Towering and menacing, the Blackspine Peaks were a place where few dared to tread.
It was said that even archmages would hesitate before setting foot in its shadow, for within lurked mana beasts with strength equal to even archmages.
Despite the ominous location, Mikel felt a strange sense of relief. Their orders had been simple—eliminate a powerful mana beast threatening the borders of Eryndor.
Dangerous, yes, but preferable to the chaotic worst-case scenarios Mikel's anxious mind had conjured.
Still, an unease crept beneath his skin, as if something was watching them from the icy cliffs above.
At the foot of the mountains, the army halted abruptly.
Aaron, the commanding officer, raised a hand. His voice was grim.
"Prepare for battle."
The tension snapped through the army like a bowstring. Mikel's heart dropped.
He scanned the horizon, unsure of what they were preparing for. There had been no signs of beasts or enemies.
Then, the sky cracked.
A thunderous boom shook the earth as something descended from the heavens like a falling star.
The impact threw up an explosion of snow and rock, creating a massive crater that fractured the mountain path.
Panic rippled through the soldiers. Shouts of confusion erupted.
Mages prepared spells, archers drew their bows, and warriors instinctively drew blades, but none advanced. Everyone stared at the crater.
Mikel took a step back, heart pounding. This wasn't a beast. This was something else.
From the other side of the crater, the air shimmered with lingering mana, thick with smoke and the acrid scent of scorched earth.
The ground cracked beneath Aaron's boots as he staggered forward, his heartbeat still thundering in his ears from the earlier blast.
Shapes moved in the haze. Then—footsteps. Soft, deliberate.
A lone figure stepped through the settling dust.
Aaron's eyes narrowed. His instincts tensed.
And then he saw it.
White hair, striking as freshly fallen snow, flowed slightly in the breeze. Eyes—a deep, vivid red—glowed like fading embers.
The young man stood tall, his face void of emotion, gaze steady and cold.
Aaron froze.
Something twisted inside his chest. There was something uncannily familiar about that face. The structure. The way he stood. The stillness in his presence.
It felt like staring into a warped memory.
His mouth opened before he could stop it.
"...Leon?"
The name slipped out, fragile as breath, as if saying it too loudly would cause it to vanish.
The man's eyes didn't widen in recognition. They didn't soften. If he'd heard the name, he gave no sign. He simply stared back—silent and unreadable.
Aaron's lips parted again, but no words came.
His mind was scrambling. That name wasn't just a guess. It was certainty born of years long past.
He knew this person. He did. That face—it used to be softer. Darker hair, quiet brown eyes, a shy smile.
A boy who trailed behind but never truly left. One who was always just there, like a constant but fading star in the background.
Leon.
They were childhood friends, once. Spent summers chasing echoes in the streets of their village.
But the years had stretched between them. They entered the same academy, yes, but into different classes. Different friends. Different paths.
It wasn't abrupt. Just quiet. Gradual.
A soft, unnoticed drifting.
Aaron frowned, brows knitting. When was the last time they'd talked at all?
He remembered passing Leon in the halls. Maybe nodding. Maybe not even that.
Always meaning to speak, but never stopping long enough to do it. There was no fight, no fallout. Just… life.
And now, the boy from those dusty corners of memory stood before him—transformed.
Not just in appearance. Something deeper. Like a fire had burned away everything soft and unsure.
Aaron's breath hitched slightly.
"Your hair... it used to be black," he murmured, barely aware he was speaking. "And your eyes…"
Red. Cold. Empty of anything resembling the boy he remembered.
Leon didn't respond.
The silence stretched between them like a chasm.
Aaron took a slow, unsure step forward. "Leon… it's me. Aaron."
Nothing.
His chest tightened. He felt foolish—like reaching out to a stranger in a crowd because they looked like someone from long ago.
Maybe that's all this was now.
A memory mistaken for a person.
And yet… the longer he looked, the more certain he became.
It was Leon. But the warmth was gone. The quiet awkwardness, the shy hope in his eyes—gone.
This version of Leon stood with a presence that felt like steel. Alone. Unmoving. Distant.
Aaron took another step forward.
"I didn't recognize you at first," he said softly. "You've… changed."
Still, Leon said nothing.
Aaron's hand curled into a fist by his side.
And suddenly, a dull ache grew behind his ribs. A strange sense of guilt.
The kind that comes from realizing how easily you'd forgotten someone who once mattered.
How someone could be in your life, and then out of it, without anyone noticing until it was too late.
Aaron stood frozen in that thought, the weight of forgotten years pressing down on him.
And then Leon moved.
His gaze swept over the assembled army below with quiet menace, the wind catching his Silver Armour as if the very world bent around his will.
When he spoke, it wasn't the voice of the boy Aaron remembered.
It was colder. Sharper. Commanding.
"Leave. You are not permitted here."
The soldiers froze. No one moved.
Then—
"Tch. Arrogant bastard."
A young mage, Thalos, stepped forward, sparks of fire already blooming in his palm. "This is Eryndor's land. You don't get to give orders here."
Leon looked at him. Just looked.
The air changed.
Even the wind stopped.
"Stand down, fool," murmured Elder Mage Barcus, his eyes locked on Leon. "He's not one of us."
Thalos ignored him. Fury mounting, he raised his hand. "Let's see how strong you really—!"
On the ridge above, Mikel couldn't see what was happening clearly, but his instincts screamed at him. Something was horribly wrong.
He watched in horror as a sudden shockwave tore through the mountainside.
A single movement.
Then a blinding flash.
The ground shook violently, and the scream of magic being torn apart filled the air.
When the dust cleared, Mikel blinked, then wished he hadn't.
Thalos lay embedded into a distant cliff wall, unconscious or dead.
Around him, powerful mages—leaders from other kingdoms, elite warriors trained their entire lives—were scattered across the field like broken dolls, unmoving.
Mikel's breath caught. He couldn't understand it. He hadn't even seen Leon move.
Aaron stood stunned. He tried to speak, but Leon beat him to it.
"I will spare your life," Leon said softly, "only because you were once my friend."
Before Aaron could respond, Leon appeared in front of him in the blink of an eye and struck him with a single punch.
The force sent Aaron flying like a ragdoll, crashing through the air and tearing through several mountains before disappearing from sight.
Mikel didn't even have time to scream.
The explosion from Aaron's impact created a massive shockwave that rushed down the mountain like a tidal wave of force.
Mikel stood frozen. He could see it coming. Death.
His knees buckled. He had no mana barrier strong enough to protect him. He closed his eyes.
So this is how I die?
The wave slammed into him.
He didn't feel pain—only pressure, unbearable and final.
His thoughts spun wildly. Regret. Panic. Helplessness. He wanted to live. He had only just begun to understand this world, his purpose.
If only... if only I could start again.
Everything went dark.
Some time later, amidst the wreckage of the battlefield, a broken body lay half-buried in ice and blood.
Mikel's chest barely moved. His armor was shattered, his limbs bent at unnatural angles. His vision was blurred, his breath shallow.
He couldn't feel his legs. He couldn't move. But the image of that man—white-haired, red-eyed, like a god of destruction—was burned into his memory.
A silhouette. A shadow.
His blood dripped into the snow as he muttered, voice barely above a whisper:
"I wish... I could live... again."
The wind swallowed his words as his eyes finally closed.
He was gone.
And somewhere, far beyond life and death—
Something heard.
And it answered.