"You are a pitiful man, Renard."
Blood painted the land of Astralis as Renard stood, his left arm—or what remained of it—hanging uselessly at his side. Though both his eyes were slashed, the cruel fate had left him with just enough vision to witness his final moments, to see the man before him in all his terrible glory.
Klean Weaver, the last of the Weaver's bloodline and the true heir of Fate. Also the only wall that stood between Renard and the Seven Houses.
The great hero stood barely an arm's length away, his golden eyes reflecting the dying sunlight. Even covered in blood, he was beautiful in a way only heroes could be—radiant and untouchable.
His silver hair caught the light like a halo, and for a moment, Renard understood why they called him humanity's greatest champion.
Klean's sword rested against Renard's chest, its tip dimpling his skin through torn clothes. Yet the blade trembled ever so slightly, it was the hesitation from the great hero himself.
"It doesn't have to end like this."
Klean's voice carried a warmth that Renard knew he didn't deserve.
"Just surrender, Renard. I'll convince the Lords to forgive you."
Despite this kindness or perhaps because of it—a laugh bubbled up from Renard's throat, turning into a wet cough that spattered blood across the pristine blade at his chest.
"I'm pitiful? Yes, I suppose I am. But you, Klean—you're a coward! Nothing but a fucking coward."
Renard stepped forward, feeling the sword bite deeper into his chest. He felt nothing, pain was an old friend by now, one that he had long since sacrificed for power.
"You knew what they did!" His voice echoed across the silent battlefield, raw with rage. "To my family—to your family! The atrocities of the Seven Houses stain every stone of this continent, and yet! Yet, you chose to forgive them?"
The words tasted like ash in his mouth as he scoffed.
"Oh, great hero of humankind, tell me—how many pieces of your soul did you have to sell to forget the screams of your kin?"
Klean's silence was deafening.
Perhaps he had finally run out of pretty words and noble sentiments. Or perhaps, somewhere in that righteous heart of his, he knew Renard spoke the truth.
"He's beyond saving, Klean." A voice cut through their deadlock like winter frost. "The Lords are waiting, finish him off."
Irene Aster, the Eight-Star Magician and one of the Eight Heroes of Astralis alongside Klean, stood at a distance.
Her pristine white robes were a mockery of purity, stained red with blood as she dragged Renard's last faithful companion across the floor.
Esther, his beautiful shadow-walker, the pride of the Great Green Forest, reduced to nothing more than a broken mass of black fur.
The sight of her broken form ignited a rage so profound that Renard could barely contain it, but before he could voice his fury, Klean spoke again.
"One last time, Renard Grim." All warmth had fled from his voice.
"Surrender."
At those words, Renard remembered the cruel hand of fate once more. His rage disappeared like morning mist, replaced by a bitter smile that cracked his split lip wider.
"In your dreams, you assh—"
The sword plunged forward before he could finish, and the world exploded in white-hot agony.
As his knees buckled and Renard caught one final glimpse of Klean's face. A single tear traced down the hero's cheek, glinting like a star falling from heaven.
"Forgive me...."
He heard Klean's whisper.
Then darkness claimed him.
✽✽✽
Uncomfortable and nauseating.
That's what Renard felt as consciousness returned to him.
His eyes snapped open to find himself in a carriage, with soft cushioned seats facing each other. The steady sound of wooden wheels rolling against the earth filled his ears.
For a moment, his mind was blank. Then confusion hit him like a wave.
'What in the world?'
His mind struggled to make sense of what was happening. Hadn't he just died? He clearly remembered Klean's sword piercing his heart!
"This can't be right..." Renard muttered, looking around frantically.
"Did that bastard Klean spare me? Is this some kind of sick joke?"
His eyes darted around the carriage interior.
No ropes, no chains, nothing to hold him down.
"Are you kidding me?" he growled, his voice rising with each word. "The Seven Houses think they can just capture the Beast Sovereign without even bindings? Me? The seventh commander of the Demon Army?"
He clenched his fists, ready to unleash his fury. "Those arrogant, stuck-up nobles! Do they think I'm some harmless pet they can—"
A small weight on his lap stopped his rant mid-sentence. Looking down, his breath caught in his throat.
There, sleeping peacefully with her head resting on his thigh, was a young girl. She couldn't have been more than 10 or 12 years old, with a face that could only be described as angelic.
'...Aria?'
It didn't even take a second for him to identify the girl…It was his sister!
His dead sister.
Why was she on his lap? And why did his lap feel so... small?
Panic rose as Renard raised his hands and froze at what he saw.
These weren't his hands – not the hands of the feared Beast Sovereign at least. These were a child's hands, smooth and unblemished, without a single scar or callus from the battlefield.
He stared at his hands, then back at his sister. Then his hands again. And his sister again.
'Maybe I'm hallucinating? They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die...'
To test if this was real, he did the first thing that came to mind – he pinched his sister's cheek.
Aria shot up immediately, her amber eyes blazing.
"Ow! Brother, what was that for?" she demanded, rubbing her cheek.
Even angry, she looked more like a puffy kitten than anything else.
Before he could answer, she grabbed his arm and pinched him back – hard.
"Ouch!"
The pain shot through him like lightning.
Pain that he shouldn't have been able to feel – he'd given up that ability years ago in exchange for power.
'This... this is real!'
Renard froze - staring at empty air!
He was back.…!!
"Brother?" Aria's anger melted into concern as she noticed his shocked expression. "Are you okay? Did I pinch too hard? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
Renard didn't let her finish. He pulled her into a tight hug, breathing in her familiar scent of jasmine that reminded him of home. He could feel everything – her warmth, her softness, her life - sensations he'd forgotten long ago.
Aria stiffened in surprise before hugging him back.
"Brother? What's wrong?"
Tears began flowing down Renard's cheeks as he held his sister closer.
What wouldn't he have given to hear this voice again? To feel her warmth against his chest?
In his previous life, he had offered everything – his humanity, his feelings, even his soul – just for a chance to avenge his family.
But now, holding her in his arms, feeling her breathe, hearing her gentle voice... no power in the world could compare to this moment.
His arms tightened around her, afraid that if he let go, she might disappear like morning dew.
How many nights had he woken up screaming her name? How many times had he wished to see her smile just once more? And now here she was, alive and warm in his arms.
"Brother?" Aria's voice was muffled against his shirt, "I can't breathe!"
He loosened his grip slightly, but didn't let go.
He couldn't. Not yet.
Aria didn't ask any more questions, just held him while he cried. Maybe she thought she really had hurt him with that pinch – but it didn't matter.
What mattered was that this wasn't a dream.
He was back – back to the time before misfortune had touched House Grim. Back to the time when his sister and his family were alive!
As he held his sister – his dead, alive, precious sister – a cold determination filled his heart.
He had time.
Time to make things right.
He didn't care how he'd returned to the past or why he still remember everything. All that mattered was that he had a second chance.
But then, like ice water down his spine, a terrifying realization hit him. His arms stiffened around Aria as the memories crashed into him like a tidal wave.
He remembered.
This carriage. This moment.
His breath caught in his throat as the pieces fell into place. This wasn't just any day from his past. This was that day. The day everything began to fall apart.
This was the day his sister died.
His arms tightened around Aria unconsciously as the memories threatened to overwhelm him.
Soon their carriage would be ambushed.
And soon he would watch helplessly as his beloved sister was cut down before his eyes and the first piece of his world would crumble.
Unless he changed it.
His jaw clenched as he looked down at Aria, still nestled safely in his arms, completely unaware of the fate that awaited her.
Not this time.
This time, he had the knowledge of what was coming. This time, he had the chance to protect her.
The Seven Houses wouldn't just be destroyed this time.
No, destruction wasn't enough for them.
'I'll devour them alive!'
As if responding to his thoughts, a mechanical sound rang in his mind.
Ding!
[Initiating the Devourer's Legacy]
一一✽✽✽一一