The teleportation spell hurled Corvin through the void, tossing him down a twisting tunnel of space that seemed to stretch endlessly. He had already vomited twice and cried until his eyes burned before finally bursting out on the other side of the world.

  Julian’s scroll had carried him back to Ezuin, their old continent, lying parallel to Karnia, separated only by the Emerald Sea. That sea was a nightmare: infested with monstrous beasts and wracked by storms that shattered space itself. Crossing it without a guide or a scroll was suicide.

  Corvin slammed into the dirt. His white shirt clung to him, soaked in sweat and bile, spattered with tiny crimson dots of his mother’s blood. His dark red trousers were caked in mud, torn at the knees.

  He sucked in a breath and roared, “Damn you, Father! You’ll pay for this, you bastard!” His fists pounded the ground, rage and grief bleeding into every strike. The more he hit, the heavier his body felt. “Why, Father? Why couldn’t we talk? You know me, I’m your son, not a demon. We trained together, dreamed together. And yet…”

  “YOU BASTARD! I SWEAR I’LL MAKE YOU SUFFER!” His voice cracked as a flock of crows wheeled overhead, their harsh cries like mockery. The sound jolted him; he wasn’t safe. He was in another land now, utterly alone.

  Calm down. Crying won’t change anything, no matter how much it hurts. And damn, it hurts. He drove his fist into the earth again, knuckles raw and bleeding.

  First things first, I need shelter. Food, if I’m lucky. He staggered upright, tears streaking his face, and scanned the ruins around him. He didn’t notice it before, but the place he had arrived at was absolutely destroyed. Craters covered the ground; deep slash marks gouged the earth. Ahead, a mansion lay in ruins: half burned, half crushed, as if a giant fist had smashed through it. Everywhere he looked, battle scars whispered of slaughter.

  He pressed on, stepping into another yard littered with bones. Human? His stomach churned. Each step cracked brittle remains beneath his boots, the sound crawling up his spine. Unable to bear it, he sprinted forward and jumped onto a shattered porch.

  There he found a broken blade lying on the ground, snapped in two, beside it a charred tunic bearing a crow-shaped sigil.

  I’ll take this blade; at least I’ll have something to defend myself with. He tore strips from the burnt tunic, binding the weapon to his waist. Paladin training might not make him invincible, but even Iconless, he could fight well enough to survive or at least escape. Well, that’s at least what he hoped.

  With that grim thought, Corvin pushed deeper into the ruins.

  ***

  Luckily, Corvin was still youth-sized, barely a meter and sixty, which was unbelievable for his age, but it still made squeezing through rubble-choked holes and tunnels easier as he scavenged for anything useful. After what felt like hours, he stumbled upon an entrance to an underground basement.

  It was dark, damp, and reeked of death. Without a light spell or torch, venturing deeper was impossible. He stayed near the faint shafts of sunlight filtering through cracks and broken doorways, scavenging what he could from the illuminated edge of the room.

  He found an empty leather bag and a few clothes, stuffing them inside. Nothing else seemed useful, and he wasn’t about to risk the pitch-black depths. Crawling back outside, he collapsed onto the ground, letting the sunlight warm his aching body. He examined the clothes, which were far too big for him, but anything would help him survive the coming night.

  As he checked the coat’s pockets, his fingers brushed against something etched beneath a crow-shaped sigil, a word, faint and worn. He traced the letters slowly. Moraine.

  “It says Moraine… So, this is where Julian sent me!” He gasped, “What happened here? Was this where Mother lived before she fled for her life?” His throat tightened, tears swelling again. He clenched his fists. No. I won’t cry anymore. I need to find a way to get strong; anything will do.” I will have my revenge.” He swore it aloud, again.

  “Maybe one day I’ll learn what happened to Mother’s family. For now… it seems I’m the last one.” He understood the truth: whoever annihilated the House of Moraine wouldn’t allow survivors. That secret had to stay buried.

  “It seems I’m nameless as well as Iconless. What a farce this life is becoming…” His voice carried a strange weight; reading all those books had sharpened his tongue. Anyone overhearing him would think an old man spoke, not a nine-year-old boy.

  Let’s find anything else useful, then head west, far from Karnia. If his father’s men, or worse, the Church, found him, death would be instant. For now, he would run. But one day, he would return.

  With a grunt, he rose and continued his search. He found a few more broken blades, though the first remained the best. Then, hidden between a shattered staircase and a dead tree, he discovered an old key topped with a crow’s head.

  Eh, nothing of real value. The key felt sturdy, but there was nothing left here to unlock. He had scoured the ruins for two hours. Spinning the key between his fingers, he finally slipped it into the bag with a sigh. Useless, or maybe not? Something about it felt… important.

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  Gathering his meager supplies, gripping a long stick for support, Corvin turned west and began his lonely march, hoping, somehow, to survive.

  ***

  Corvin walked westward at a brisk pace, desperate to put distance between himself and the ruins of his mother’s family. Staying there overnight felt like tempting death itself. The thought made him shiver.

  Ahead, a vast forest stretched across the horizon, a dark wall of trees promising both danger and refuge. As he made his way forward, memories flashed through his mind again: his mother’s final moments, his father’s madness, Julian’s sacrifice. Each image struck like a blade, making his palms slick with sweat and his breath ragged. Every step was a battle to keep the tears buried. He clenched his jaw, swallowing hard, forcing the grief deep down where it couldn’t break him.

  Aaaaaaaaah. The silent roar tore through his chest, a muted cry for relief. He couldn’t afford sound, not here, not now. He knew better than to let anyone or anything figure out his location.

  Hours passed before the forest swallowed him whole. The sun dipped toward the horizon, shadows stretching long and thin. He quickened his pace; he needed shelter and food before nightfall, but more than anything, he needed water.

  His throat burned. His lips felt like cracked stone. I need water. Fast. The earlier tears and vomiting had left him parched, his mouth a desert. To die of thirst after Julian saved me… that would be the cruelest joke…

  The woods stirred as he entered. A bush rustled, then a rabbit bolted, its fur shimmering green. Viridian Bunny. He froze, awe flickering through exhaustion. He’d only read about them in books; their meat was said to heal wounds and restore strength. If only I knew how to catch one. He sighed and pressed on.

  More creatures crossed his path: Crystalhorn Pheasants, Winged Squirrels, Crimson Sparrows. All too fast, too alert. His clumsy steps betrayed him, branches snapping, dry leaves crunching underfoot. I’m really getting hungry now… And the thirst is getting worse, damn it all! Even his body felt heavier with every stride.

  Then a sudden hope. A bush glimmered with deep blue berries, almost purple, glowing faintly in the dying light. He lunged toward it, stomach growling. What are these? Are they poisonous? His fingers hovered. His stomach growled, but he decided not to risk it. He turned away, forcing his legs onward.

  That’s when he heard it, the rush of water. His heart leapt. He crashed through the undergrowth, bursting into a clearing where a stream carved through the earth like a silver blade. Fish darted in the crystal flow, leaping over rocks.

  My lifeline! He dropped to his knees and drank greedily, cold water reviving his cracked lips and weary limbs. Strength seeped back into him. “Ah… I feel reborn,” he whispered, breath trembling. “Now to catch some fish. That, I know how to do.”

  He chuckled softly. He had once read a book on fishing, which wasn’t that interesting, but he was fascinated by all types of fish. Luckily, his curiosity back then would be his salvation this time.

  He gathered branches, fashioning a crude box trap with an entrance big enough to trap a fish or two, binding it with strips of cloth. It was primitive, but it should work. He set it in the stream where fish swam thickest, tying it to his arm.

  Minutes later, the trap jerked violently. Two fish thrashed inside. Corvin grinned, pulling the box into his arms. “Nice! Water and food, this should be enough for today.” Relief washed over him like the stream’s current.

  He decided to follow the water upstream, searching for a cave or a hollow tree he could use as a shelter. Night crept closer, shadows deepening. He gripped his stick tighter and pressed on, determined to survive.

  ***

  After a while, Corvin stumbled upon a shallow cave carved into the left bank of the stream. Its mouth gaped like a wound in the earth, littered with fish bones and small footprints.

  Hmm… the remains look old. I really can’t go any further. Let’s hope nothing comes back tonight.

  He crawled inside, pressing as deep as he could, and drew his broken blade. With steady hands, he carved open the fish he had caught. Even for a noble’s son, he wasn’t squeamish; his father had once forced him to watch cultists tortured and executed. Butchering a fish was nothing compared to that.

  He cleaned them as best he could and devoured both quickly. The taste was raw but fresh, edible enough. It’s not bad. I’ll need to catch more tomorrow.

  Pulling out the oversized coat and clothes from his bag, he wrapped himself tightly and stared at the crescent moon glowing faintly beyond the cave’s entrance.

  He decided to stay awake, just in case. Shadows stretched long, and silence pressed heavily. Thoughts of the day’s horrors clawed at him, the ruins, the blood, the faces he’d never see again. Uncertainty weighed on his small shoulders like iron, but he forced himself to stay strong.

  He sat there, wrapped in rags, staring into the dark until exhaustion claimed him. At some point, deep in the night, Corvin finally drifted into uneasy sleep.

  ***

  Early morning crept over the horizon, sunlight piercing the cave’s mouth and striking Corvin’s eyelids. He jolted awake, smacking his head against the low ceiling.

  “Ouch! Damn it… I fell asleep.” He cursed under his breath, scanning the cave. “Lucky nothing tried to kill me while I slept…” The thought left him disappointed in his own lack of grit.

  He packed the rags into his bag and stepped outside, kneeling by the stream to wash his face. For the first time since yesterday’s chaos, he stopped to see his reflection. White hair, once nice and tidy, was now disheveled and filthy. His face almost brown now, covered with dirt. But what froze him were his eyes. His pupils, once blue as the sky, now glowed crimson, blood-red.

  His fingers trembled as they touched his cheeks, confirming the truth. I’ve changed… Maybe Father was right. Maybe I really am a demon. His heart pounded, breath shallow. Then, slowly, clarity seeped in. But I’m still me. I’m not stronger or weaker. No bloodlust, no hunger for destruction, none of what Father said demons crave. So maybe… I’m not a demon after all.

  He rose, jaw tightening. Or maybe demons aren’t what he claimed. After all, to me, he’s the real demon. That piece of shit. Rage flared as his father’s face burned in his mind.

  Crack.

  The sound snapped him from his thoughts. Branches breaking, footsteps in the forest. His pulse spiked. Not good. He abandoned the trap in the cave and bolted in the opposite direction, only to skid to a halt.

  A small green creature blocked his path, red eyes gleaming, sharp canines bared. It clutched a crude spear and screeched in a guttural tongue.

  “Goblins!” Corvin hissed, yanking out his broken blade. He knew the stories about their savagery, their cunning, their love for torture. And one truth above all: goblins never hunted alone.

  As if summoned by his fear, two more burst from the bushes behind him, spears leveled, snickering like predators savoring the kill. They circled him, eyes glinting with cruel delight.

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