You-.

The inn had fallen silent after dinner. Laughter and drunken chatter that once filled the halls now dwindled into faint snores behind closed doors. Moonlight streamed faintly through the cracks of wooden shutters, casting pale patterns across the dim corridor.

Inside Room No. 13, a shadow moved. A black crow hopped from the back of a chair to the windowsill, then to the bedside table before perching on the iron cage in the corner. Its crimson eyes gleamed faintly in the dark, unblinking.

At the small wooden desk sat a girl with flowing black hair, dressed in a loose white shirt and gray trousers. Ravyn Noctis held a small pouch in her hands, the metallic jingle of coins filling the room in soft cadence as she counted aloud.

"Sixteen… seventeen… eighteen… nineteen… twenty."

The sound of coins clinking against one another faded as she tightened the drawstrings. A faint smile curved her lips, satisfaction settling in her expression.

Pushing the chair back, she rose and crossed the room to the wall on her right. Pressing an ear against the timber, she held her breath.

Silence.

Her crimson eyes dimmed in disappointment. "He must have fallen asleep," she whispered, retreating to the bed.

Sliding beneath the sheets, she closed her eyes. Before long, the faint rhythm of her breathing merged with the quiet stillness of the night.

Next Room

On the other side of that very wall, a boy lay sprawled across his bed. His ash-gray hair clung damp to his forehead, sweat soaking the pillow. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths as if something unseen pressed upon him.

Darkness seeped into his senses, thick, suffocating. His consciousness blurred, dragged deeper into a void that pulsed with a presence alien yet familiar.

And then… came the voice.

A whisper.

Low. Hoarse. Cold as steel scraping against ice.

"Ashborn…"

The sound slithered into his ears like a serpent. Liam's fingers twitched, but his body felt heavy, unresponsive. He tried to think, to anchor himself in reality, but the voice returned, sharper this time.

"Ashborn."

A chill spread through his veins. His heart hammered against his ribs, erratic. He did not understand what was happening. His thoughts fractured like shattered glass, pieces scattered in the dark.

One single command pulsed through the haze: Follow.

"Ashborn… come."

The whisper grew louder, colder, coiling around his mind like chains. The sound didn't echo in the room, it reverberated inside his skull.

Liam staggered to his feet, legs trembling as if the ground beneath him tilted. Each step was a battle against weakness, yet he moved… drawn by something he could not name.

His vision blurred. Shadows crawled along the walls, stretching like the fingers of some unseen beast.

"Come here…"

The inn's wooden floor groaned under his uneven steps. His head throbbed, his breath shallow. Still, he walked.

He could no longer tell whether he moved by will, or by the call that consumed him.

"Ashborn… come."

Liam gripped his head with both hands, his expression twisting in pain.

"Aaahhh-!"

He collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. But what shocked him wasn't the fall itself, it was the sensation beneath his palms.

The wooden floor of the inn was gone.

It had changed into something cold and black. It didn't feel like stone, or wood, or metal. Not sand. Not marble. It was a texture beyond any material he could name. He knew nothing like it existed in this world, or the last.

His mind screamed in confusion, but the pain only worsened.

"Ashborn… why…"

The voice came again. Clear. Heavy. Each syllable struck inside his skull like a hammer. His vision blurred as a sharp pain pierced through his head, forcing him to grit his teeth until his jaw ached.

"Why… are you not…"

He clutched his temples harder, pressing his forehead into the cold black ground. His scream tore through the silence.

"COMING HERE!"

His ears rang. His body jerked violently, like a marionette dragged by invisible strings. He staggered upright, swaying on his feet, but did not stop. His head throbbed like molten iron boiling inside his skull.

The only thought anchoring him was a single certainty, the pain would end when he reached the voice.

"Ashborn. Come here."

The command thundered again, louder than before. He stumbled forward, legs buckling, then forced himself upright. His steps were uneven, dragging across the featureless black surface.

He didn't know where he was walking. He didn't care.

"Ashborn."

The headache intensified for a moment, then, suddenly, faded. The stabbing agony that had split his mind moments ago dissolved like mist in sunlight.

His breathing steadied, but his body remained cold, drenched in sweat. Heat pooled strangely in his chest, as though a fire had ignited inside him while his skin froze.

"Ashborn. Look."

The voice rolled like thunder from every direction. His entire body locked as his head tilted upward.

And then he saw it.

His breath stopped. His pulse stuttered in his veins.

A colossal eye stared back at him from the endless dark, its iris a molten silver ring, its pupil a slit of blood-red light that burned like molten metal. Surrounding it were wings. Dozens. Hundreds. Black feathers spread outward like a living storm, their edges soaked in crimson as if dipped in blood, yet no amount of red could drown their darkness.

The wings shifted slowly, like a sea of blades in motion. Each movement stirred the void around him, filling the silence with a low, grinding hum.

His mind screamed at him to run. His instincts shrieked in panic. Every muscle in his body tensed to flee.

But he didn't move.

Even as adrenaline flooded his veins, even as terror twisted his gut, his legs refused to obey. Something deeper held him still—a weight in his chest that pinned him in place like chains.

His eyes locked onto that silver glare.

"Who… are you?" he forced out through clenched teeth.

His voice cracked, raw with fear, but the question escaped before he could stop it.

The thing did not blink. The great wings folded slightly, shadows curling inward, and the voice came again, not as a whisper, but a surge that struck every nerve in his body.

"I am the answer you seek when the world abandons you."

The ground shook beneath him. The air pressed down like a mountain of lead. His heart hammered, threatening to tear through his ribs.

"And I am what you forget when you believe you no longer need strength."

The voice didn't echo. It carved the words into his bones.

Liam's throat tightened. His fingers curled into fists until his nails dug into his skin, drawing blood. His entire body trembled, not from weakness, but from the sheer force pressing down on him.

"What… do you want from me?"

His words were hoarse, almost broken.

The pupil burned brighter, an unblinking scarlet line framed in molten silver. The black wings flared wide, stretching until they blotted out everything, the void quivering like a living thing.

"You-"