Return to Aurelleth

He wasn't surprised at this message—just mildly curious about the Cinder count. His eyes lingered on where the pitiful creature had turned to ash, then called out the runes.

[Soul Cinders: 25.3/500].

'So that... was only 0.3?'

It didn't unsettle him, but it just didn't add up.

Purifying that corpse earlier had earned him twenty-five. This?

Not even one.

He didn't care much for numbers, but the flame clearly did. It wasn't just the act, but the intention and feeling behind it.

The Charred Cinder had felt like a scar, but the Flickering Cinder was barely an ember to his soul.

Still, this only reaffirmed one thing: the flame wasn't counting kills nor evaluating the entities. It didn't matter whether he killed a Stratum Seven Hollow Creature or the Grand Marshal, if the flame wasn't impressed, then it wouldn't give him Cinders.

It had become the judge of his soul, evaluating the weight of his actions.

But then, another message was announced by the Voice.

[You have obtained a Remnant Relic: Hollow Spine.]

'What? Did I just get a Relic?'

Without hesitation, he summoned the runes and searched the category that stored Relics. He'd even forgotten the pain of gaining only a fraction of a Cinder.

Relics: [Hollow Spine].

He'd actually obtained a Relic that most Resonators couldn't even get their hands on, and from a Husk at that. Normally, Relics would be discovered in rare ruins of the Realm or, if lucky, they could drop from a Hollow. But never had he heard of a Relic coming out of a Husk.

That alone should've raised a dozen questions.

'Guess I got lucky.'

He quickly accepted this bizarre scenario and took a look at the Relic. There should be a description just like the other categories, so he focused on the runes and willed it to change.

The runes faintly shimmered before revealing what was hidden underneath.

Relic: [Hollow Spine].

Relic Class: Remnant.

Relic Type: Totem.

Relic Description: [A thin, twisted vertebra bound in dried sinew and Hollow mist. It crackles faintly when held, as though straining to remember the pain it never felt. Carved into its surface are marks too warped to read—neither runes nor scars, but something in between.]

Relic Hexes: [False Kin].

Hex Description: [While carried, faint Hollow murmurs cling to your presence. Creatures born of Hollow corruption become momentarily confused upon sensing you, unsure whether you are one of them. 

They remember the rot. But they don't remember you.]

It was a bit disheartening to see that it wasn't a weapon. From the name alone, he'd expected it to be something more. A spine should be long and sharp, no?

But the Husk only gave him one small piece of the pie.

'How stingy.'

Still, a Relic was a Relic—one that slightly masked his presence from both Hollows and Husks, at that.

In any case, society didn't classify Relics into tiers like the runes did, mostly because they were extremely scarce. Any Relic, regardless of its form, could be sold for an outrageous price, and few would question its worth.

In other factions, wealthy families often collected them, even if they weren't Resonators themselves. The Federation, however, maintained strict control over all known Relics in its territory. Possession without official clearance was effectively illegal.

The process of confiscation was straightforward. The Federation possessed a Relic capable of detecting whether an individual's soul contained a bound Relic. Since all Relics were attuned to Echo Essence and soulbound upon acquisition, there was no way to hide them once scanned.

'Another headache to deal with.' 

The issue probably wouldn't come up until the far future. He'd planned to only roam around the Outer Districts and the Outlands.

The barren land of the Outlands had more to offer anyway. More Distortions, more Hollows and Husks. A land of opportunity, Luciel would say.

Still, the most important step toward a comfortable life was money. In turn, a comfortable life would give him time to find the meaning of his existence.

He stepped out of the cave, his wrist still red from the backlash. Behind the snowy mountains lay the Districts that rose like concrete sanctuaries—monolithic, sterile, and undoubtedly depressing. The encompassing walls peaked over the mountains, returning his gaze.

Not once in his lifetime did he think that he would plan on going into the Districts, but the time had come.

His first destination? 

'It has to be District Omega, the last District.'

The Districts of the Noxio Federation stood in stark contrast to the Outlands. Where the Outlands sprawled like a wound left to fester, the Districts rose like monuments to control.

Sealed behind the concrete order and closed off to the world, the Federation offered the highest quality of life among all the surviving factions. But the citizens no longer cared for autonomy. The haven they had been promised had worked too well, and now, safety had replaced freedom, and they no longer noticed the cost.

In a way, that was what Luciel had almost wanted—to the point where he'd yearned for a dream just to taste it.

The more he stared at those sterilized, unstained walls, the more disgusted he felt.

'A comfortable life? What was I thinking?'

He'd even said he wanted a quiet cottage with a garden, tucked away from chaos, even if it meant sacrificing his freedom.

'Pfft. Yeah, a garden and a quiet life. Sure. Maybe toss in a white picket fence while I'm at it.' His grimace tightened inwardly.

That thought hadn't come from home but from surrender. He'd almost given up on his original purpose. If it hadn't been for the flame, he might've lost his path entirely.

The Federation's false peace had seeped into him quietly like a poisonous fog. Years of surviving in the Outlands just to amount to that much.

'Finding meaning in a golden cage? Please.'

Twenty-four Districts. Twenty-four humongous jail cells. Each District worse than the last.

That'd chain him forever. He wouldn't let himself become like the citizens behind those walls—not even when his flesh rotted and his bones turned to ash.

That moment of clarity brought Luciel back to earth.

If he was going to enter District Omega, he couldn't afford to stumble in blind. One wrong move, and the Federation would erase him like a smudge.

They did not forgive anomalies, especially those without identification, birth records, or clearance.

For an Outlander with an Echo Stigma etched into his wrist at thirteen, walking through the gates was less a gamble and more a sentence.

He needed as much time as possible. Not to grow stronger—he wasn't naive to believe that would happen overnight—but to prepare. He needed to become what the Federation feared the most: control.

Not control over others but control over himself, over the situation.

It didn't matter how many years it would take anymore. He wouldn't fall for that hex again. As long as he stayed on the right path, he believed the world would attune to him.

His first thought was to seek the Districts' weak points, but that was plain stupid. Districts like Omega and Psi were Outer Districts, so they were on constant watch and surveillance against the unpredictable Outlands. There wasn't any gap he could exploit against those watchtowers.

If he truly wanted to exploit one, it meant knowing the rhythm of the patrols, the hums of the guards, the rotation of the scanners. Every action required minute detail and precision.

Luciel just wasn't ready.

Mentally, he was a mess. Spiritually, the flame didn't listen to him most of the time. Only his resilient body held on without much complaint.

But he couldn't just keep scavenging through borrowed time.

So that left him with only one path.

A place of haunted memories and lingering agony. A place he'd never thought to walk into ever again.

Aurelleth.

The birthplace he'd spent years trying to forget. The place where his silence had first hardened—his first and only utter surrender.

Raided by an unexpected Hollow Breakout, the village became ruins within a few hours. The people didn't even last for a few minutes. All he remembered were scattering bones, incessant cries, and the disgusting Hollows.

He didn't even remember how he'd escaped or how his family died. Well, it was obvious that the Hollows had eaten them alive. Still, everything felt like a broken film to him that day—blurry, messy, fragmented.

Something had compelled him to suddenly remember Aurelleth. The name echoed deep within his soul and even made the flame slither through his skin excitedly.

'Look how happy you are whenever I struggle with something.' Luciel snorted inwardly.

But he didn't know what he hoped to find there. Revenge? Answers? Maybe just proof that he could face his lone scar without flinching.

He cast one last glance at the towering Federation walls, then turned away. The journey towards the detestable Districts had to be delayed for another day.

Luciel had a vague memory of where Aurelleth resided. It could just be instinct rather than memory, but he had always trusted his instincts more than anything.

He remembered the road to Aurelleth wasn't marked by paths or signs. It stretched across a cold, narrow ridgelines and rocky crags just beyond the two mountain slopes.

And so he began the arduous journey to Aurelleth.