Whispers of the Past

In a dimly lit chamber, heavy drapes concealed the world beyond, and shadows danced on the stone walls. An old woman sat by the window, her figure still, save for the occasional tap of her bony fingers against the armrest. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, seemed lost in a distant memory. She was Miss Shin—a name that brought dread to those who served under her.

A servant rushed in, his footsteps echoing against the cold floor. Bowing deeply, he stammered, "M-My...la..lady, I am sorry. We found nothing. The demonic energy—it's too strong. How could a human possibly serve where such a monster resides?"

The old lady didn't move, her expression a mask of stone. "Useless."

Her voice was soft, but it sliced through the air like a blade. Before the servant could react, a flash of silver glinted in her hand. The knife found its mark, embedding itself in his neck. Blood pooled as his body collapsed, the life snuffed out as if it were nothing.

She rose from her seat, her frail form betraying the strength of her malice. "You think I do not know?" she whispered, her voice a serpent's hiss. "A demon's energy is endless. It draws from shadows—and in this world, shadows are eternal. Even the light of day cannot erase them entirely."

Her hand trembled as she muttered a name. "Zephriel."

The moment the name left her lips, her knees buckled. She fell, her body wracked with uncontrollable shivers. Memories flooded her—the vision of a demon king standing atop a mountain of corpses, his white hair stained with the blood of gods. His dark wings spanned the sky, blotting out the sun. His eyes, a void, swallowed the souls of the fallen.

"He killed gods like they were nothing," she muttered, her voice breaking. "Paper dolls in the wind. His power knew no bounds. Heaven itself had to seal him, and even then… even then, his energy remains."

Her eyes widened as if seeing him before her, the shadow of his form lingering in the room. "The gods sacrificed themselves, and yet they could only chain him. And now… now, he awakens."

Her body convulsed, fear taking root deep within her bones. She had witnessed what the world had only heard in myths. She had seen his wrath, the way reality itself bent to his will. And if the chains were weakening, if Zephriel was regaining strength—then doom was not a prophecy but a promise.

Miss Shin's hands clutched the cold floor, her nails breaking as she scraped against the stone. "Find him," she rasped to the empty room, her voice a desperate plea. "Before he finds us."