Kealix stared in silence as the glowing letters continued to form in the air before him.
[Reassigning Divinity…]
[Searching for replacement…]
[Searching…]
[Searching…]
Each word stretched time, as if eternity itself had slowed to a crawl. The letters pulsed faintly, eerily alive, their glow reflecting in Kealix's wide, unblinking eye. What was this? A system? A program? Was someone—something—watching them the entire time? Monitoring their battle? Measuring their worth?
No.
No, this didn't feel like the work of a god. This felt older. Stranger. Beyond understanding.
Just as he was starting to lose himself in spiraling questions, the text shimmered again.
[Replacement found.]
[Congratulations, Kealix. You have been rewarded with a LEGACY.]
He lurched to his knees, startled by the sudden shift in tone and meaning. The text floated with him, as if tethered to his breath.
"A legacy…?" he murmured aloud, throat dry. "What's that?"
He scanned the air around the letters, searching for context—anything that could help him make sense of it. But nothing came. No explanation. No hint.
Then, the text rippled again.
[Selecting appropriate legacy title…]
Silence followed.
Long. Heavy. Ominous.
And then—
Kealix's breath caught. His hands trembled. His eye widened in disbelief as the new words crystallized in front of him.
[Legacy title selection complete.]
[Chosen title: He Who Robbed Fate of Its Light]
"He Who Robbed Fate of Its Light?!" he blurted, half in awe, half in confusion.
"What does that even mean?"
His voice echoed faintly among the shattered ruins. He looked around, searching the text again, willing more information into existence. Nothing. He focused harder, trying to force it to respond—mentally begging the system to reveal more.
Finally, just as he was about to give up, the words changed again.
[Name: Kealix.]
[Aether Capacity: Dormant]
[Aether Circulation: Dormant]
[Age: 20]
[Legacy: He Who Robbed Fate of Its Light]
[Core Ability: ERROR – Core Ability Indescribable]
Kealix blinked, stunned. Aether capacity? Circulation?
He hadn't even heard those terms before. What were they measuring? Why was everything listed as Dormant?
And that last line—core ability indescribable—
What kind of power couldn't be described? Couldn't even be named?
He fell silent, mind spinning in too many directions at once. Questions buzzed like hornets behind his eyes, but he shoved them aside for now. This wasn't the time. He wasn't ready to face whatever those answers might be.
Instead, he turned to the remains of the wolf.
The beast's head lay lifeless among the rubble, severed and still. Its once-fearsome eyes were dull now, its threat extinguished. Kealix stepped forward slowly, the weight of everything he'd just learned pressing down on his shoulders. A strange emotion stirred in his chest—not triumph, not fear… but pity.
It had tried to kill them. Had nearly succeeded. But in the end, it had just been a beast—trapped in a fate it didn't choose.
He knelt beside it and reached out, his fingers brushing the thick, cold fur.
The moment he touched it, the text reappeared.
And what it said made him stumble backward in shock.
[Fenrir, Wolf of the End, has been defeated.]
[The last fragment of its soul is eternally grateful to you for breaking the chains of its cursed fate.]
[The lost soul wishes to fight for you—as a servant.]
[Do you accept this soul?]
Kealix stared, heart hammering against his ribs.
"W-what…?" he whispered.
The air felt colder suddenly. He looked down at the monstrous head again, then back to the message.
It wants… to serve me?
The thing that had nearly annihilated them. The beast that had crushed the air from his lungs with its presence alone. And now…
Now it was grateful?
The weight of this moment sank in like a stone to the depths of his soul.
Kealix stood frozen, the glow of the text casting soft light over his face as he stared at the offer hanging before him.
A servant.
Fenrir.
The Wolf of the End, now bound in gratitude… and willing servitude.
He hesitated.
Was it really safe?
What if the soul turned on him later? He wouldn't stand a chance. Not now. Not with how broken and drained he felt. The power behind that creature… it had been colossal. Unrelenting. Even with its chains shattered, its instincts might remain.
Could he truly control it?
Was he even meant to?
The silence dragged on, the message waiting patiently—timeless and unreadable, yet somehow expectant.
Minutes passed. Then finally, he breathed out and spoke.
"…Yes."
His voice was low, tinged with uncertainty, but the words were clear.
The text responded instantly, the momentary doubt in his tone completely ignored.
[Congratulations. You have successfully adopted the last fragment of the soul of Fenrir, Wolf of the End.]
[What do you wish to name your new servant?]
Name? he thought, blinking at the unexpected prompt.
He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes drifting upward.
It needed to be something fitting… Something that honored the beast, but also gave it a new path. A new identity.
His mind cycled through words and images—cold mountains, silver fangs, moonlit silence, the breath of winter.
Then, with newfound clarity, he spoke—this time with no hesitation.
"Frost," he said with a faint grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "I want to name him Frost."
The name felt right. Not as a title of fear, but as something reborn.
[Understood. Your new soul, Frost, has been made one of your servants.]
[Legacy title: He Who Robbed Fate of Its Light is now taking effect.]
Kealix squinted at the new message, caught off guard.
What? It can do that?
Before he could ponder further, the text continued without pause:
[Blessing of Light has been selected.]
[Blessing type: Frost.]
The same as its name…? he thought, his brows furrowing.
[Preparing user for Servant Mark.]
[User will begin synchronization with servant memory shortly.]
"Wait, what? I wi—"
His thought cut off mid-sentence.
A sudden, overwhelming weight pressed down on his mind. His knees buckled. The cold of the floor rushed up to meet him, but he didn't feel it. His consciousness slipped free like mist unraveling in moonlight.
And then, darkness.
A deep, dreamless slumber swallowed him whole.
Kealix awoke lying flat on his stomach, the soft earth beneath him strangely warm. He groaned, his eyes squinting against the gentle golden light filtering through a canopy of leaves above.
"Ugh…"
Where… was he?
He pushed himself up slowly, blinking as his vision adjusted. The forest around him stretched endlessly, vibrant and alive in a way that felt… foreign. Birds chirped in melodic rhythm, their songs weaving into the wind that rustled through trees covered in rich, green moss. Deer bounded gracefully through the undergrowth, unbothered by his presence. Everything felt so alive. So untouched.
It had been a long time since Kealix had seen a place like this.
But something was… off.
His field of vision—wider. Sharper.
Confused, he raised a trembling hand to his face, fingers brushing against skin that shouldn't be there.
His breath caught.
His missing eye… it had returned.
His gasp echoed faintly in the open air as he stumbled back, staring at nothing, everything, trying to make sense of it.
How…?
There was no pain, no gradual return. It was just there. As if it had never been gone. Yet, with everything that had happened—the strange text, the adoption of Fenrir's soul, the title he still didn't fully understand—was this really the strangest thing to happen?
Maybe not.
Kealix exhaled shakily, trying to center himself, when he felt it.
A pull.
Warm. Subtle. Yet unmistakable.
It tugged at his chest like a soft current under the surface of still water, drawing him gently but firmly in a direction deeper into the forest.
So… these must be Fenrir's memories, he thought, straightening up and dusting himself off. I suppose I should follow where it takes me.
And so, he did.
For hours, he walked through the lush wilderness, letting the strange force guide him. Sunlight danced between the leaves. The forest thrived with life—but none of it acknowledged him. Not the birds, not the deer, not even the wolves he caught glimpses of in the distance.
Was he invisible? A phantom in a memory not his own? It seemed so.
But oddly, it didn't bother him. His focus was on the pull.
Eventually, it led him to the mouth of a den nestled beneath a tangle of roots and moss-covered stone. It was large—clearly the home of a significant pack. As he approached, only a couple of meters away, a shadow stirred from within.
A wolf stepped out.
Instinctively, Kealix backed up, his breath catching in his throat. Panic prickled at the edges of his mind.
What if it sees me? What if it attacks?
Did he still have access to his abilities here? Could he even fight?
But then… the wolf looked toward him—and didn't react.
Its eyes, burning amber and sharp, were trained low, scanning the forest floor, completely unaware of his presence.
It's not looking at me…
He turned, glancing behind him. A small herd of deer grazed lazily in the distance.
So I really am invisible.
Tentatively, Kealix stepped closer to the wolf. It didn't move. Holding his breath, he reached out—and his hand passed straight through the creature like mist.
A soft exhale.
So… I can't interfere. I'm only here to witness.
He turned back to the den, a strange mix of awe and reverence guiding his steps as he ventured inside.
The tunnel deepened quickly, opening into a cavernous space. Shadows danced across the walls. The further he went, the more wolves he saw—large, majestic beasts with pitch-black fur and glowing ember eyes. Each one watched over the den's depths with a protective stillness.
Eventually, he found the source of the sound that had drawn him in.
Newborn pups.
Their cries echoed in the hollow chamber, soft yet desperate, their tiny bodies squirming in the aftermath of birth. Blood still clung to their slick coats as they yelped and wriggled toward their recovering mother.
Kealix stood in silence, watching.
Each pup was midnight-black—sleek, strong, full of potential.
All but one.
One pup stood out immediately. Its fur was pale—white, like freshly fallen snow, stark against the shadows of the den. It was smaller than the others by far, fragile-looking and delicate.
But when the time came to feed, it didn't wait.
The pale pup growled and fought with a fire far greater than its size suggested, pushing past its siblings, biting and clawing to claim its place at the she-wolf's side. Its will was relentless.
Kealix watched, transfixed.
Smallest… but never weakest, he thought. That one doesn't yield.
The image of the white pup—the way it moved, the way it fought—etched itself into his mind.
There was something about it.
Something familiar.
Kealix stared at the pale pup, his gaze lingering longer than he intended. There was something about it. He couldn't place it, yet he felt as though he'd seen those tiny eyes, that stubborn posture, somewhere before.
Time moved differently here. Whether days or weeks passed, he couldn't tell. But Kealix remained, watching the pups grow, his presence more spirit than flesh, a silent observer trapped in memory. He followed them like a shadow, never seen, never heard—only feeling.
And strangely, it brought him peace.
He watched as the pups emerged from the den for the first time, their limbs wobbly, eyes wide with the wonder of the world. The forest greeted them with birdsong and golden light, the wind gently stirring the leaves above. Life pulsed around them, vibrant and unspoiled.
Kealix smiled.
The pale pup—its fur now even softer, more brilliant—stood out like moonlight among shadows. Its eyes, once shut tight in infancy, had fully opened. They shimmered with an innocent, striking blue—bright and full of curiosity. Hope. Possibility.
And Kealix felt it stir in him, too.
A joy he hadn't expected. A warmth in his chest, subtle and aching.
He watched as the white pup barked at the largest of the litter—a bold challenge issued with childish excitement. Tail wagging, ears perked, it bounced around the bigger wolf with tireless energy.
Then, with a huff, the larger pup lunged.
Kealix instinctively tensed as the big pup tackled the white one to the ground, pinning it easily under its weight.
But the pale pup didn't surrender.
It squirmed, kicked, wriggled—every muscle straining as it resisted, as it fought to breathe, to rise. Kealix leaned forward, eyes burning with silent anticipation.
Come on… you can do this, he thought, holding his breath.
And then—
Boom.
The white pup erupted with force, wriggling free and flipping the larger one onto its back. In a sudden, decisive move, it bit down—gently but firmly—on the larger pup's neck, holding it still. Dominant. Unrelenting.
The big pup whined once, then stilled.
Victory.
Kealix exhaled, a proud grin blooming across his face. He felt it deep in his bones—an echo of triumph that wasn't even his. The pale pup stood there, tail high, chest puffed out, basking in its moment of glory.
You've got the heart of a warrior, Kealix thought, eyes soft.
He looked around, taking in the peaceful glade again. The forest seemed content, unaware of the silent spectator in its midst. The pups played. The wind whispered. Everything was still right.
But then—something shifted.
Barely perceptible.
A chill ran through him. The colors around him dimmed. The birds… had stopped singing.
Kealix's body stiffened. His instincts screamed.
Something's wrong.
He scanned the treeline, eyes narrowing. The warmth in his chest flickered, then waned, replaced by a gnawing unease. The kind that curled in the stomach and slithered up the spine.
This moment… it's too perfect, he realized.
And perfection, in memories like this, rarely lasted.