Seraphion soared through the violet clouds, descending gently amid the sunset over Beijing.
Its wings spread wide like a colossal silver curtain, reflecting the city lights and cooking smoke. The wind stirred by its wings ruffled the air, tilting neon signs and bathing the old street in a light that felt both real and dreamlike.
Lyria sat at the front, holding the reins, her black hair tied high and fluttering in the breeze. She tilted her head, looking at the child sleeping beside her — a delicate face, skin pale as if dusted with mist.
A fleeting memory passed through her mind.
"Do you really want to keep him?"
Remiel merely gazed out the bright window, his voice calm and steady: "I do not 'keep' anyone. I simply… like this child."
"But his soul… it's unstable. Light and darkness are intertwined—"
"That is precisely why I want to see what he will become."
Then he smiled, a smile that silenced all questions.
When Elior opened his eyes, they had already landed.
Seraphion folded its wings, and a warm breath rose, turning the surrounding mist into curling smoke. The small street trembled, then sank back into silence.
Before them stood a row of two-story old houses — white walls, red tiles, wooden doors weathered by time. A wooden sign above the gate bore faded characters: Phố Thiên Đăng.
"This will be your temporary home," Lyria said. "The Thuy Van House — once owned by Lord Remiel."
Her voice was gentle, yet something cautious lingered within it.
Elior looked around. Compared to the luminous floating islands he had seen, this place was small, earthly, and smelled faintly of damp smoke, as if time itself had settled into the walls.
The wooden gate creaked as it opened.
Inside, the house was neat and warm, bathed in golden light. The scent of old wood mingled with tea and faint ashes lingering in the stove. On the table sat an antique pocket watch, its hands stopped at exactly 11:11.
Everything was unnervingly quiet — as if the house itself was breathing, slow and steady.
"Lord Remiel once lived here?" Elior whispered.
Lyria nodded, her hand gliding over the back of a chair.
"Yes. But long ago. I've kept it… for there are things that should not be found by others."
She turned, her smile fleeting as mist:
"Do you like this place?"
"Quiet," Elior replied.
"Quiet is good," she murmured. "Only in silence can one truly hear oneself."
She stood, draping her coat over her shoulders.
"I'll step out to get some food. Stay here, alright?"
Elior nodded. The door closed, the wind sweeping through the crack like a long sigh.
He sank onto the sofa, watching the slanted light from the window spill across the floor. Dust particles danced in the beam — tiny motes spinning like drifting souls.
Then… a faint thud.
He looked down. The sofa's leg had barely touched the floor — and the ground trembled slightly. The sofa slid aside, revealing a dark, yawning crevice.
Elior held his breath. A cold wind rose from the hidden depths, carrying the scent of metal and ashes.
Hesitating, he finally stepped down.
A spiral stone staircase led him deep underground. Each step grew colder, darker, as if descending into a memory not his own.
At last, he reached the bottom.
A small underground chamber glowed with flickering yellow light. In the center sat a stone pedestal, dust-covered, holding three objects:
A black cloak, a crystal staff, and a dark crown.
Elior stepped closer.
The cloak seemed woven from shadows — soft, yet chilling as ash. When he touched it, a gentle whirl of wind circled him. Ancient runes at the collar shimmered a fiery red.
Beside it, the staff. The crystal orb atop it gleamed, countless sparks swirling inside like stars trapped in a dream.
The moment he touched it, a sensation of being stared at gripped him. A giant pair of eyes, deep as an abyss, opened in his mind.
Elior stumbled back. The light vanished.
Then the black crown — small, cold, engraved with swirling patterns like whirlpools. In its center, a stone red as congealed blood pulsed.
Looking into it, a deep, resonant voice echoed in his head:
"You once wore this… and the world knelt before you."
Pain shot through him. Fragmented visions flooded his mind:
A sky cracked open. Angel wings burned black. A colorless sea of flames devoured the city.
Elior collapsed, clutching his head.
In the darkness, a hand rested on his shoulder — warm, weighty, yet invisible.
The three objects on the pedestal pulsed in unison once, then went dark.
He gasped, racing up the spiral stairs. The floor sealed, the sofa returned to its place.
Sitting back on the sofa, his heart still racing, he noticed a black bird land outside. Its golden eyes gleamed. It tilted its head, making a sound half laugh, half cry — then flew off into the night.
The door swung open.
Lyria stepped in, carrying a bag of food. Light from the hallway fell across her face, half bright, half shadowed.
"I got some food," she said evenly. "You look pale, Elior."
"It's nothing… just saw a strange bird pass by," he replied.
Lyria's gaze lingered on the floor for a moment, tracing the crack beneath the sofa — the place that had trembled. She said nothing, only smiled faintly:
"In the mortal world, many things disguise themselves as birds, my child."
The scent of roasted meat filled the room — rich, warm, and wonderfully human.
"Go ahead," she placed the meal before him. "Living here, you have to learn to appreciate the small things… before you understand the great ones."
Elior took a bite, the sweet-salty flavor melting on his tongue.
For the first time, he felt his heart grow warmer.
Outside, the night fell over Beijing like a thick curtain.
Inside the old house, the clock still read 11:11.
And beneath the floor, where the light had just vanished, a tiny red spark blinked faintly —
like the heartbeat of something awakening.