"Who's there?" His voice was a frayed thread.
The figure stopped. Its face was a faint glow in the gloom, its expression unreadable. The air distorted around it, shimmering like heat haze.
The gray void swallowed the last of the battlefield. There was nothing now. Just the two of them.
The figure's voice was low. "You've run far, Vasco. Too far to end here."
Aden's breathing was a dry rasp. "If you're here to finish me off… get it over with."
The figure tilted its head. "Death's already had you. I'm just… late."
Aden's eyes focused. A faint chain, pulsing with red sigils, was wrapped around the figure's wrist. "What are you?"
"I'm just a soul which dreamed a bit too much."
The void trembled. A deep, resonant hum echoed from somewhere vast and unseen.
"Tell me, Aden Vasco… if you could live again, would you do anything differently?"
Aden stared up, half in disbelief. "What kind of question is that?"
"A fair one. You've already lost everything. So what's left to lose?"
His hand twitched toward his hip, for the sword that wasn't there.
"You won't need that here."
Aden steadied his breathing. The void was cold. "You dragged me here?"
"Dragged is a harsh word. Let's call it… intervention."
"I didn't ask for help."
"You didn't have to. Your blood did."
Aden's eyes narrowed. "My blood?"
"Yes. The same blood that carried me once before. Three times, in fact."
The figure's form flickered, solidifying. Fragments of black armor coalesced. Wings of shadow unfolded and vanished. A faint pulse of light burned behind the mask. "Three vessels. The first was Lucius Vasco, the First Patriarch of your line. Then one who came after. And now you." Its voice gained a grim weight. "Three thousand years, and the blood still breeds defiance."
Aden frowned, trying to anchor his mind. "The First Patriarch? You knew him?"
The figure almost smiled.
"I fought him. Bled for him. Learned what it meant to be less than divine because of him."
The void ignited.
Flames spiraled upward, reshaping the nothing into an ancient battlefield that stretched across worlds. Armies clashed under a bleeding sky.
"Three thousand years ago," the voice continued, "the Demon God ruled the lower planes. His reach was endless, his hunger absolute."
The figure, Egmund, was now solid. Black armor, vast wings, eyes like embers. "He sent me across realms to conquer in his name. The heavens fell silent. The lower realms kneeled. And then… I met him."
The vision shifted. A single man stood before the demonic legion. His armor was silver, his gaze unbreakable. Lucius Vasco. The First Patriarch.
"Lucius Vasco. The only mortal who could ever rival me."
Their blades collided. The world shook.
"For years, we fought," Egmund said, his tone half-proud, half-regretful. "I was called the God of War. He was the foundation of an empire. We were equals."
The vision showed ruin. Two warriors, standing amidst the carnage. Neither kneeled. Both simply stopped.
"And so," Egmund said softly, "the war ended. Not in victory, but in respect. We forged a mutual vow. No more slaughter. No more blood between realms."
The fire dimmed. The void now showed a vast, dark throne, unseen above the clouds.
"The Demon God could not cross realms himself. He sent me instead. And when I returned without conquest, his rage turned… silent."
The image rippled. A presence, smiling. Its voice was calm, honeyed. It praised Lucius. Claimed the invasion was a mistake. A fight for survival.
"Lucius believed him. He accepted the apology. And in return, the Demon God offered a gift. The essence of his 'most trusted soldier,' a token of peace to strengthen the Vasco line."
Egmund looked at Aden.
"That gift was me."
The void trembled. Chains of blazing light burst into sight, wrapping around Egmund's arms, his chest, his throat.
"I was sealed inside your blood. To watch. To devour. To make sure no Vasco ever rose again strong enough to rival the gods."
Aden clenched his jaw. "So you killed them. My ancestors. Me."
Egmund's gaze hardened.
"Yes. But you are the first I couldn't consume."
Silence. Aden breathed heavily. The void hummed.
Egmund stepped closer.
"You've lost everything. Betrayed, hunted, forgotten. And yet you still refuse anger. Why?"
Aden glared. "Because rage doesn't fix anything."
"No," Egmund said softly. "But it breaks what needs to be broken."
Aden's tone sharpened. "You think I'll pity you? You're a demon."
"I am wrath itself, Vasco. I don't ask for pity."
The void darkened. Red light bled through the cracks.
"I offer you a path."
Aden didn't speak.
Egmund raised his arm. A single chain shimmered into sight, vast and glowing, winding into infinity.
"One chain. That's all it takes. Break it, and I'll burn my existence to turn time backward. You'll wake before it all falls apart. Before the betrayals. Before the war."
Aden laughed weakly. "You expect me to trust you?"
Egmund's voice deepened.
"No. I expect you to hate them enough."
Aden turned away. "I'm done fighting ghosts."
Egmund's tone sharpened. No longer calm.
"Your family died begging your name. Your empire cheered when they burned."
Aden froze. His fists clenched.
"The same men who called you brother, son, commander, they buried you alive with their silence."
Aden's breath grew harsh. "Stop."
"They erased you, Vasco. As if you never mattered. You call that peace?"
Aden's head snapped up, eyes blazing. "Enough!"
The void trembled with his roar. Energy flared from his shattered core.
Egmund stepped closer, his voice low and certain.
"Then make it right."
Aden's voice broke into a growl. "How?"
Egmund extended his chained hand.
"Free me. One chain. One chance. I'll send you back. You'll have everything again, and the power to end them all."
Silence hung between them, thick and absolute.
Aden took the hand.
"Fine. Let's burn it all down."
The chain screamed as a single link shattered. Blinding light spilled through the void.
Egmund's armor reformed, whole and terrible. His voice was thunder.
"Then our fates are bound. I am Egmund, the Demon God's most trusted soldier. The embodiment of wrath."
A blade of black flame formed in his hand.
He drove it into Aden's chest, through his core.
Aden's scream split the silence, a pain beyond death, beyond time. Light engulfed them both, swirling backward.
Egmund's voice faded, echoing through eternity.
"Do it right, this time."
"The verdict has been reached."
Aden Vasco stood in the heart of the disciplinary chamber. Cold iron manacles sealed around his wrists, leaching the strength from his veins. The air was thick, heavy with the judgment of the Walpurgis Academy committee. Their stares were nails, driven deep.
Sunlight cut through the high windows, setting the banners and bookshelves ablaze.
The Head Arbitrator's voice was cold steel. It silenced the room. The gathered students, professors, and nobles held their breath.
"Aden Vasco, you are hereby found guilty of first-degree murder."
How?
A shard of pain lanced through his temple. Memories, sharp and broken. The scent of oiled steel. The wet tear of flesh. The taste of iron.
This was not his doing.
He had woken into this nightmare.
"Aden Vasco, you are hereby found guilty of first-degree murder."
The words settled in him, cold and final.
He did not understand the situation he was in and how he got there.
Just moments before, he was in the subspace alongside Egmund and now he was here.
But something else settled with them. A new acuity. His senses honed to a razor's edge. His gaze hardened.
And he realized all eyes were not on him. They were fixed on the man in the seat of honor.
Duke Edvard Vasco. His presence was a verdict in itself. He was the only reason the committee had hesitated at an execution. The entire trial had been a breath, held, waiting for him to exhale.
As the sentence fell, the Duke stood.
He adjusted his dark coat, a slow, deliberate ritual. Then, without a single glance at his condemned son, he turned. He walked toward the exit.
His footsteps were the only sound in the dead silence.
The committee exhaled as one. The storm had passed. The Duke would not intervene.
Aden watched him go. No protest. No final look. Nothing. The dismissal was a colder execution.
The silence shattered under the tread of armored boots. Imperial Knights moved in, their efficiency chilling.
The leader was a grizzled veteran, a scar carving down his cheek. His hand rested on his sword. His eyes, flint, locked onto Aden.
"By order of His Imperial Majesty," the knight's voice was flat, "you are to be taken into custody. Immediately."
A sharp nod. "Take him."
The manacles bit deeper, a void where his power should be. Yet, as they pulled him forward, his body moved with a new, instinctual grace. His posture was straight. His senses, hyper-alert.
A low energy bled from him. A pure, unrefined bloodlust that thickened the air.
A professor stepped back. The Headmistress looked away. The knights hesitated.
He was in chains. Condemned. Fallen.
But he did not look like a prisoner. He looked like a leashed predator.
The spectators stood frozen as he was marched past, their faces a canvas of awe and terror.
Despite the restraints, despite the fall, Aden Vasco radiated the presence of a monster.
For them, this was not the fall of a man. It was the march of a beast.
As they crossed the courtyard, Aden turned for a final look at the Academy's spires. The sky above churned with bruised, grey clouds, a perfect mirror of the storm within.
Did Egmund betray him?, did he fail to deliver his promise.
But one thing was sure for him.
He was in the Past.