Soren gasped softly.
His body felt both completely exhausted and strangely refreshed. A paradox of sensations coursed through his limbs, as if he had just emerged from a vivid dream—but one that left echoes, lingering traces within him. The unbearable pain that had seared through his left eye moments ago was... gone. Like a nightmare that slipped through his fingers upon waking.
He blinked slowly. Or at least, he tried to.
His right eyelid responded easily, though it did little—his world remained drenched in eternal blackness. But when he reached for his left, it resisted. Tightly. It was as if the eyelid had fused shut, or something within refused to let it open. That was... new.
He reached up and gently ran his fingers over the closed lid. Nothing unusual on the outside. But the inside—something had changed. Deeply. Fundamentally.
The being… it was gone.
He could feel it. That overwhelming, ancient presence that had filled the air like a living storm—it had vanished. As if it had never existed. But Soren remembered. The memories had carved themselves into his mind like fire across parchment.
The world he saw—that vision—it hadn't been a metaphor. It was real. He'd seen it. Felt the texture of the ground, the heat of the red skies, the distant screams of beasts unlike anything in this world. That realm of demons… was no illusion.
Was that being a demon? That thing spoke gently, almost reverently. No bloodlust. No hatred. Just… sorrow. Resolve.
Soren shuddered.
He had never met a demon before. His entire life had been confined within the walls of cities, the cold halls of academies. The most he knew of demons were from the old stories told by fearful men—vile, twisted creatures said to crave blood and chaos.
But that... wasn't what he felt from it.
He searched the ground around him with trembling fingers. The ring. The being's parting gift. It had to be close. His hand brushed something metallic. Smooth. Cold.
He grasped it and pulled it close. The ring.
Lilith.
The name echoed in his mind. A beautiful girl… He had seen her too—in the vision. A delicate face, sorrowful eyes. She was a demon too? Was she… the daughter of that being?
This is… complicated, Soren thought.
If the others knew what he had seen—what he had agreed to—he would be accused of treason. Or worse. Aiding demons? Harboring their gifts?
But a promise… was a promise.
Before his thoughts could spiral further, a shiver ran down his spine. His magic sense flared—something, someone was coming.
No… two person.
Two signatures appeared in a blink, snapping into existence like they had stepped through empty air. The pressure they radiated was overwhelming. One of them was strong. No—terrifyingly strong.
Soren didn't need to see to understand. Whoever—or whatever—they were, they were now here.
And they had felt that.
A moment later, two presences stood before him—close. One radiated ancient weight, calm but immense. The other sharper, more inquisitive.
"A strong energy signature came from this area, no doubt about it..." the older man said, his voice low and grizzled with age. "But where is it now?"
They both stared at Soren.
A man standing quietly, both of his eyes closed.
Soren could feel it—like their senses were scanning him, slicing through the space around him, sweeping over his body like ripples in still water. A deep probing. He stood still, expression unreadable, but inside his mind was racing.
"Not him?" the woman said. "He's just... a blind man."
"This is strange," she added after a pause, her voice tinged with suspicion.
The old man exhaled slowly. Then turned toward Soren, voice softening.
"My apologies, young man," he said, though Soren was well into his twenties. "We were... impolite, using our senses on you like that. Forgive us. Did you perhaps see—ah, I mean, did you notice anyone else around here? Anyone apart from yourself?"
Despite the intrusion, the old man's tone was respectful—almost kindly. Soren, picking up on that, allowed himself a small measure of relief. Still, he knew better than to trust too easily. If they discovered the truth—if they found out about her—it wouldn't be himself he feared for.
He bowed slightly in their direction.
"I'm sorry, sir. I don't know anything about that. I've been alone here the whole time."
"I see…" the old man murmured.
"And what exactly are you doing in a forest like this?" the woman asked sharply. There was a tinge of accusation behind her words, as if she didn't quite believe him.
Soren didn't hesitate.
"I was gathering mushrooms," he said simply. "My younger sister likes a particular kind, and it's her favorite. I thought I'd surprise her with them for our meal."
He reached to the ground, patting around until his fingers landed on a small, soft object. The mushroom. He lifted it up and showed them with both hands.
The woman let out a faint breath. There was hesitation in her voice now, a flicker of guilt.
"I see… still, you'll need to identify yourself," she said. "We have to verify you're not… someone suspicious."
"I understand," Soren replied calmly. "Unfortunately, I'm not carrying my ID. But my name is Soren Noctis. I live nearby—in a small house I built myself at the edge of this forest. I live with my little sister. And I teach at Astralis Academy."
The woman glanced at the old man. "I'll contact the academy," she said quietly.
"Go ahead," he nodded.
She held out her palm and summoned a small communication tool—an orb or disk that shimmered faintly with runes. She activated it with a murmured word. A static hum, then a soft click.
"Academy registry," a voice responded from within the magic device.
"This is Field Operative Lienne, sub-division Dawnveil. I need a profile confirmation. Subject: Soren Noctis."
A moment passed. Then a reply came.
"Confirmed. Soren Noctis—faculty member, Astralis Academy. Verified and cleared. Currently on approved leave."
The woman—Lienne—lowered the tool. "...It's him."
Soren could feel the old man expand his magic again. A field spread out from his body in all directions, powerful enough that Soren felt the pulse of it brushing against distant trees. This man—whoever he was—possessed truly terrifying range.
"Anything, Master Kael?" Lienne asked respectfully.
The old man—Kael—slowly retracted his magic. The air grew still again as the pressure of his presence faded, like a tide gently pulling back into the sea. Then, he shook his head.
"...Nothing. Whatever we sensed, it's no longer here. Likely used teleportation and escaped before we arrived."
"But if they teleported, there should be a magic residue," Lienne said, frowning.
"True. Whoever it was… they were very good."
Just as the tension in the air seemed to fade, the woman narrowed her eyes, her gaze sharpening. "Wait… what is that in your hand?"
Soren's breath caught in his throat.
He hadn't realized it, but his left hand had been clenched tightly ever since he picked up the ring. A chill ran down his spine as he slowly became aware of how tightly his fingers had curled around it—instinctively, protectively.
The woman took a cautious step closer. "You've been gripping it since we arrived. What are you holding?"
Soren hesitated. A bead of sweat trailed down his temple.
The ring pulsed faintly in his grasp, almost as if responding to the tension.
If they noticed anything unusual—if they recognized the mark, the aura, or the craftsmanship—it could all be over.
He forced a shaky smile. "...Just a keepsake."
But even he could tell his voice was too quiet.
Too uncertain.
The woman's eyes narrowed further. "May I see it?"
And in that moment, as the forest fell utterly silent, Soren knew:
He was one wrong move away from losing everything.