The Day the West Bled

Sachia accompanied Lior, keeping her distance.

She observed him from head to toe, a spark of curiosity flickering in her eyes.

Lior strolled barefoot, every step—light as a feather. The darkness that once followed him now slept, waiting to be summoned.

Her gaze trailed upward, taking in his wardrobe. Traditional garments, dyed in eternal black with midnight blue lining the edges. They hung loosely—fluttering with the wind.

His long, raven-black hair bled into the fabric. Even untied, it remained silky and elegant.

Sensing her eyes, Lior glanced back.

"Is there a problem?" he asked, his voice calm.

Snapping out of her daze, she frantically shook her head.

"No, there isn't!"

"Are you sure?"

"Well," Sachia scratched the back of her head, avoiding eye contact, "doesn't it hurt? You know... walking barefoot?"

Lior shook his head, chuckling lightly.

"Seriously?" he asked, amused. "That's what caught your attention?"

When she didn't answer, he exhaled.

"It doesn't hurt now. But before the awakening, the pain was unbearable."

"I see..."

She stared at his feet, then—finally—a question that had lingered in her mind burst forth.

"Wait," she said, eyes widening. "Did you awaken by yourself? With no mentor?"

Lior turned on his heel, pacing backwards as he studied her with a puzzled look.

"I did. Is that unusual?"

Feeling slightly more comfortable, she stepped a bit closer. Resting her chin on two fingers, she drifted into thought.

"It's rare... but not impossible. Still, most people hire a mentor or enroll in an Academy."

Lior stayed silent, observing her quietly.

"What's your name?" he asked, tone indifferent.

"Ah!" she exclaimed, snapping out of her thoughts. "Apologies, I forgot to introduce myself."

"My name is Sachia."

She extended her hand. "And yours?"

He stared at the offered handshake for a moment. Then, his eyes met hers. The silver rings within his black irises pierced through her.

His calm expression remained cold.

"It's Lior. Kazuragi Lior," he said, turning away. His voice was as light as his steps.

Sachia, hand still lingering, shivered slightly. Unsure whether she had offended him, she slowed her pace. With fear creeping back in, she kept her distance once more.

They walked in silence. The crunch of snow beneath Sachia's boots and the occasional breeze were the only sounds.

Eventually, Lior broke the silence.

"Sachia?" he called, glancing back.

"Yes?" she responded quickly.

"You know that mage... Eadda, was it?"

She nodded. "What about her?"

"Her powers are troublesome."

"You've fought her before?" Sachia asked, curiosity shining through.

"Sort of..." He tilted his head back, sighing as he recalled the memory. "I fought Ernest. Just before I sliced off his head, she pinned me down using her gravity."

Sachia's eyes widened. "Incredible. How did you survive?"

Lior didn't respond immediately. He closed his eyes.

A brief pause.

"Did I survive? I'm not so sure."

Sachia furrowed her brow.

Was that supposed to be a joke?

"I don't quite follow?"

"You don't need to," he said sharply, with a faint trace of humor.

"Still," he continued, crossing his arms, "her power's annoying. Not overwhelming on its own, but when paired with a strong mage..."

"I have an idea," Sachia said, raising her hand casually.

"You do?"

She nodded. "It's her left eye."

"Elaborate," Lior said, glancing over his shoulder.

She shrugged. "Didn't you notice it's different?"

Lior tapped his chin, trying to recall.

A low sigh escaped her lips. "It's fine."

She pointed at her own eye. "I believe that's where her power stems from."

"If you're not in her line of sight, she's powerless."

Lior frowned, uncertain. "Is that even possible? Isn't the Arcanum core the power source?"

She tilted her head. "Not always. That's how Ether users are, I think."

"Ether users don't rely on the Arcanum core?" Lior asked, surprise in his voice.

Sachia tapped her chin. "Some do. But I don't know much about that magic. Ether magic comes from innate gifts or mutations. Arcanum is more like cultivated energy."

"I've only ever used immanence, so anything beyond that is foreign…"

"Like the magic you wield," she added.

"You're not alone," Lior replied with a light chuckle.

He kept walking, not looking back.

"Even I don't fully understand this power."

"Really?"

Lior nodded slowly.

"But you seemed to control it earlier," Sachia said, her tone tinged with doubt.

"Not at all," he replied, glancing at his hand. "What I know barely scratches the surface."

"And there's a problem. My core leaks each time I use it..."

Sachia raised an eyebrow. "Why are you so open about your weakness?"

Her eyes narrowed, locked on Lior.

"Aren't you worried I could use that against you?"

At that, Lior burst into laughter.

"Oh my," he said, suppressing a chuckle. "Don't worry. I'm not one to hide weaknesses. Besides, mine aren't so easily exploited."

Glancing back, he flashed a chilling grin.

"Even if you tried, you'd die on the spot."

Before the fear could take root, Lior waved her off.

"But now, you're to become a hero."

"How so?" she asked, voice trembling slightly.

Without looking back, Lior said, "You'll be remembered as the one who brought the Ghost of Solmira over to Velgrynd's side."

Sachia stared at him, mouth agape.

What? Does he think he alone will change the tide?

Lior raised an eyebrow, catching her expression.

"What? Don't believe me?"

She remained silent.

"You'll see," he smirked.

---

Unaware of the approaching storm, the Xiaran mages reveled in the taste of their soon-to-be victory.

The western region of the kingdom had become like every other part of Virelith—endless snow and rubble. Corpses and spilled blood were the only breaks in the monotony.

Both sides had suffered, but Velgrynd's forces barely stood.

A lone man stood over hundreds of fallen. His feet soaked in comrades' blood, his hands in that of his enemies. One eye sealed shut, the other barely open. Each breath labored. He stared down the woman before him.

Dark, flowing violet hair fell over an indigo cloak. A confident smile curled her lips, a faint purple light flickering in her left eye.

"It seems this battle's reaching its end. Isn't that right, Bladeshield Elijah?"

The wounded warrior spat blood.

"Shut it, Eadda!" he growled, tightening his grip on the sword.

Eadda clicked her tongue in mock disappointment.

"What a shame," she said condescendingly. "So young, yet so stubborn. And so eager to die."

"If only you could do it without help," he sneered, coughing up blood.

Eadda's amused look faded. She stared with disdain.

"So, there's still enough life left in you to crack jokes."

She raised her arm. A small orb flickered in her palm.

"Let's fix that."

The gravity around her warped the air itself. Elijah's knees trembled—not from fatigue, but the weight she summoned at will.

With no strength left, Elijah surrendered to the cold embrace of death.

So this is how it ends...

He'd always wished for a meaningful death, no matter how small. To be remembered as a warrior who fought for the emblem on his chest.

A noble end.

I couldn't even protect one region... from these mages. Pathetic.

He bowed his head in shame. He held back tears—refusing to show weakness in death.

Then, a chilling scream tore through the air. A blade sliced the wind, hidden in the chaos.

Explosions followed.

Eadda raised an eyebrow, alarmed. Behind her, a mage screamed.

"It's the Ghost! He's ba—"

A loud thud. The mage's head hit the snow.

Eadda's eyes narrowed.

"Impossible," she hissed.

Feeling the sudden shift in the air, Elijah slowly raised his head.

The Ghost?

What he saw sent a shiver through his spine.

A swarm of indigo-cloaked mages surrounded an indistinct figure. Body parts flew. Gushes of blood stained the snow. A massive dark blade and black, inky tendrils were all that could be seen.

The blade rose and fell with monstrous hunger—like a beast starved of blood.

An unnatural essence poured from the space between them. A darkness so thick, it looked demonic.

A monster, Elijah thought, watching the massacre unfold.

The mages' numbers dropped from two hundred to fifty in mere seconds. Too fast for Eadda to respond.

"Spread out, you fools!" she yelled, slashing the air.

They instantly obeyed, surrounding the lone figure.

"How?" Eadda whispered in disbelief.

Standing amidst the circle, Lior didn't move. Blood soaked his hair, hands, and garments. In his right hand, Ashrender pulsed with hunger.

He caught sight of Eadda and grinned.

With a casual toss, he flung the severed head he held in his left. It soared above the other mages, landing at her feet.

She recognized it instantly.

"Seia..." she whispered, shock washing over her.

"What's wrong? Don't like my gift?" Lior asked, a small chuckle escaping.

Eadda's expression twisted into rage.

"Kill him!" she shouted, readying her power.

Darkness coiled around Lior as he gripped Ashrender with both hands. His eyes narrowed, the silver within them swallowed by black haze.

"You'll understand what true weight feels like."