Ryan and Maya took a carriage bound for Aston City, its wheels cutting a steady rhythm across the earth. For seven days, they would traverse the central spine of the continent—through mist-cloaked valleys, under starlit plains, and past the crumbling ruins of forgotten wars. Aston City lay nestled at the very heart of the planet, brushing against the borders of the Golden Kingdom. That's why the Black Auction was held there: a place whispered about in shadows and taverns alike, known across empires for dealing in relics that defied understanding—some ancient, others forbidden.
Their route cut through Hill City, a place old enough to have outlived its own stories. As the carriage rolled past Draven, a sleepy town hugged by jagged hills and moss-covered statues of faceless heroes, Ryan peered out the window. A quiet wind brushed against weathered rooftops, and a soft fog drifted lazily through alleyways.
He found himself wondering—would this place change by the time he returned? Would he?
Then his gaze shifted inward, back to Maya seated across from him. She sat with quiet poise, her arms loosely folded, her eyes half-closed but alert. In the flickering lantern-light inside the carriage, Ryan noticed how her form had changed—her once-slender frame now sculpted, balanced between grace and might. There was a silent intensity to her presence now, an aura that shimmered faintly like heat over stone. She had ascended.
Sacred Level.
A class few reached without bloodline blessings or royal training. A level even Phantom Liro would hesitate to challenge now. The last time they'd fought together, Maya had been at the Empowered Stage, already formidable. But that dungeon—the trial she conquered—had reshaped her entirely. Power hummed in her silence.
Ryan felt something close to pride—or perhaps gratitude. Maya wasn't just an ally. She was a shield, a force. To walk beside her was to walk beside a storm held tightly in check.
As for him… he knew where he stood. He was nearing the peak of the Mutated Realm, only beginning to stretch into the Empowered. He hadn't yet earned the strength he carried now—he was still undoing the neglect of a body left untrained by its former master, a boy who'd wasted his life chasing women and wine.
Time passed, and the sun sank behind layers of hills dressed in violet and ochre. The calm was broken when the carriage lurched to a sudden stop. Outside, shadows darted across the dusty road—bandits, half-starved pirates with desperate eyes and rusted blades.
Ryan gave a quick nod to Maya.
She rose without a word, stepped out, and within moments, the road was silent again—save for the wind rustling through grass. Her return was quiet, graceful, as if the skirmish had been a passing breeze. Blood dried on her sleeve like paint on canvas. She didn't speak, and Ryan didn't ask.
But five seconds later, the carriage halted again.
A voice cried out from the roadside. "Please… take me with you! May God help you—protect you from evil!"
The driver barked back. "Off the road! This carriage isn't for beggars!"
Still, the man knelt—hands clasped, head bowed. His robes were torn but strangely clean. His face, half-hidden under a frayed hood, carried no filth—just weariness.
"I ask not for food. Only a seat. Let me journey with you to Hill City. That is all."
The driver grumbled, ready to strike him aside, but Ryan lifted a hand.
"Let him in," he said. "It's just Hill City."
The beggar stepped in with humble grace and sat cross-legged in the corner, eyes low, voice soft. But as soon as the wheels turned again, he raised his gaze.
"Thank you," he said. "But I don't take kindness without return."
Ryan arched a brow, mildly amused. "What could you offer me?"
The beggar smiled faintly. "I know you're heading to Aston… for the Black Auction."
Ryan narrowed his eyes. "Do you now?"
"You seek not what the auction offers," the man said, "but the auction itself."
Ryan felt the flicker of interest. That was no guess.
"And what makes you think you're of use to me?"
The beggar's eyes shimmered, like moonlight reflecting off still water. "Because before you reach Aston… you must pass through Hill City. And Hill City will not let you pass. Not without me."
Ryan leaned forward. "Why?"
The beggar began to speak, his voice a low chant almost carried by the wind.
"There was once a demon born in Hill City," the beggar began, voice brittle as dried leaves.
His words unfurled like fog at dawn, slowly parting to reveal jagged truth.
"His flesh bore the curse of corruption—but his soul, his mind, was sanctified by the gods. Holy, even. But men… men judge by appearances."
The tale seeped into the night air like smoke from a dying fire.
No one trusted the demon. Even as he pleaded, voice trembling with the fragile weight of hope, they cast him into the wilds. Only one girl—a weaver's daughter with eyes like stormlight—believed in him. She gave him more than shelter; she gave him love, a home woven with laughter, and in time, a child who laughed like wind-chimes in spring.
The demon lived quietly, hidden beneath the shifting shadows of Hill City's edge, meditating under moonlight, his breath drawing in threads of divinity. His incantations were soft as silk and sharp as truth—words only a pure mind could bear without breaking.
But jealousy festered. The other demons—twisted things with crimson eyes and hollow hearts—reviled him. And the gods, ashamed of a creation so misunderstood, looked away. One of them, jealous and sly, leaned down from the heavens and whispered a prophecy into the ears of men: a tale of ruin, of a demon yet to rise.
Fear bloomed like mold.
And one day, while the demon walked alone among the fog-laced hills, searching for herbs with hands gentler than any priest's, they came.
The townsfolk—faces painted with terror, hearts heavy with hate—torched his home. Flames swallowed everything, turning memories to smoke and splinters. His pregnant wife—her laughter, her kindness, her unborn child—was lost to the fire.
When he returned, the air still reeked of burnt flesh and bitterness. The earth around his home was blackened, as if the soil itself had wept.
"All that was left," the beggar murmured, "was ash."
He paused, letting the silence settle like dust on forgotten graves.
"Since then," he said, voice lower now, rougher, "his tears fall on the full moon. They curse the heart of Hill City. Each tear binds it. Those who pass must carry his pain… or be consumed by it."
Ryan shook his head, a faint scoff curling from his lips. The firelight flickered across his cheekbones.
"Why tell me this?" he asked, irritation flaring like a coal. "You think I care?"
"You should," the beggar whispered, eyes catching starlight like broken glass. "Because hatred still thrives. No one ever asked him how he felt. No one ever forgave him. The world pushed him away… like it pushes you."
A stillness fell. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
"Dream well, Ryan," the beggar said, softer now. "Not all wars are won by blades. Some victories come without blood. You could spend your life fighting… and still solve nothing."
The night grew thick and weighty, like a velvet curtain drawn across the sky. Stars gleamed like ancient runes etched in silver, scattered across a sea of obsidian.
Dinner was served—coarse bread, its crust dusted with ash; salted meat, tough as bark but warm; and fruit, overripe, its sweetness clinging to the air like memory.
Ryan ate in silence, each chew marked by tension—his jaw tight, his brow furrowed, the beggar's words ringing louder than any battle horn.
The old man said little more, but his presence hung over the camp like cold mist, dulling every flame, draining the warmth from the fire.
Ryan stared into the coals, wishing—with a heaviness he didn't want to name—that the man would simply vanish.
And soon, he did.
Later that night, the beggar approached one last time. "Thank you… for everything," he said, voice barely louder than the crickets.
Then he walked into the night and did not return.
By dawn, the camp stirred. Ryan stretched, ready to push onward. Hill City was a single day's ride now. But the beggar had not reappeared.
Ryan ordered the driver to check the tents.
They were empty.
Everything the man had brought—the blanket, the cup, even the tiny wooden charm he'd hung by the fire—remained untouched.
But he was gone.
A strange stillness lingered, as if the earth itself was holding its breath.
Ryan stood there, unsure whether he'd hosted a man… or a memory. He recalled the final words—the thanks, the strange knowledge, the sharp glint of awareness in those eyes.
What had the beggar meant by 'thank you for everything'? Why stop their carriage? Why vanish before Hill City?
There were no answers—only the echo of a forgotten story, and a soft unease that clung to the wind.
He climbed back into the carriage.
Hill City awaited—a city unseen in memory, unexplored even in the indulgent life of the young master whose body he now inhabited. It would be the first place that truly belonged to his journey.
And somehow, Ryan sensed the past was not yet done with him.
After two more days of traveling in the carriage, they finally arrived at the Hill City. It wasn't as grand or sprawling as Draven, but it carried a deep sense of culture and tradition. Even the city fortress, though smaller than Draven's, stood proud like a relic of ancient times.
As they passed through the city gates, Ryan took in the surroundings. The city was big, but not modern. It felt frozen in time. The streets were quiet, and a strange tension filled the air. Shadows stretched longer as the sun dipped behind the hills, and people were hurrying home, shutting doors and locking windows. Shops closed early, stalls packed up in a rush. It was nothing like the vibrant nights in Draven, where the city lit up after dark. Here, fear seemed to live in every corner.
Ryan noticed the houses. All of them were two stories, built close together with steep roofs and wooden beams. No building rose higher than the libraries and a few tall watchtowers scattered across the hill slopes. The rest of the city felt low and quiet, as if it was trying to hide from something.
Markets lined the narrow streets, but they too were folding up fast. The urgency in the air was growing. Ryan and Maya hurried through the quieting lanes, finally finding an inn with a glowing lantern still lit at its entrance.
Inside, the receptionist greeted them, looking both tired and anxious. "We have only one room left," she said. "Everyone's come to witness the Fifth Lunar Moon. Tonight, the hills will awaken, and the demon's power will reach its peak. They say he will begin his revenge... and the city may not survive."
Ryan rolled his eyes but kept silent. He didn't believe in demons or legends. Still, he nodded and took the room key.
Once inside, he stared out the small window, watching the dark streets. "How can people believe this stuff?" he muttered. "Lunar moons, demons, revenge—it's all superstition."
Maya sat on the edge of the bed, quiet. Ryan had also heard whispers about another legend tied to this place—something called the Crown of the City.
They said the crown could only be claimed during the time between the Fifth and Seventh Moon. According to the myth, the demon was slowly gathering his strength to reach the crown. If he got it, he would unleash his full wrath. No one could stop him after that.
But to Ryan, it was just more fantasy. He didn't care. He lay down and closed his eyes. The inn offered little food—just some dry bread and a few pieces of fruit. Still, it was enough. He drifted off to sleep.
But the night didn't stay quiet for long.
He woke to strange noises outside. Something was crying, howling, and roaring all at once. The sounds echoed through the empty streets, sharp and chilling. Ryan sat up, annoyed. A glance across the room showed Maya wide awake, wrapped in her blanket, eyes wide with fear.
Ryan wasn't scared. He was angry.
He grabbed his knife from under the pillow and stood. "Let's go find whoever is making that noise and scaring the whole city," he said. "Let's pay him a visit."
Maya pulled the blanket tighter. "I'm not going," she whispered. Her voice trembled. Something inside her was resisting—something deeper, darker.
Ryan laughed softly. "There's no such thing as demons or gods. Just people playing tricks and telling stories. Come on."
He strode to her bed and yanked the blanket aside, not thinking—only to freeze when he saw her in her underclothes. Maya gasped and quickly pulled the blanket back over herself, cheeks flaming.
Ryan turned away, smirking. "I'm going. You can come if you want. Your choice."
With that, he stepped onto the windowsill and leaped out into the night.
Maya peeked out from under the covers, face still red. She sat there for a moment, heart pounding—not just from what had happened, but from the growing feeling that something strange was coming.
Meanwhile, Ryan dashed through the moonlit streets, guided by the sound. His knife gleamed in his hand. This wasn't just about chasing a noise. He wanted to test himself—to see how far he'd come. With the sigils marked on his skin and the weapon he carried, he felt stronger than ever. Even Phantom Lero, his past enemy, no longer stood a chance against him.
The noise led him to a ruined house near the edge of the city. Its roof had caved in, and the walls were cracked like bones. Something inside was stirring.
Without a second thought, Ryan smashed through the door on the second floor. His boots hit the dusty ground as he landed inside, ready to face whatever was behind the fear.
But then—he stopped.
Standing before him was a towering figure, cloaked in darkness. Its skin shimmered with black scales, and wings like folded blades grew from its back. Muscles bulged under the strange armor that seemed to grow from its body.
It was massive—taller, broader, more terrifying than anything he had imagined.
And it was real.
Ryan stood frozen.
For the first time in a long while, his breath caught in his throat. The stories, the warnings, the whispers he had laughed at—it was all standing right in front of him.
A real demon.
He had come looking for a prankster, a coward hiding behind legends.
But what he found… was something far beyond anything he had ever imagined.
For the first time, doubt flickered in his eyes. He never thought he'd actually see a demon.