Everywhere was dark.
Velian drifted downward, weightless. A thick, black abyss surrounded him, yet the cold sensation of water wrapped around his limbs like chains. He couldn't breathe. Bubbles rose from his mouth as he struggled, his hands reaching up, clawing toward a distant light that wasn't there.
He was drowning.
And then—
In the silence of the deep, a vision appeared.
Snowfall.
A peaceful scene. Velian, small and wide-eyed, looked up at an older man bundled in a brown cloak, his white beard thick, his grin kind.
Ban.
"Velian," Ban said, kneeling in the snow and patting his head with a warm hand. "One day, you'll grow into a strong Seeker. Just like me."
The snow melted away.
The scene shifted. A bright sunny day. Velian stood with a wooden stick in his hand, frowning.
"Old man, I don't think I can be a Seeker," Velian muttered.
Ban crossed his arms. "How many times have I told you? Call me Dad."
"I prefer old man."
Ban rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright. But why do you think you can't become a Seeker?"
Velian looked down. "I was branded a Talker… not a Seeker."
Ban burst into laughter and slapped him on the back, nearly knocking the stick from his hand.
"Just because you're a Talker doesn't mean you can't be a Seeker, Velian."
"But Talkers are the weakest of the weakest!"
Ban lifted him up in his arms and spun him. "Talkers are just as important as Seekers. That's something you need to understand."
Velian crossed his arms. "Then what about Mages?"
Ban smiled. "Mages are spellcasters—great at magic, not so good at close combat. That's why Seekers are the fangs of the guild. But Talkers… Talkers are the backbone. No guild stands without them."
Velian blinked. "So, basically… everyone has their role?"
"Exactly. A guild isn't complete without all three."
Velian lowered his eyes. "Still… when I got branded, the other kids laughed at me."
"Is that why you're sad?"
"Not just that… When I looked at our family history, I saw that no one has ever been branded a Talker. I'm the only one. You must be ashamed of me."
Ban walked over and ruffled his hair. "Look at you, sounding like a grown-up already. You should act more like your age or your friends might run away from you."
Velian pouted. "I don't need friends. They leave. They take your heart with them. It's better to survive alone. Friendship is just a curse."
Ban knocked him lightly on the head.
"Ow!"
"Friends are important, Velian. Yeah, they can hurt you—but they can heal you too. Surviving means nothing if you forget who you're surviving for."
Velian folded his arms, cheeks puffed. "Still don't like being called a Talker."
Ban smiled. "I'm proud of you, Velian."
Velian looked up. "You… are?"
"Yeah. You should be proud too."
"But why?"
"Because you're unique."
Velian blinked again. "I am?"
Ban nodded. "You are, Velian. A Talker is born once every generation. You're rare. You're special."
"But… you just said every guild needs one."
"They do. But not all get one. That's what makes you even more valuable. The guild that gets you will treasure you."
Velian's eyes widened.
Ban continued. "I know people don't see Talkers the way they used to. But it wasn't always like this. Talkers were once the most respected of all. They held teams together. They gave commands. They inspired. They were legends."
Velian looked down. "I guess… nothing stays the same forever."
"Still." Ban smiled. "Chin up. Come train with me."
Velian grinned. "Okay!"
They ran to the field with wooden blades in hand.
---
Snow fell again.
But this time, the white was stained red.
Screams echoed through the air. Fire crackled. Blood soaked into the ground.
Velian stood in the center of it all, his small frame trembling, his body coated in grime and crimson.
Ban fought like a lion—holding off two armed men at once, their blades clashing, sparks flying. His movements were slower now. Tired.
One of the men jumped—his blade raised.
Straight at Velian.
"VELIAN! RUN!"
Velian froze.
Terror rooted him to the spot.
He closed his eyes.
SLASH.
He opened them.
Blood splattered his face.
Ban stood in front of him—arm severed at the elbow. Blood gushed from the wound. The attacker backed off, laughing.
Velian gasped, eyes wide with horror.
Then the man lunged again—slashing Ban across the chest. A brutal, deep cut.
Ban stumbled back. Then dropped.
"No…" Velian whispered. "No no no…"
He stared at his hands.
Red.
Just like before.
His mind flashed back—his real father, Bruce, lying in a pool of blood. And now Ban. Both times… his hands were stained red.
This is happening again…
From the shadows, a voice laughed.
Velian turned.
His dark self stepped forward, grinning.
"Oh? Are you surprised?" the darker Velian said. "You knew this would happen. You knew Ban would die. You hoped—dreamed for peace—but you're not meant for it."
Velian trembled.
"You said friendship was a curse. But let's be honest—it's you who's the curse."
"No…" Velian whispered.
"Yes!" the dark version yelled. "Everyone who gets close to you dies. Admit it. You are the problem."
He walked forward.
"You can't escape me, Velian. Because I am you."
He reached out—
And they merged.
Velian's face twisted.
One side smiled coldly. The other side… was soaked in despair.
The cold side whispered, "We are the curse."
Velian's mind cracked.
He slowly reached for a sword lying near Ban's body.
The two attackers laughed.
"What? Gonna fight us with that stick?" one sneered.
The other crouched in front of him. "Go on. Cut me."
Slash.
Blood spurted from his head. The sword was lodged in his skull.
His eyes rolled up.
The other man stumbled back. "Wh-What… what are you?!"
Velian yanked the blade free and swung.
SPLASH.
The man's neck split open.
His head tumbled.
Velian stood motionless. Blood ran down his face, dripping off his chin.
The last enemy shook, backing away. "S-Stay back! I SAID STAY BACK!"
He kicked Velian hard in the chest. Velian stumbled back…
But didn't fall.
He grabbed the man's leg.
SLASH.
A clean slice.
The leg flew through the air.
The man screamed, collapsing into the snow, dragging himself, blood trailing behind him like a red ribbon.
Velian walked slowly behind him, eyes empty, steps calm.
He crouched. Grabbed him by the hair.
And brought the sword across his neck.
CHOP.
The man's head rolled forward.
Velian sat down. Cross-legged in the snow, now painted entirely red.
He pulled the man's head into his lap like a pillow.
He smiled gently. Childlike.
"Hey, mister…" he said softly. "Wanna hear a story?"
---
Present Day
Velian slowly opened his eyes.
His whole body throbbed. Every muscle screamed. The air reeked of blood, smoke, and stone. Yet... he was alive.
A soft hum echoed.
A glowing panel floated above him—calm, pulsing with pale blue light.
---
[Lexomancer System – Reboot Complete]
Welcome back, Lexomancer.
– Vital Signs: Stable
– Soul Load: Normal
– Recovery: 100%
---
Notice:
Command Word "Die" is sealed.
Unlocks at Tier III – Divine Decree
(Current Tier: I – Wordsmith)
---
[System Update – Achievement Unlocked]
Kill Count: 38 confirmed.
Threshold reached: Soul Word unlocked.
New Soul Word: [Sleep]
– Type: Control
– Tier: I
– Effect: Induces unconsciousness
– Range: 10 meters
– Duration: 5–10 seconds
– Success Rate: Scales with focus, intent, and mental state
---
Velian blinked. "Lexomancer System…?"
He sat up quickly, panic creeping into his voice. "What the hell is this?!"
Another panel slid in:
---
[New Quest – Soul Word Acquisition]
Objective:
Eliminate 30 enemies using speech-based support or direct combat.
Reward:
Unlock Soul Word: [Poison]
– Type: Corruption
– Tier: I
Continue growing to unlock stronger Command Words.
---
Velian's hands trembled.
Flashes of memory slammed into him. The monsters. The screams. The blood. Aera.
He clenched his fists, forcing the lump in his throat down. His eyes landed on a cracked dagger nearby.
He picked it up slowly… then gave a dry, bitter laugh.
"If I want to survive alone…" he muttered. "Then I have to be stronger. Stronger than ever."
He glanced at the quest again.
"Kill 30 more, huh?" he said, voice low. "All for a word like 'Poison'."
He wiped the blood from his cheek, eyes burning red with resolve.
"…Alright then. Let's play your little game."
He looked toward the dark, endless path ahead.
"Let's begin this game of survival."