The continent of Thalmyra had been at war with Hell for a total of five thousand years.

  In those five thousand years, a total of four Demon Kings were slain.

  Each time a Demon King was defeated, around five hundred years of peace would follow before a new one inevitably rose again. And each time a new King rose, a new major Hellgate was formed.

  At the time of the Fourth Demon King’s death, there were four major Hellgates, one in each cardinal direction of the continent.

  The first Hellgate, the Eye, loomed within the icy Northern steppes. Voryth, the Withering Frost, was its King, and it took over one thousand and five hundred years for them to fall.

  The second Hellgate, the Maelstrum, swirled within the stormy Western oceans. Morvag, the Drowned Dragon, was its King, and it took over five hundred years for them to fall.

  The third Hellgate, the Flower, bloomed within the fecund Southern rainforest. Baelkarion, the Loving One, was its King, and it took an accursed decade for them to fall.

  The fourth Hellgate, the Crown, burned within the lifeless Eastern deserts. Erizen, the Bloodflame Sovereign, was its King, and it took over a thousand years for them to fall.

  It seemed as if the war would never end. However, there was hope — A sacred prophecy spoken by the Church, said to have been delivered by the Goddess herself five thousand years ago when she descended to aid the world.

  When the Demon King falls five times, the rift between Hell and Thalmyra will be healed. The Hell Gates will be sealed forever, and the Damned will never torment the Living ever again.

  Five hundred years ago, the Fourth Demon King was slain. Now, five hundred years later, the tides of evil rose once more, as the Fifth Demon King was soon to be born.

  The world had prepared for its final battle, but it appeared as if it was for nought. Rather than a new Hellgate, two had appeared instead. Known now as the Twins, both Hellgates had manifested within the very centre of Thalmyra, violently tearing the continent in two and fracturing the Aurelian Empire in the process.

  To make matters worse, all four cardinal Hellgates — which had been relatively inactive since their King’s death — had suddenly reopened in full, allowing Greater Demons to pour forth into an already weakened continent.

  The events that followed were known as the Great Collapse. Over the next hundred years, the tides of battle shift and turn. Land was lost and great cities destroyed. The legions of the Goddess’s Chosens fought in endless Crusades to reclaim the Hell-swallowed Aurelian Capital of Goldwyn in the centre of the continent, where the Holy Sword, Calabrum, remained.

  Without the divine blade, an expedition into the Twins to slay the new Demon King was impossible.

  Each year, more Chosens die to the relentless tide. Each year, the strength of the Aurelian Empire fades. For most, it’s no longer a question of whether the living will lose, but when.

  Some in command despaired, and, in their desperation, turned to the darkest arts and magic, hoping an answer could be found within depraved science and arcane ritual. Yet such inhumane sorcery required endless experimentation and test subjects.

  What better place for the renegade leaders of the Empire to perfect its sordid magic than within the dark, forgotten pits of the Slaver Isles?

  ~~~

  “I assume it’s not called the Slaver Isles for its moral righteousness.”

  Elen huffed, then rubbed her knuckles hard against Eri’s forehead. “This is no time to be playing smart, brat.”

  The boy protested and complained in pain before the matron finally relented and allowed him to apologise. “Fine, I’m sorry. What’s wrong with that place, anyway? People always say the West is an unredeemable pit, but nobody ever explains why…”

  “It’s bad taste to talk about the West,” Elen grunted. “The Slaver Isle is technically a lawless region of the Empire that encompasses the entire northwest coast of the Thalmyra continent, as well as the massive ocean and archipelago further out west, stretching all the way to the Second Hellgate — the Maelstrom. The place is as corrupt and sinful as they came: pirates, slavery, drugs, fighting pits, and all manner of human horror and abuse can be found there. It is also, unfortunately, one of the richest regions in the Empire.”

  Eri stared at Elen. “That’s stupid. How can a lawless place be rich? Or even still be part of the Empire?”

  The matron chuckled. “Well, the place still pays its taxes to both the nation and the Church, for one. And before you ask why or how, I don’t know. The situation there is as complex as it is chaotic. Still, the important thing is that, for all its sinful and debauched nature, the Slaver Isles at least do their primary job well: keeping Demons in the oceanic West away from Thalmyra’s mainland.”

  “It is said that anything can be sold and bought in the West, for the right price,” Elen continued. “People, treasure, Artes, even enslaved Chosens. The Slaver Isles are a dangerous place where death is considered a kinder fate than most.”

  The matron huffed as she knocked Eri’s head and made her final point. “And that’s why you are not going there, brat!”

  “But the System is telling me to go there!” Eri hissed in pain, rubbing his head.

  “I don’t care what the System says, that thing is broken if it thinks you are remotely ready to travel to that den of sin and survive,” Elen growled. “Listen, the average Chosen in the West is a lot different from what it is in the North. They are an unforgiving people who will not hesitate to kill, maim, or sell you for a profit. You do not belong there, especially at your age.”

  “But Lord Draevan is going there to find his daughter. Shouldn’t I accompany him?”

  “You’ll just get in the way. He’s a Jewelled-ranked Chosen with a strong magic affinity and a literal army at his back; he will be fine.”

  Even as Elen said that, Eri could hear the quiet uncertainty in her tone.

  Jewelled-ranked Chosens were called as such because their Cores had already transcended the typical metal-tier classifications of Copper, Bronze, Silver, or Gold. In ascending order, they were ranked as Ruby, Sapphire, Emerald, Amethyst, and Diamond.

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  Eri’s System read them as intervals of 20 levels. Ruby-ranked Chosens were between Lvl 101 to 120, Sapphires were between Lvl 121 to 140, and so on.

  Lord Draevan was Level 131, making him an experienced Sapphire-Core Chosen. The System also gave him the Class of ‘Frenzied Stormlord’, an impressive-sounding title.

  The man was easily the strongest Chosen Eri had ever seen — in this life, at least. Elen was correct in saying that Eri would only get in his way, especially given the size of the coalition that was about to head into the Slaver Isles.

  Still…

  “I feel somehow responsible for this… invasion,” Eri muttered. “A lot of people might die from this conflict. If I hadn’t involved us with House Elathion’s business back then…”

  Elen rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you regret saving the girl. I don’t believe you.”

  “Of course not! But—”

  “Listen, if you think you can account for every last impossible outcome for your actions, then you are being both arrogant and stupid,” Elen said. “Sometimes, things just snowball out of your control. You can’t see the future.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m not responsible. There’s a thing to be said about avoiding blame for our actions…”

  “All our actions lead us to where we are now, but that definitely does not mean we intend for our every action to get us here when we perform them,” the matron chided. “I’m not telling you to forsake responsibility, I’m telling you to be realistic. Whatever happens in this coming war, you played only a small part in it. Thousands of hands set these events in motion. You were just one of them.”

  Eri grimaced. He didn’t agree, but neither did he argue.

  Elen sighed. “Alright, enough of that nonsense. We are here. Are you ready?”

  The two of them had been walking down Castle Elathion’s hallways to the main chambers. They now stopped before its grand doors.

  “Not really,” Eri admitted. “Is it weird to feel nervous?”

  “It’s just a simple signing. It’s not like you are getting married,” Elen chuckled. “C’mon.”

  Elen placed a hand on the door, but Eri tudged her cloak, almost hesitantly.

  It was enough to stop her.

  “... What is it?” she asked casually.

  It was cruel of her to say that, pretending as if nothing was wrong, but she already knew that.

  Eri tried to find the right words. To make her understand.

  “Elen, I…”

  He looked at the matron.

  There was a complicated expression on her face. It was one he was familiar with.

  A wound hidden behind her gaze… It always showed whenever they discussed the matter.

  Motherhood was a painful thing for Elen to consider, but Eri had hoped that after so long together, she would be able to choose him over the scars left by her untold past.

  In the end, whatever bond they had fostered was simply not enough.

  So, rather than ask again, Eri forced himself to say: “Thank you for taking care of me for all these years.”

  Elen blinked, then smiled. “You were an unruly child at times, but it was good having you.”

  Eri hugged her, and after some hesitation, she hugged him back.

  “I’ll miss you,” he said, struggling to keep a steady voice.

  “I’ll still see you from time to time. And if you ever want to visit me, I’ll be at Footfall’s orphanage,” she reassured him. “You’re not just a child anymore. You’re a Chosen. You don’t need me taking care of you. Just remember our promise.”

  “I will.”

  The two parted ways. After a moment, they entered the main hall.

  The place was abuzz with light chatter and music, with lights and minor decoration lighting up the room. The aroma of delicious food filled the air. There were more people than he anticipated.

  “Hey, look, he’s finally here! What took you so long?”

  Joarris’s party greeted him first, the five meeting him with cheers (or a hesitant nod, in Alvine’s case). Captain Lauren and a few of his knights warmly smiled and bowed respectfully at him — a far cry from the cold indifference they had shown him when they first met six months ago. Kalisa was there too, tail wagging as she held a champagne bottle, ready to pop it open.

  In the corner, seated upon the musician’s gallery, one of the twin minstrels, Peythra, strung a delightful melody on her lute to welcome his presence before resuming her song. Though the music in the air carried none of her usual Artes, they were undeniably enchanting to listen to.

  As for the other twin, well…

  Unlike her hardworking sister, Deyara was lounging upon an opulent couch, one bare foot dangling carelessly over the edge, with a massive plate of cheesy breadsticks precariously perched atop her torso. Her posture was unforgivably slovenly — back bent, elbow propped, cheese on her fingers, and her head tilted in lazy disregard for all ladylike composure.

  Yet somehow, the redheaded woman sprawled across the couch as though it were her rightful throne, looking impossibly exquisite as she did so. Eri caught the people glancing at her from time to time with conflicted fascination. She smiled slightly at Eri’s exasperated expression, as if it satisfied her in some way.

  Dulcina and Lord Draevan were waiting at the main table. The adoption papers were already prepared, with the steel dip pen ready.

  Eri bowed slightly to the Lord. The man smiled. “Are you ready?”

  “I am. Though I must say, there’s hardly a need for a ceremony, is there?” Eri muttered, embarrassed.

  “We have little reason to celebrate these days, and this is a joyous occasion for House Elathion,” Lord Draevan chuckled. “Consider this my indulgence before I part for my expedition to the Slaver Isles.”

  The man passed over the papers. Eri read through the document carefully. Everything appeared to be in order.

  The matron’s approval signature was already there, confirming she was overseeing this transfer of custodianship of Eri from Footfall’s orphanage to House Elathion.

  Eri’s gaze lingered on her signature for a few moments. Eventually, he picked up the pen and added his own.

  And just like that, sealed upon legal documents, it was done.

  Eri White, orphan of Footfall, was now officially Eridane Elathion, noble son of House Elathion.

  Some cheers went about. The knights of House Elathion saluted their new Young Master. Kalisa’s champagne bottle popped off with much fanfare, courtesy of Peythra’s music. Deyara lazily raised a cheesebread over her head in acknowledgement. Julie theatrically bawled her eyes out at ‘losing another comrade to the clutches of the aristocrats’.

  Dulcina came around the table and hugged him. “Little brother,” she cooed.

  He blushed slightly and hugged her back. “Big sister.”

  She let him go as Lord Draevan came about and greeted him. “Son.”

  “F-father.”

  The man huffed in amusement. “You need not force yourself. I understand it can be difficult. Worry not, there will be time for us to adjust to this new familial relationship once I return. For the moment, I am simply happy to call you a part of House Elathion. With this, I may venture forth to the Slaver Isles with peace of mind, knowing Dulcina has someone to look after her always.”

  “I hope you do not take that as an excuse to be reckless, Father,” Dulcina said warningly.

  “Worry not. I have every intention of coming back alive with Justinina,” Draevan assured her. “But Eri’s presence within the House while I am gone is a balm on my concerns. Captain Lauren will remain, for the Castle and its scions cannot be left without protection, but the prosperity of our noble family lies sorely in both your hands. I know you two will do me proud.”

  A few more people came up to congratulate them afterwards. Eri was briefly swamped in well-meaning cheers and jests. Overwhelmed, his eyes instinctively glanced around the room for signs of his matron.

  She was nowhere to be found.

  The realisation finally sank in for the boy. His eyes felt warm.

  Bye… Mom.

  With a heavy heart, Eri willed a smile to his face and indulged in the warmth of his new family.