The weight of everything Marcus had ever experienced bore down on him as if he were sinking into an endless void. Days had slipped away like grains of sand through an hourglass, each one bringing him closer to despair. His attempts to cross paths with Raimon, to explain the truth, to seek forgiveness and salvation, had been swallowed by the relentless pace of the academy's life. Raimon and his circle were always immersed in their research, leaving Marcus to drift aimlessly through each day, clinging to a hope that grew fainter with every sunset.
He watched from the shadows, observing the few moments Raimon and his friends spent relaxing in the forest behind the academy before returning to their laboratories. Marcus tried to imagine how he might approach them, rehearsing conversations in his mind, but with every passing day, the scenarios he envisioned seemed less likely to ever occur. Time was slipping away, and so was the last glimmer of his hope.
Then the letter came—an order from the Crescent Moon. The words on the parchment were like nails in a coffin: the organization demanded an assassination attempt on Raimon Flower, fueled by rage over the destruction of their northern headquarters by the former Duke, Alaric Flower. Success or failure did not matter—the only goal was to strike a painful blow against the Flower family.
Marcus felt his world collapse. He was nothing but a tool to be discarded, a pawn on a chessboard whose only purpose was to bleed and die at the whim of the Crescent Moon. Memories of that night, the one that haunted his every dream, clawed at his mind—the cold eyes of the assassins, the lifeless forms of his parents, the helplessness he felt as a three-year-old child. They had stolen everything from him, and now they demanded his last breath in service of their twisted cause.
Desperation consumed him. He could no longer endure it.
With a trembling hand, Marcus wrote a letter—a final plea, a confession of everything the organization had done to him, of the horrors he had endured, and the crimes he had committed under their control. Every secret he knew, every betrayal he had been forced into, was laid bare on the page. It was a message for Raimon—a chance, however slim, to be saved from the abyss.
Marcus called upon his only true friend at the academy, Fenix Watersun, the one soul who had stood by him through the darkest moments. With a heavy heart, Marcus entrusted him with the letter, offering him a final, bittersweet farewell before surrendering to the darkness that had pursued him all his life.
And so, Marcus fell.
In the depths of his coma, Marcus drifted through a realm of endless darkness, an infinite void where time held no meaning. In that black expanse, his mind conjured dreams of a life that could have been—a life where his parents were still alive, where he grew up within the safety of his ancestral home, embraced by his mother's warmth. He imagined making friends, falling in love, and building a future where he could raise his own children, protecting them from every shadow and danger.
The dream played on endlessly, comforting and cruel. It was a glimpse of everything he had lost, a life that had been stolen from him.
But then, out of the darkness, a sound echoed—a deep, majestic caw that stirred something within him. Flames of radiant gold began to flicker on the horizon of his mind, spreading outward in bright, sweeping arcs. The darkness began to lift, and in its place stood a towering figure—a three-legged raven, shimmering with ancient majesty and wisdom, its feathers a tapestry of pure light and shadow interwoven.
Marcus knelt instinctively, overwhelmed by the presence of the magnificent bird. And in that moment, memories flooded his mind. The ancestral bloodline of his family—the demonic raven, the gifts of darkness and illusion—came rushing back to him. Yet this raven was unlike anything from the ancient legends. There was no malice in its gaze, no hunger for chaos. It was a being of purity, knowledge, and transcendence.
Suddenly, it dawned on him—a revelation like a bolt of lightning:
"Raimon did it!"
He knew. He knew that only Raimon, with his relentless pursuit of understanding bloodlines, could have achieved such a miracle. The curse that bound Marcus was crumbling, and with it, the chains that had shackled his soul for so long. Salvation was within reach—the life he had dreamed of was no longer an illusion. Tears welled in Marcus's eyes, and for the first time in years, he allowed himself to hope.
He wept, alone in that dreamscape, until the golden flames consumed the darkness entirely and pulled him back to reality.
Marcus's eyelids fluttered, and his senses slowly returned. He felt the cold surface beneath him—the operating table where his life had teetered on the brink. The metallic scent of blood lingered in the air, mingling with the sterile aroma of alchemical tools. His mind struggled to bridge the gap between the dream and the present, but he knew one thing for certain: he was alive.
He forced his eyes open, and the blurry forms of those around him began to sharpen. Raimon stood at the forefront, his silver eyes focused with unwavering determination, flanked by Morrison, March, and Mancil. They had not left his side, watching over him as his body fought to stabilize over the past two weeks.
"His vitals are holding,"
Raimon muttered, his voice a mixture of relief and exhaustion.
"He's going to make it."
Marcus's breath hitched as he tried to speak, his throat dry and voice barely a whisper.
"Raimon…"
Raimon leaned closer, his sharp gaze softening slightly.
"You're safe now, Marcus," he said. "You'll never have to walk that path alone again."
Tears welled in Marcus's eyes once more—not from pain, but from the overwhelming realization that the nightmare was finally over. The chains of the Crescent Moon had been shattered. He was no longer their puppet, no longer a pawn in a game he never asked to play.
With a weak but genuine smile, Marcus whispered,
"Thank you."
Raimon gave a small nod, standing straight as Morrison placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"Rest now,"
Raimon said softly.
"There's still much we need to do. But for now, just rest."
Marcus closed his eyes, no longer in fear but in peace. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt free.