Whispers of prophecy-

A month had passed.

A month of watchful eyes and tightening chains.

The town had become a prison.

Guards loomed over every street, stationed at every corner, outside every building—silent, unmoving, suffocating.

In the factory, it was even worse. The air was thick with sweat, smoke, and the weight of constant surveillance.

Every child was counted.

Before entering.

Before leaving.

There was no room for mistakes. No room for escape.

And yet—Armon was gone.

For an entire month, the man who once paraded his authority had vanished. No speeches. No punishments. No signs of his presence.

Asheron, too, had disappeared, fading into the shadows like a ghost.

Only Kennedy remained—a vulture circling the dying, his voice dripping with mockery whenever he passed.

But despite it all—there was one small mercy.

Payday.

Keiran stepped outside, breathing in the cold, morning air. It did nothing to wash away the staleness in his lungs.

One hundred Cresis.

He rolled the coins in his palm, feeling their smooth edges press into his skin.

"One month. One hundred Cresis."

The weight was nothing.

But the meaning behind it was everything.

A month of backbreaking labor. Of biting his tongue. Of forcing himself to endure.

And this—this was what it was worth.

Keiran exhaled, slipping the pouch into his pocket as his boots crunched against the stone-paved road.

Then—he stopped.

His gaze landed on a small wooden stall, tucked in the corner of the street.

Fruits.

Ripe. Fresh. Untouched by this rotten place.

His stomach twisted. How long had it been?

Since he'd last had something real? Something other than stale bread and factory slop?

His fingers twitched.

Keiran adjusted his shirt, took a breath—and stepped forward.

Keiran stepped closer to the fruit stall, his eyes scanning the neatly arranged rows—apples, pears, oranges, grapes, all organized by category. Their vibrant colors felt out of place in a town where everything else seemed drained of life.

As he reached for an apple, he felt it—the weight of unseen eyes.

The guards.

Watching. Always watching.

It wasn't just him. They watched everyone. Every merchant. Every worker. Every child that passed. Their presence pressed down like an iron shackle.

"No freedom. Not even here."

"Annoying, isn't it?"

The voice was rough, yet calm.

Keiran looked up.

The vendor, a wiry old man with calloused hands, was still arranging the fruit as if the conversation was nothing.

Keiran exhaled. "Yeah. Everywhere, they're always watching."

The vendor chuckled, his fingers moving with practiced ease. "You must be new here."

Keiran hesitated. "Yeah."

The vendor hummed knowingly. "Strange… Every other time a spy has gotten in, Armon found them in an instant. Killed them within a week." His voice dropped slightly. "This time? It's been a month. And nothing."

Keiran's stomach tightened. He forced himself to remain still, to keep his expression neutral.

"Last time?" he asked carefully. "This has happened before?"

The vendor snorted. "Of course. Many have tried to expose this place. The factory. The town. The truth." He looked up briefly, his dark eyes sharp beneath his furrowed brow. "But almost none of them survived more than a week."

Keiran clenched his fists. He had assumed they weren't the first. But hearing it confirmed made his skin crawl.

"How long have you been here?" he asked.

The vendor shrugged. "Since birth."

Keiran looked at the man properly this time. Tired eyes. A weathered face. A voice that spoke like it had seen too much.

How many lives had been crushed under Armon's rule?

How many had given up?

Before he could ask more, the vendor spoke again—this time, his tone was different.

"This time… I think this will be the time."

Keiran's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

The vendor finally stopped arranging the fruit. He turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at Keiran.

"You don't know, boy?"

Keiran felt a strange unease settle in his chest.

The vendor smirked. "Be happy. This time, we might have a chance to be freed from this hell."

Keiran's pulse quickened.

"How?" he asked.

The vendor let out a dry chuckle. "Pray, boy. Pray."

Keiran's eyes narrowed. "Pray?"

The vendor nodded toward the streets, where the townspeople moved like ghosts—silent, emotionless, tired. Their shoulders hunched, their faces hollow.

"The people here believe in nothing," the vendor murmured. "Nothing but one thing."

Keiran followed his gaze, watching as the workers trudged past, their eyes empty.

This wasn't just exhaustion. This was something deeper.

The vendor's voice dropped to a whisper.

"An old prophecy."

Keiran stiffened.

The vendor continued, his voice low, his words deliberate.

"Long ago, before even my grandfather's time, it was written… There shall be one who will free us all from this hell."

Keiran's heartbeat pounded in his ears.

"The one who will break these chains will bear an Oath strong enough to defeat Armon once and for all."

The vendor met Keiran's gaze.

"And that one will lead us out of this place."

A slow chill crawled down Keiran's spine.

A prophecy? A savior?

Was it just an old tale, whispered among desperate people? Or was there something more to it?

His mouth felt dry. "And you believe this?"

The vendor smirked. "I don't believe in much anymore."

Then his smile faded.

"But I want to."

Then at his room.

Keiran bit into the apple, its crisp flesh snapping between his teeth. But he barely tasted it. The vendor's words clung to his mind like chains, tightening with every second.

"The one who shall free them all will bear an Oath strong enough to defeat Armon."

A prophecy.

The kind of thing desperate people whispered when they had no other hope. A foolish belief. A myth.

Yet, Keiran couldn't shake it.

His fingers dug into the apple, knuckles turning white. His breath slowed.

A name pulsed in his thoughts.

Vael Morgrave.

A cold shiver ran down his spine. His heart pounded.

Vael's flames—they weren't normal. They didn't just burn. They consumed.

Keiran had seen it with his own eyes. That wasn't ordinary fire—it was something far worse. Something strong enough to erase metal itself.

The realization slammed into him like a hammer.

Vael.

"Vael is the one the prophecy speaks of."

Keiran jolted to his feet, his breath shaky. His mind was racing, too fast, too loud.

He needed to tell him. Now.

His eyes flicked toward the window. The building next to his—Vael's room. A single window left slightly open. A perfect shot.

Keiran grabbed a fruit from his bag, his grip tightening around it. He weighed it in his hand, his muscles coiled like a spring.

Then—

He threw it.

The fruit cut through the air, slicing the silence of the night.

A soft thud.

A pause.

Then, movement.

The window creaked.

A shadow appeared.

Vael.

His silver-white hair caught the dim lantern light, his expression sharp with confusion. His golden eyes scanned the room, then flicked toward Keiran.

Keiran didn't wait.

He lifted a hand, signaling.

"Come over."

Vael frowned, then gestured back. How?

Keiran's response was immediate. "Figure it out."

Vael's scowl deepened. He hesitated for only a second, then disappeared from the window.

Keiran didn't waste a second.

He spun on his heels, his heart hammering. Selara.

He needed her here too.

Now.

Vael pulled back from the window, exhaling sharply. Keiran was insane.

Sneaking into another building under the watchful eyes of Armon's guards? It was suicide.

But Keiran's urgency was unmistakable. Something was wrong. Something big.

Vael ran a hand through his hair, his mind already calculating. The guards were everywhere—on the streets, in front of every building, watching everything. A direct approach was impossible.

But he wasn't just anyone.

He wasn't like Keiran, who relied on brute strength, or Selara, who blended into shadows with her silence.

Vael had something different.

He had the Ashen Path.

A quiet heat curled around his fingertips. Not enough to burn—just enough to consume.

His eyes flicked toward the rooftop above him. That was his way in.

Without a sound, Vael pressed against the window frame, then leaped—his fingers barely catching the ledge above. He hauled himself up, his body moving with practiced ease.

From the rooftop, the entire town stretched before him. Guards patrolled below, their lanterns casting long, flickering shadows.

He moved fast, crouching low to avoid being seen. Every step had to be precise.

Then—a gap.

Keiran's building was just a short jump away. But if he missed—a two-story drop.

Vael didn't hesitate.

He took a breath.

He ran.

And jumped.

For a split second, he was weightless—floating between two rooftops, with nothing but air beneath him. Then—

His fingers snatched the ledge of Keiran's building. He gritted his teeth, muscles burning as he hoisted himself up.

Almost there.

Moving swiftly, he crawled toward Keiran's window. It was still open. Keiran was pacing inside, waiting.

Vael smirked. Good. Now for the fun part.

Silently, he grabbed the top of the window frame and swung himself inside.

Keiran barely had time to react before Vael landed without a sound on the wooden floor.

Keiran turned, eyes widening.

Vael straightened, dusting off his coat. Then, with a smug grin, he muttered—

"You owe me an easier entrance next time."

Keiran smirked at Vael's remark but didn't waste any time. "Wait here. I'll go get Selara."

Vael crossed his arms, still catching his breath. "Yeah, sure. It's not like I just risked my life getting here or anything."

Keiran ignored him and slipped out of the room, moving fast but careful not to draw attention. The guards outside weren't exactly clever, but they were alert. Ever since Armon's speech a month ago, their eyes had been sharper, their patrols stricter.

Selara's room was two floors down. Keiran knocked once—sharp and quick.

A moment later, the door cracked open.

Selara peeked through the gap, her silver eyes narrowing. "Keiran?"

"No time for questions," he whispered. "Come with me. Now."

Selara frowned but didn't hesitate. She grabbed her coat and followed, keeping her footsteps as quiet as his. She knew better than to ask unnecessary questions.

Within minutes, the two of them were back in Keiran's room.

Vael had made himself comfortable, slouched in Keiran's chair, flipping a small knife between his fingers. When he saw Selara, he raised an eyebrow. "Finally. Thought I'd have to take a nap."

Selara rolled her eyes and leaned against the window. "What's this about, Keiran?"

Keiran took a deep breath. His mind was racing, but he forced himself to stay calm. He met their gazes, his voice steady.

"I know who can free us from this hell."