The rain fell sideways.
Not in sheets, not in drops—sideways. As if the world itself had forgotten which way gravity was supposed to work.
Cassiel gripped his sword tighter. The blade was solid in his hand. Heavy. Real. The only thing he trusted.
The old man waited at the end of the broken road, coat flapping like a torn banner. His black eyes seemed stitched onto his face, too dark, too deep. Like looking into a well with no bottom.
Mirae stepped forward, daggers flashing into her hands in a movement so fluid it felt inevitable.
Bastion muttered, "Tell me someone else sees the old creep too."
"I see him," Elior said grimly, voice tight with a prayer half-choked in his throat. "And I don't think he's breathing."
Ilyan said nothing.
He simply watched.
The old man opened his arms wide, as if welcoming them home.
"Travelers," he rasped. His voice didn't carry—it slithered. "You made it. Against odds, against yourselves."
Cassiel lifted his sword. "Who are you?"
The old man's grin widened, splitting his face almost to the ears.
"I am the last page of a book you do not remember writing," he said.
No one moved. Even the rain paused for a heartbeat.
"I am the hand that turns your story."
Cassiel's instincts screamed: kill him now. Strike first.
But the old man simply dropped his arms and laughed—a dry, papery sound.
"You think you can fight me?" he crooned. "You are already written. Inked. Bound."
Mirae narrowed her eyes. "Speak clearly or I'll carve the truth out of your ribs."
The man bowed mockingly.
"You are in Ashreign," he said. "Or... its memory. Its dream. Its first breath and its last gasp. All the cities you have passed through? Pieces. Echoes. And here—"
He tapped his forehead.
"—the song ends."
Cassiel glanced at his companions. Bastion was pale, trembling slightly. Mirae was tense, poised like a blade drawn halfway. Elior whispered prayers, his hands shaking.
And Ilyan—Ilyan's expression was unreadable. Not fear. Not anger.
Recognition.
As if he knew this man.
As if he had been waiting for him.
Cassiel stepped forward.
"We're not here to play riddles," he said.
"No," the old man agreed. "You are here to lose yourselves. To lose him."
He pointed a crooked finger straight at Ilyan.
The group froze.
"What do you mean?" Bastion demanded.
The old man chuckled, a sound like dry leaves in an abandoned church.
"You don't yet realize," he said. "Your fate is already unraveled. His thread cut loose."
Before Cassiel could react, the ground shivered beneath them.
A portal — no, a wound — opened under Ilyan's feet.
Mirae lunged. Bastion shouted. Elior reached out.
Cassiel moved on instinct, sword flashing—
—but it was too late.
Ilyan fell.
No scream.No struggle.
Just a slow, graceful collapse into the dark.
Gone.
The portal sealed itself with a wet, sucking sound.
Only silence remained.
Only the old man's laughter.
"You see?" he hissed. "You never had a choice."
Cassiel's heart hammered against his ribs.
Rage, sharp and clean, burned through him.
He charged.
Mirae, Bastion, Elior — all followed, a storm of steel and fury.
But when they reached the old man—
He was gone.
Only mist remained. Only echoes.
The road ahead fractured into a thousand winding paths, each leading deeper into Ashreign's broken heart.
Cassiel staggered to a halt, breathing hard.
Gone.Ilyan was gone.
And no map. No guide. No way back.
They camped that night under a broken archway, the ruins of something that might once have been a temple.
No one spoke for a long time.
The rain had stopped, but the air remained heavy, thick with unspoken grief.
Cassiel sat apart from the others, sharpening his blade out of habit, though it didn't need it.
Mirae stared at the dying fire, expression blank.
Bastion fidgeted with a coin — flicking it, catching it, losing it, finding it again.
Elior prayed. Softly. Endlessly.
Finally, Mirae broke the silence.
"So," she said. "Do we... go after him?"
Bastion barked a harsh laugh. "Into that mess? We don't even know where he is!"
"He's one of us now," Mirae said quietly. "We don't leave people behind."
Elior opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again.
Cassiel said nothing.
Not yet.
He thought of Ilyan — the way he'd stood before the glass wall, the way he had touched the city's heart without fear.
Who was he?
And why did the old man know him?
Cassiel stared into the fire.
Tomorrow, they would have to decide.
Search for Ilyan—or survive.
Maybe both.Maybe neither.
But whatever they chose, there was no going back.
Ashreign had claimed them.
And the true trial had only just begun.