shouted, stepping back.
Energy condensed around Lorian, distorting his silhouette — and even as his body began to disintegrate, he smiled.
A calm, accepting smile — the kind of peace found only in self-destruction.
Before any barrier could be reinforced, the cell exploded.
Light swallowed the corridor.
The sound of the blast echoed like a contained thunderclap. The floor cracked, and part of the ceiling collapsed.
When soldiers stormed in, all that remained was a circle of ash and splatters of blood — and on the wall, a burned seal shaped like a flower.
Lorian's body was gone.
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One hour later.
In a luxurious yet discreet apartment in one of Eldoria's farthest cities, a bottle of wine was opened.
Xanthir, a man with black hair and a calculating gaze, wiped the perfectly aligned sleeves of his suit.
In front of him, a glass of wine swirled between his fingers.
"The plan was an absolute success," he hummed, watching the reflection of the wine. "The only suspect they had left can no longer be questioned. A perfect ending for our strategist."
Niyx stood by the window, her eyes fixed on the gray horizon.
She held a small plate with cake — one that Xanthir had brought for her.
"Where did he end up?" she asked, curious. "His body disappears, right?"
Xanthir sighed, leaning back in his chair. "That's what he gets for being so disgusted with life."
He raised his glass and continued:
"Lorian's unique ability, [CycleofDissatisfaction]. It only activates when he gives up on living. When that happens, his body explodes and he's reborn elsewhere… in another body."
He smirked faintly. "The Pillar of Resurrection, as we call him."
Erebos, sitting on the couch, swirled his wine and muttered:
"A self-pity ability. What a beautiful irony."
"Don't call it that, Erebos," Xanthir corrected softly. "Call it existential perfectionism."
Niyx frowned. "So he'll come back as a baby?"
"Exactly," Xanthir replied, amused. "A new body, maybe a new race — a new chance. Keeping the memories of his previous life. Twenty, maybe thirty years from now, we might meet him again."
"Well, what do we do now?" Erebos asked.
Xanthir set the glass down and stood up, his voice turning cold again.
"We make the delivery… and then we vanish for a while. But first—" he looked at Niyx, his smile fading. "Is it true, what you said in the meeting?"
Niyx shrugged, finishing the last bite of cake.
"It is. I'm leaving the team. I plan to travel a bit… go back to my homeland. See how things are there."
Xanthir nodded, a hint of sadness in his expression.
"Well, it's not like I could stop you. I just hope you come back someday."
Erebos let out a dry laugh. "Or don't. Wherever you're from, just die there."
Niyx chuckled lightly, unoffended.
"Heh, I expected that from you."
Xanthir shot him a disapproving glance, then turned back to Niyx.
"Good luck, then. And… thank you."
"Of course," she replied softly.
Without another word, Niyx leapt out the window.
The wind struck against her boots as she touched the air — and within seconds, she vanished among the clouds.
The apartment fell silent.
Only the sound of wine being poured again filled the room.
"So?" Erebos asked, breaking the quiet. "When do we make the delivery?"
"Soon," Xanthir said, staring at the bottle. "Our new employer is waiting."
"And who is he, anyway?"
Xanthir gave a faint, almost imperceptible smile.
"I think… we'll never find out."
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