Six years had passed.
The boy from the slums was long gone.
Now, at sixteen, Myrelion Aethros was a name whispered with both awe and unease in the adventurers' circles of the Thaeloria Kingdom. His title—"The Fangveil Shadow"—was earned not by noble blood or grand speeches, but through countless missions completed in silence, precision, and with blades that tore apart both magic and time.
He walked through the towering marble halls of the Thaelorian Adventurers Guild, cloaked in black battle leathers laced with ethereal threads. His hood was down today, revealing sharp violet eyes marked with the faint eclipse sigil—a symbol only a few dared to recognize.
The twin daggers on his hips pulsed gently.
Nyxfang—the void-slick blade, and
Solbite—the sun-kissed edge.
Void Howl: Fangs of Eclipse was not a simple weapon. It was a god-forged legacy—a pair of divine opposites bound to a soul scarred by blood, betrayal, and destiny.
He passed lower-ranked adventurers who gave him a respectful berth. Many owed their lives to the teenager who had, in a single battle, reflected a noble court wizard's barrage of cursed spells and reversed a time-bomb spell to implode its creator.
But he didn't bask in it.
Myrelion's steps led him to the mission board. His gloved hand hovered over the parchment for a moment, then snatched one labeled:
> "Class S Threat: Anomaly Rift – Time-Flayed Aberration near the Velwood Ruins."
He gave a short nod to the Guildmaster, who watched him from a balcony above. The man sighed, muttering to an assistant, "Six years ago, that boy couldn't afford a crust of bread. Now he dances with fate itself."