A dark hall.
Footsteps echoed across the stone floor like oil sliding over black glass.
Torches flickered, multiplying shadows—alive, writhing.
As if something moved within the dark.
Columns stretched skyward,
as though they held up the sky itself.
In the center—six figures.
Robes dyed the color of a starless night, silver threads gleaming in the seams.
Hoods obscured their faces.
But their bodies spoke volumes.
One stood with hands clasped behind his back—knuckles white with tension.
Another swayed slightly, as if to music only he could hear.
The third clutched a book—fingers trembling.
The fourth exhaled heavily—steam rising from under his hood.
The fifth… smirked.
And the sixth stood still, biting his lip.
Before them—a mirror.
And in its reflection—Him.
The Great One.
His form was unstable.
Man. Shadow. Void.
Light bent around him, refusing to touch.
Darkness breathed in his presence.
His voice struck like a hammer to the chest:
"Heaven's Six. The time has come."
Five bowed.
Only the Sixth remained upright.
"First: observe. Do not interfere."
"Third: manage the flow of knowledge. Do not overload."
The book creaked in Third's hands.
His skin stretched thin, pain visible in his grip.
The Great One's gaze shifted to the fifth.
"What if he dies?" the smirking one asked lazily.
The torches flickered.
Darkness thickened for a heartbeat.
The air grew heavy—like the calm before a storm.
"He must not die."
Silence.
"Sixth. You're the closest.
Don't catch him.
Don't guide him."
"Let him crawl through filth.
Through lies.
Through fear."
"Let this world grind him down,
the way water wears down stone."
The torches roared again.
Ash danced in the air.
"He must come to hate this world."
In unison:
"It will be done."
***
Sam's eyes snapped open.
Forest.
Soft light filtered through the leaves.
Damp soil. Cold air. The scent of pine.
Grass stuck to his cheek.
His pulse thudded in his ears.
Too bright.
Too sharp.
Too real.
He sat up.
His heart pounded against his throat.
Every muscle trembled.
This wasn't a dream.
His fingers dug into the wet earth.
Victoria…
The memory flashed—hot and vivid.
Childish laughter. Sand.
A hand pulling his into sunlight.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Tears spilled.
"I thought… you were gone. I want to see you again, Vic…"
Sapphire Eyes.
Three Days.
A voice.
Gentle. Velvet. Distant—yet painfully familiar.
"It's a mission. A mark."
"She's not real. That's not Victoria."
He inhaled.
"Correct. She isn't."
The velvet voice again. Calm. Controlled.
"But if you don't save her,
you won't just fill the mark."
"Each failure takes something."
"A spell. A memory. Or… Victoria."
"The color of her eyes. Her laughter. That innocent smile…"
"Shut up!" Sam shouted.
A bird burst from the branches overhead, startled by his voice.
He looked down at his hand, panting.
"But if I don't start here…
I'll never reach you.
Or worse… I'll forget. Without ever finding you."
***
Rustling. Branches.
He flinched.
A furry tail darted through the underbrush.
"Just an animal," he whispered.
But something clenched beneath his ribs.
A chill.
A sense.
Follow it.
The voice again. Velvet. Muffled.
Familiar enough to hurt.
Sam froze.
His legs moved on their own.
He didn't want to go.
But he went.
"That voice… I know it…"
The forest narrowed.
His steps grew heavy. Uneven.
Then—
Screams.
Clashing steel. Laughter. Voices.
He pushed past the leaves—
and froze.
An open clearing.
A wagon lay overturned. Its wheels still spinning.
Blood stained the grass.
Cries. Bodies.
Bandits.
One of them knelt over a woman.
She trembled beneath him.
Brown eyes.
The knife slid across her throat.
Not out of rage—
Out of boredom.
Sam didn't move.
His body refused to listen.
A ringing in his ears.
No air.
A girl burst from the bushes.
Sapphire eyes.
Their gazes met.
Just for a second.
"Is that… her?" he breathed.
A bandit seized her.
Dragged her into the trees.
Her scream tore the sky.
Sam stepped forward—
Then froze.
Move.
Save her. Now.
The voice turned cold.
He stood still.
Fool.
She dies—you die.
Flame.
Not outside—
Inside.
Burning from within.
A fire beneath the flesh.
He screamed, tearing at his shirt.
The mark.
Glowing. Pulsing.
"Again…" he whispered. "What are you doing to me…"
The fire vanished.
Silence.
And fear.