Chapter 4:Those who walk on black

Present Day – Fogwoods, Outlands of Eiden Hollow

The trees here didn't creak or sway. They stood still—twisted, brittle, unmoving—as if bracing for something that never came. Their bark peeled like scorched skin, curling into jagged strips that flaked off at Rai's passing. The wind didn't whistle. It hissed, faint and aimless, curling through roots and shadows.

Rai moved between the trunks in silence.

No birds. No insects. Not even the faint buzz of ambient mana in the air.

He'd passed three boundary wards since sunrise—crude things, stitched from bone and black rope, etched with dried blood and ancient runes. Designed not to guide. But to repel. To keep spirits out. Or in.

Fogwoods wasn't on any map. Not anymore. Not in any Archanic registry or church ledger. When villages disappeared, they were erased not just from charts but from memory. But the barkeep's words lingered like a curse: "You'll need to go deeper."

And so he did.

The deeper he walked, the more the light began to fracture. Fog clung low to the ground, curling around his boots like it recognized him. The forest grew silent to the point where even his breath felt intrusive. His cloak caught on a jagged branch. He tore it free without slowing.

Hours passed. Maybe more.

Then the trees thinned. The fog thickened. And Rai saw it.

A cave mouth sunken between two leaning stones, overgrown with dry moss and half-covered by the roots of an ancient tree. Time had tried to bury it. But it had failed.

A single symbol was burned into the stone above: a broken circle swallowed by a black flame.

Rai's hand instinctively brushed the hilt of the dagger at his hip. Not out of fear. But respect.

He stepped inside.

The air shifted. Cold sank into his bones instantly, far deeper than the mountain chill. He blinked, and the darkness blinked back. Faint torches mounted on the cave walls flickered weakly with residual mana—likely tied to an enchantment, long waned but still holding on. Their light was pale. Blue-white. Unnatural.

The cave stretched inward, further than it seemed from outside. It didn't echo.

Dust blanketed the floor. Every corner was thick with time and stillness.

No footprints.

No sound.

Until he saw him.

Kaien Vell was seated against the far wall.

Dead.

He didn't look broken. He looked… resting. His body slumped slightly forward, arms resting loosely on bent knees. His robes were dark—heavy—and though stained with dried blood, they retained their structure. Not shredded. Not desecrated.

His head tilted just enough to show his face, eyes shut. Calm.

But the skin had already turned pale.

And the Halo…

The Halo above Kaien's head hovered still and dark—just like Rai's, but dimmer now. Like a star that had burned too long. It shimmered once when Rai approached. Just once.

A dagger lay beside him. Blade cracked. Defensive wounds lined his fingers and forearms. Deep gash to the chest. The blood was recent. Fresh enough that it hadn't fully clotted when he arrived.

Rai knelt, pressing two fingers to the stone.

The warmth was nearly gone. Maybe a day. Maybe less.

The timing wasn't coincidence.

This wasn't an accident. Someone had waited for Rai to arrive. Or maybe Kaien himself had waited… until he couldn't anymore.

Rai said nothing.

Not out loud.

To Kaien's left, half-buried beneath a collapsed satchel, sat a wooden lockbox. No rust. No mold. The grain was dark and polished, etched with faint mana lines in the shape of stars and broken wings. It didn't glow. But it pulsed.

When Rai touched the lid, a ripple of energy slid beneath his skin. Not sharp. Not hostile.

It felt like recognition.

The box clicked open.

Inside lay a folded parchment. Thick. Crisp. Not old. Not new. Just… deliberate.

Across the top, written in thin, tight handwriting, was a single line:

For the Next One Who Walks in the Black.

Rai didn't read further. Not yet.

He looked back at Kaien.

There were no signs of panic. No struggle. Just the end.

And yet… the space around the body felt heavy. As though the silence had thickened. As though Kaien's presence hadn't fully left.

Behind the corpse, faint chalk markings lined the wall. Not magic circles—just etchings. Notes. Symbols. Rai couldn't decipher most, but one stood out: a sketch of a city swallowed in flame. A church tower. A broken Council sigil.

Warnings, maybe. Memories.

He glanced around the cave once more—stone shelves filled with old tomes, brittle scrolls, and satchels of dried herbs. Kaien had lived here. Studied. Waited.

Prepared.

He had known another would come.

Another Black Halo.

Another exile.

Rai closed the box and tucked it beneath his cloak. Carefully. Reverently.

Then he stood.

Outside, the wind had begun to rise. Whispers curled through the cave's mouth like threads. Not voices. Not quite.

Rai didn't flinch. He just looked once more at the still figure before him.

"You burned a path," he said quietly. "Now it's mine."

He stepped out into the fog.

And never looked back.

Author's Note:

This one was meant to feel still. No drama. No screaming. Just that weird weight when silence says more than magic ever could. Kaien's gone… but he left something behind.

Next chapter: we open the letter.And maybe introduce someone for Rai to fight while showcasing his powers

Thanks for walking this far with me.

I will be dropping chapter 5 and probably 6 if possible tomorrow as a way of saying thank you for your patience

— See you in Chapter 5