While the battle raged across the fields surrounding Elian's family estate — with magical thunder tearing through the sky and flames spreading like roots of fire — a tense silence had fallen over the trench where they were hidden.
Beneath churned earth, between loose stones, damp mud, and the persistent stench of gunpowder seeping through the cracks, Elian, his mother, and his siblings huddled close, sheltered by Marduk — the mage Elise had left to guard them. He sat near the entrance, eyes fixed on the horizon, staff in hand. His expression was as severe as stone. He barely spoke.
Since they arrived, Emanuelle hadn't left his side. She kept a few steps from him, drawn to the protective presence where once there had only been mystery. Sometimes she curled up in her mother's lap, sometimes she sat beside Elian. But never alone. Fear had wrapped itself around her small body like a cold blanket.
Anthony — the eldest brother — tried to remain composed. He sat upright, fists clenched on his knees, gaze steady on the dirt wall ahead. But Elian could see through it. All it took was a closer look, a tremble in the fingers, a breath held too long… Elian knew Anthony was still just a child. A child pretending to be a man, trying to protect those he loved.
And he understood that better than anyone.
Elian had lived through the death of his family in another life — memories seared into his reborn soul. And with his own hands, he had taken dozens of other lives, under cold blades that now existed only in memory. That didn't make him stronger. Nor braver.
The fear was still there.
But it wasn't the fear of death.
It was the fear of losing everything he loved — again.
The fear of becoming, once more, the omen of the end — the harbinger of death and suffering for yet another family.
In his past life, he hadn't killed his parents. The name of their murderer still burned: Lucius. But the death of his sister, Luciana… that was a wound he had inflicted himself. Out of desperation. Out of rage. In a moment of immaturity that had cost him the purest part of his soul.
And now, here, not as Rodrigo, but as Elian… it was all happening again. The destruction around him felt like a cruel echo of what had already been.
Since his judgment after death — when the owl had guided him through memories, sins, and longing — he had tried to find redemption. To live rightly. To love the family that had been given to him as a gift.
"I only wanted a peaceful life…" he thought. "To grow up, become an adult, maybe have children… and die without regrets."
Elian knew what had happened in that crossing between lives. He understood that when Luciana embraced him, even after death, it had been out of love. Maybe she had even given up her own chance at rebirth, just to grant him another path.
And for that… he needed to be worthy. He had to be.
"I've asked Luciana's forgiveness so many times… I know she must've forgiven me. But… I'll never feel worthy of it."
He thought this while looking around — at the faces of those he held dear. Familiar, yes. But fragile. Frightened. Human.
Outside the trench, the sounds of war hadn't stopped.
Distant explosions shook the ground. Cracks and magical roars tore through the skies. At times, the very earth seemed to sigh — as if it were in pain.
When Gremory and Kreld's magic collided, a shockwave rippled through the trench stones, dislodging bits of dirt from the makeshift ceiling. Emanuelle screamed and rushed into their mother's arms.
Maria, though trembling, held her tightly. She looked at her children one by one — Anthony, trying to be strong; Elian, carrying a sadness she couldn't fully understand; and Emanuelle, her little girl, so small, so terrified.
She had to be strong. Even with her heart in ruins.
Her husband had been left behind. Arthur had been dragged into the forest, unconscious, wounded… and Maria had fled with the children. That memory still tore through her. But she couldn't falter. She had to be the anchor. Even if she was drowning inside.
Another boom, closer this time.
Emanuelle curled up, burying her face into her mother's stomach.
"Mommy, I'm scared…" she whispered, eyes shut tight, body trembling.
Maria gently stroked her hair, her voice trembling but soft:
"It's going to be alright, sweetheart," she said. "Elise will handle it… and then we'll go find your father. I promise."
She hugged her tightly, pressing a kiss to the girl's soot-streaked hair. The warmth of that small body in her arms was the only certainty amidst the chaos.
And Elian watched it all.
In silence.
With the eyes of someone who had lost once before.
And couldn't bear to lose again.
Then, a whistle cut through the air — long, strangely melodic, but steeped in something unsettling. The field seemed to hold its breath. The sounds of battle, just moments before, vanished abruptly, as if the night itself had swallowed the screams and explosions.
A brief sense of relief spread through the trench. The silence, for a moment, seemed to promise rest.
But not for Elian.
Something inside him shattered. A sudden anguish gripped his chest, as if that sound — so simple and solitary — had come from an ancient nightmare, a cursed omen buried in the ruins of another life. His breath quickened. His heart pounded so hard he felt it in his throat. His hands trembled. Goosebumps covered his skin.
It was as if that whistle hadn't come from outside, but from within — a memory that wasn't his, yet one he knew with cruel intimacy.
He tried to hide it. To breathe. To be strong for his mother, for his siblings.
But he failed.
His golden eyes lost focus, his expression crumbled into restrained panic. His whole body began to shake, reacting to something only he could feel.
Marduk, silent until then, seated like a statue in vigil, noticed the change at once. His deep, experienced eyes studied Elian carefully, thinking he understood the source of his fear.
"He's afraid Elise has fallen. That the enemy is coming for them now," the mage thought. His voice, deep and calm, cut through the air of the trench like an anchor cast into stormy seas.
"The battle is over," he said firmly. "I can still sense the magical signatures of Elise and Gremory."
To prove it, he reached for the communication pendant around his neck — an ancient arcane relic, woven with silver threads and a cut crystal. His fingers touched the gem with precision, and it glowed faintly, confirming the magical bond was still active.
"Their marks remain. They're alive."
But Elian didn't respond. He didn't even look at him.
Because it wasn't fear of defeat. It wasn't fear of pursuit.
It was something deeper. Something visceral.
That whistle tasted of death. It had the texture of memories he'd never lived in this life — and yet knew with unbearable familiarity.
Maria saw it before anyone else.
Seeing her son unraveling from within, she crossed the trench in quick steps, kneeling before him. Her hands, rough and warm, cupped his face, pulling him close with a mother's instinctive touch.
"Son… breathe…" she whispered, her fingers running through his red hair, as if she could brush away the terror growing inside him like an invisible plague.
She knew words wouldn't be enough. That nothing said could erase that fear. But still she tried, voice trembling but steady — because she had to be strong for him.
"You heard what Marduk said… Elise won. It's over now… it's over…"
She held him tighter. Kissed his hair like she did when he was too young to understand the world — as if that one gesture could stitch a broken heart back together.
But Elian's heart was far from there.
It was in another time. Another pain. Another fate.
And in that suffocating silence, where the wind began to sweep again through the cracks in the trench, bringing with it the scent of smoke and burnt magic, a single certainty took root within him.
"Mother…" Elian whispered, his voice so faint it nearly vanished. But Maria heard. And what she heard made her heart clench.
There was a pain there that went beyond fear. Deeper. Darker.
Elian wasn't just scared — he was breaking.
Maria leaned in closer, caressing his face, trying to understand.
"What is it, my love?" she murmured, but Elian just stared at her, golden eyes wide with terror.
"Mo—"
The word was cut short by a flash of light breaking the illusionary barrier around the trench. A subtle magical crack echoed across the field, like glass shattering in silence, and the protection concealing them collapsed.
Elise appeared.
Her clothes bore the marks of battle. Her cloak still smoldered in places, her hair tangled, her expression — grim. But before she could speak a word, her gaze locked with Elian's.
And she froze.
She knew that look. Had seen it before. When Elian told her, panicked, about the dream. About the omen. About the owl.
It was the same despair.
Elise stepped forward — but then Elian saw it, high above, wings outstretched in the moonlight, silent as death:
The owl.
White as snow, eyes black and unblinking.
And he knew.
He knew with every part of his being. With every buried memory. With every instinct carried from a past life, when the owl had watched him die, or when it showed him in the dream what would come tonight.
Something had happened.
The world spun around him. His heartbeat thundered like drums in the storm. His hands turned clammy. His breath faltered in his chest. Heat rose to his temples — not fever, but sheer, absolute dread.
The owl's image merged with the dream's memory.
Blood. Rope. Smoke. Screams.
Elian could no longer hear Elise's voice. Or Maria's. Or Emanuelle's.
They were there, yes.
"Elian!" Maria screamed, her voice torn with panic.
"Eli!" cried Emanuelle, clutching his arm tightly.
But Elian no longer saw them. Not clearly.
His vision blurred at the edges. The world lost its color.
The ground felt farther. His body heavier.
The sounds — as if filtered from underwater.
And then, he fainted.
But before falling completely, before surrendering to darkness, one last image burned into his mind — the white owl, watching him from above.
A silent witness to yet another abyss opening beneath his feet.