The room suddenly turned icy cold, a palpable chill that seemed to seep into every corner. Red particles began to swirl around Vedal, glowing ominously like embers in a dying fire. As the particles danced closer, Vedal’s flesh and skin started to melt away, dissolving into nothingness until only his bare skeleton remained, stark and vulnerable.

  Merlin, the fairy queen, gasped in horror, her eyes widening as she watched the transformation unfold. Hanit sprang up from his chair and rushed toward Vedal in desperate concern, but the swirling red particles repelled him with an invisible force, hurling him backward. He crashed into the ornate furniture, the impact rattling the room.

  The other fairies quickly gathered around Hanit, helping him to his feet, their faces etched with fear and confusion.

  Meanwhile, the red particles coalesced around Vedal’s bare bones, weaving new flesh and skin with an eerie precision. When the transformation was complete, there stood a figure unlike any other—an entity with pure black skin that seemed to absorb the surrounding light. It did not look back at the stunned occupants of the room. Without hesitation, it leapt from the giant tree’s window.

  As it did, magnificent dark demon wings unfurled from its back, casting long shadows over the forest below. Powerful and silent, the figure took to the sky, soaring toward the raging battle between Alvan and the Time Reaper.

  The air seemed to hold its breath in the wake of this new presence—a force both mysterious and formidable, its arrival signaling that the conflict was about to reach an even more perilous turning point

  50 years ago In Hell– Laza

  “I, the Devil King Ezekiel, hereby decree the banishment of Kaede from Laza,” Ezekiel’s voice rang out, cold and commanding, echoing through the grand hall.

  Kaede’s eyes widened in panic. “No, my lord, please! You must believe me—I haven’t aided the Yokai forces,” he stammered, desperation creeping into his voice as he pleaded for mercy.

  Ezekiel’s gaze was unwavering, filled with sorrow and stern resolve. “All the evidence points to you, Kaede. The betrayal cuts deep.”

  “But my lord—” Kaede began to protest, his words faltering as Ezekiel rose from his throne. The sheer presence of the Devil King silenced him instantly.

  “I never wished to banish you,” Ezekiel said quietly, his voice heavy with regret. “You are one of the strongest devils in Laza. But the crime of betrayal is unforgivable.”

  With a somber expression, Ezekiel uncorked a dark bottle filled with swirling shadows. As he raised it, tendrils of inky darkness streamed out, wrapping around Kaede and siphoning away the vibrant colors of his being until he was left as a pure pitch-black silhouette.

  The devil guards seized him without hesitation, dragging the now-shadowed Kaede through the towering gates of Laza. They flung him into the void that separated their realm from Zephyria.

  Kaede plummeted through the sky, landing hard in a dense forest. His pitch-black form melted into the shadows of the towering trees, vanishing almost completely into the darkness.

  A heavy silence settled around him, broken only by the rustle of leaves and distant cries of unseen creatures.

  Banished, stripped of his identity, and alone in a foreign land, Kaede felt the crushing weight of loss and betrayal settle deep within his soul.

  Kaede wandered aimlessly through the dense forest, his shadowy form slipping silently between towering trees. He hoped to find something—or someone—that might ease the gnawing emptiness inside him. As he moved, many creatures scurried away, hiding in fear of the pitch-black entity that was Kaede. The loneliness of their fear weighed on him, but he refused to let it consume his resolve.

  After hours of wandering, Kaede reached the forest’s edge. Beyond lay a small village bathed in the soft light of dusk. He paused at the tree line, careful not to step forward and risk frightening the villagers. From his hidden vantage point, he observed life unfolding in simple harmony: adults tending fields, farmers gathering ripe crops, and children returning home from play, their laughter faint yet warm. A quiet admiration blossomed within him for the peaceful rhythm of their days.

  Night after night, Kaede perched silently atop a tall tree overlooking the village, ensuring he remained unseen. He watched the villagers’ routines, their joys and struggles, slowly sensing a flicker of hope within his hardened heart.

  One evening, as he descended the tree, a small wooden stick suddenly flew from the village, landing near his feet. Curious, Kaede bent to examine it. The stick was crudely carved, shaped like a tiny sword. Before he could ponder further, a child emerged from the shadows. His green hair blended almost seamlessly with the surrounding foliage, and yet, he neither screamed nor ran. Instead, the boy stared at Kaede for a long moment before softly asking, “Who are you?”

  Kaede said nothing, lowering his gaze and beginning to walk away. But the child’s footsteps were quick and fearless as he caught up. “Where are you going?” the boy asked.

  Surprised by the child’s lack of fear, Kaede stopped and turned. Lowering himself to meet the boy’s eyes, he asked quietly, “Aren’t you afraid of me, little one?”

  The boy shook his head firmly.

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  Kaede chuckled softly, a sound foreign to his own ears after so long. Kaede then pointed to the wooden sword. “What were you doing with this?”

  “I was training,” The Kid replied, his voice rough but sincere. “I want to make my father proud.”

  The innocence and determination in the child’s eyes softened Kaede’s heart. “Would you like me to train you in sword fighting?” he offered, hope threading through his words.

  The boy thought for a moment before nodding eagerly.

  Kaede’s smile deepened, a rare warmth spreading through him. But then, distant footsteps sounded—the unmistakable approach of someone searching for the child.

  Quickly, Kaede said, “I have to go now. Come here tomorrow, find me in this tree, and don’t tell anyone, okay?”

  Before the boy could respond, Kaede vanished in a swirl of shadow, reappearing atop another tree. From there, he silently watched, a quiet guardian in the night, as the child disappeared back into the village, the promise of a new beginning blossoming quietly between them.

  The next day, Vedal arrived beneath the towering tree, his wooden sword clutched tightly in his small hands. Kaede spotted him immediately and descended with a smooth, controlled motion, landing softly in front of the boy.

  “So, you actually came,” Kaede said, a hint of surprise in his voice.

  Vedal nodded eagerly, eyes shining with anticipation.

  Kaede chuckled softly. “Alright then, let’s start by introducing ourselves. My name is Kaede. What’s yours?”

  Vedal tilted his head, momentarily confused by the question, but then understood and replied shyly, “M-my name is Vedal.”

  “Vedal, huh,” Kaede repeated, tasting the unfamiliar name on his tongue. “It’s a good name...” He paused, realizing how little he understood about human customs—names, greetings, the subtleties of connection. He glanced at Vedal, silently asking if his words were right, but the boy only stared back with innocent, trusting eyes.

  Kaede sighed softly and dropped the thought. “Alright, Vedal, let’s begin your training.”

  Vedal’s face lit up, and he grabbed his wooden sword with eager determination. Kaede wasted no time.

  “First, show me how you swing that sword,” Kaede commanded.

  Vedal raised the sword and swung, but the motion was shaky and weak. His posture was off, and his grip too loose—no wonder the sword had flown out of his hands the day before.

  Kaede sighed, stepping forward. “You need to grip the sword tighter.”

  Vedal nodded and tightened his hold, then looked up at Kaede, seeking approval.

  Kaede gave a slight nod. “Good. Now, when you swing, keep your body straight. And before you swing, make sure your arms are steady and straight.”

  Vedal absorbed the instructions, nodding firmly.

  Kaede continued, “Remember, Vedal, sword fighting isn’t just about strength. It’s mostly about technique and precision—the skill of the wielder.”

  With that, he said, “Try swinging again.”

  Vedal complied, his second swing smoother, more controlled. It wasn’t perfect, but the improvement in such a short time made Kaede smile quietly with pride.

  The nights had grown quiet between training sessions, but one night, as Kaede slept beneath the tall tree, a sudden shift in the air stirred him awake. A sharp, bloodlusted aura pierced the darkness, followed by the unmistakable scent of smoke and burning wood. The distant screams of villagers shattered the night’s calm.

  His eyes snapped open, wide with alarm. From his vantage point, he saw the village engulfed in flames, the once-peaceful homes reduced to fiery ruins. Panic surged through him. Should he rush in to save them? The thought of Vedal—the boy who had trusted him—drove his decision.

  Kaede vanished in a swirl of shadows, landing amidst the chaos. The village was a nightmare—everywhere, bodies charred beyond recognition, others crushed beneath collapsed buildings, and many more suffocated by thick smoke choking the air. His heart pounded as he searched desperately for Vedal.

  Then, through the haze, Kaede spotted a small cage. Inside, Vedal lay battered and burned, barely clinging to life. Around the cage stood cruel men, their faces twisted with malice. One spat, “This kid’s about to die. He’s no use to us.”

  Another sneered, “Let’s make him suffer for fun—torture him to death.”

  A cruel chuckle rose among them, but it was cut short by screams of agony as Kaede’s shadow swept through the men, merciless and unstoppable. Their bodies were torn apart, their cries echoing through the burning village.

  Breathing heavily, Kaede rushed to Vedal’s side. The boy’s breathing was shallow, his body weak and broken. Kaede’s heart clenched. He wanted to heal him but knew nothing of human healing magic.

  *Should I do the contract fusion? Kaede thought, the weight of the choice pressing down on him. If it saves the boy, that’s all that matters. Besides, what future do I have here anymore?*

  Gently, Kaede touched the crystal pendant around Vedal’s neck. Slowly, his own shadowy form began to be drawn into the crystal’s depths.

  Before fully merging, Kaede’s voice echoed softly in Vedal’s mind, steady but filled with emotion.

  “Listen carefully, Vedal. I’m going to fuse with the crystal on your necklace. This will save your life… but there’s a price. If you break the crystal, I will take over your body—and that will mean your death.”

  A pause, heavy with unspoken fears.

  “We'll be able to communicate through the crystal. You won’t be alone. Promise me—don’t break it, unless you absolutely have no choice.”

  The fusion completed, and almost instantly, Vedal’s wounds began to close, color returning to his skin. He slowly sat up, bewildered but alive.

  Kaede’s voice lingered gently in his thoughts, a bond now forged by fate and desperation.

  “You are strong, Vedal. We are bound now. Together, we will face whatever comes next.”

  Vedal looked down at the glowing crystal, then up into the dark sky, realization dawning. Despite everything, a flicker of hope illuminated the night.

  Before the Transformation— In the crystal

  Kaede’s eyes bore into Vedal’s with a fierce intensity, a mixture of pain and understanding shining through the darkness. “Why did you decide to break it, Vedal?” he asked, his voice low but heavy with emotion.

  Vedal met his gaze steadily, his young face set with quiet resolve. “For my motherland, Master Kaede... for my motherland,” he replied, his tone unwavering and filled with conviction.

  Kaede nodded slowly, a bittersweet smile touching his lips. “I thought you would, Vedal. I’m proud of what you’ve become.” His voice softened, carrying both pride and sorrow. “Go on. Break it.”

  A single tear traced a path down Vedal’s cheek. His hand trembled as he reached for the crystal pendant. Before shattering it, he whispered, “I’ll miss you, Master Kaede...”

  As the crystal cracked and light burst forth, the weight of sacrifice hung heavy in the air—a final act of love and loyalty to a land worth fighting for, even at the cost of their bond.