Anthony stood frozen in the cold light of the storeroom, book in hand. The sacred ability passed through his veins—Sage—a divine gift of clarity and truth. The foreign text glowed faintly as meaning surfaced in his mind.
> "The Holy Empire invaded our lands and destroyed every weapon we had.
Why has the White Demon not been found?
Our kind retreats..."
His breath caught in his throat.
Monsters were victims? The war, reversed? Everything he'd believed… a lie?
"Anthony! What are you doing?!"
A voice, sharp and sudden, echoed down the stairwell.
A saint stood there, robed and righteous, staring in horror at the open book.
The weight of fear slammed into Anthony's chest. He stepped back. The saint descended fast.
"Give me the book. Now."
"Wait—I didn't—"
The saint moved to grab him.
Instinct. Panic. Pressure.
Anthony shoved.
The saint tumbled—
A sound.
A snap.
Silence.
Anthony staggered back. Blood on the stairs. The man didn't move.
Guilt.
Fear.
Desperation.
He ran.
---
The forest welcomed him with shadows. He followed the fading memory of a boy—Mark—who had vanished weeks ago. Bullied. Forgotten. The cave still stood.
Anthony entered.
It wasn't just darkness—it breathed.
The air inside tasted rotten. Cold stones whispered beneath his boots. The deeper he went, the louder his own heartbeat became. Then—
A flicker.
Long, black hair.
Gone in an instant.
Something was here.
Watching.
Moving.
He ran deeper, lungs burning. The walls closed in. He turned, but nothing.
Breathing. Behind him.
He spun.
Nothing.
His mind fractured. Too much. Too soon. No escape.
He gripped a sharp stone.
Trembling hands.
If he couldn't escape the monster—
He would escape the fear.
One sharp drag across the neck.
Blood. Warm.
Darkness.