In a single motion, Dain unsheathed his sword.
A silver arc cut through the dim light, swift and precise.
The guard's head fell before his body even registered the strike. Blood sprayed across the cold stone floor.
Elias barely had time to react before Dain moved again.
One by one, the remaining guards fell like insects beneath his blade. The sound of steel slicing through flesh, the sharp gasps of men who barely understood their deaths—it all ended in seconds.
Elias stood there, frozen.
Lyra did too.
Dain exhaled, wiping a bit of blood off his sleeve. He glanced at Elias, then at Lyra, a smirk playing at his lips.
"No one can know about your power, Scholar."
Lyra's head snapped toward Elias.
"His what?" she demanded, stepping forward. "What power?"
Elias didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on the bodies, his hands clenched.
Dain turned to Lyra, his golden eyes sharp. "Forget what you just heard."
"Like hell I will!" Lyra's dagger was still glowing, her grip tight.
Dain sighed. "Then let me make it clearer." He wiped his sword clean on one of the fallen guards and sheathed it.
"Do not mention it. To anyone."
The air in the room shifted.
Lyra hesitated. She turned toward Elias, searching his face for an answer, for some kind of explanation—but he wouldn't meet her gaze.
Then—slowly, he nodded.
She exhaled sharply, clicking her tongue in frustration. But she didn't push further.
Dain smirked. "Good."
Then he turned on his heel. "Come on. We're leaving."
The gates of the Lost City were lined with silent faces.
Men, women, children—all of them stood watching.
Not speaking. Not whispering.
Just watching.
As if witnessing a funeral procession.
Dain led the way, walking calmly, confidently toward the exit. His sword was strapped to his back, his coat draped effortlessly over his shoulders.
Behind him, Elias and Lyra followed—both bound in chains.
It was for show.
For the council.
For the people who wanted to believe they were in control.
Dain made it look like an exile. Made it look like he was doing what the council ordered.
But Elias knew better.
This wasn't about exile.
This was Dain playing his own game.
A boy in the crowd—no older than ten—picked up a rock and hurled it at Elias.
"Leave my city, you calamity!"
It hit him in the shoulder, but he didn't react.
Another came. Then another.
The first whispers began to rise.
"They are the outsiders."
"They are the real monstes."
"They will turn into calamity."
Elias barely heard them.
His mind was somewhere else.
Somewhere far away.
Then—the gates shut behind them.
And just like that—they were free.
The moment they were beyond the city walls, Dain finally stopped.
With a flick of his wrist, he reached for a dagger and cut the chains from their wrists.
The metal clattered to the ground.
Elias rubbed his wrists, staring down at the raw, bruised skin beneath.
He didn't feel relieved.
He didn't feel anything.
Dain stretched his arms, sighing dramatically. "Ah, finally. I am free from this shit hole."
Elias' voice came out flat. "What's your main goal, Dain?"
Dain smirked. "Goal? You think I need one?"
Elias stared at him.
"You killed those guards. You're betraying your own city. You're dragging us to another Lost City." His fists clenched. "Why?"
Dain chuckled.
"Because it's fun."
Silence.
Lyra and Elias both froze.
"Fun?" Lyra repeated, disbelief thick in her voice.
Dain shrugged. "Why else would I do anything? Isn't this fascinating?"
"You—" Elias exhaled sharply. His stomach twisted.
"You became a hero because it was fun?"
Dain nodded. "Of course. What else is there to it?"
"You didn't care about saving lives?"
Dain smiled.
"Sometimes, saving people was fun. Sometimes, letting them suffer was more fun."
Lyra took a sharp step forward, her dagger drawn.
"You—" her voice shook with rage. "You're not even a human being."
Elias' breath was unsteady. His body felt cold.
For this man—for people like him—he had wasted his whole life writing about.
Glorifying them. Worshipping them.
Believing in heroes.
He had written about the Seven Heroes. He had admired them. He had shaped his whole damn life around them.
And now—he was looking at one of the last living legends.
A man who fought wars.
A man who was revered.
And he was a selfish, empty bastard who didn't care about anyone but himself.
Elias' hands trembled.
"You self-centered bastard."
Dain's golden eyes flicked toward him.
For a second—just a brief second—his expression darkened.
Then—his sword was at Elias' throat.
But Elias didn't flinch.
He stood there. Unmoving.
Lyra immediately stepped in, dagger raised.
"Try it," she spat. "See what happens, bastard."
Dain stared at them both.
Then—slowly—he smiled.
"This is why I like you two."
He lowered his sword and turned, starting walking ahead.
"Come on. We need to find a campsite before sunset."
Lyra watched him carefully.
Then—she turned toward Elias.
She could tell. He wasn't okay.
Something was wrong like he was battling himself. But he wouldn't talk about it.
Not yet.
So—she didn't push, didn't ask anything.
The sun was dipping below the horizon when they finally reached a small pond on a hill.
They set up camp.
Dain didn't bother talking much.
He simply finished eating and rolled onto his back, resting his arms behind his head.
Lyra sat by the fire, watching the flames flicker.
Then—she looked at Elias.
"Hey."
Elias lifted his head slightly but said nothing. She hesitated. Then, she sat beside him.
"So… that return-from-death thing. It's true, isn't it?"
Elias exhaled. "Yes."
She hesitated again.
"This might be a long shot but if it's true. Then… my brother might be alive."
Elias froze. His fingers curled into his lap. He didn't want to lie. He also didn't want to give her false hope.
So—he chose his words carefully.
"He might be."
A small, hopeful smile touched Lyra's lips.
"Then we'll save him, together."
Elias just stared into the fire.
Lyra stood up, patting his shoulder.
"It will be alright, Elias. I can tell you're not feeling well so rest for now. We are in this nightmare together."
Then—she left.
Elias remained where he was.
His eyes lifted to the sky. The cracked sky.
The same sky he remembers watching as a kid which was filled with stars as far as the eye could see. Now cracked with rifts opening and breaking.
Why was all this happening? What is the reason behind all this? These were the questions only he could find the answers for.
He spent his life away writing about people who now he can not even worth calling human beings. Maybe this was his another chance. Another chance to make a difference.
He watched it.
For hours, questioning everything.
Even as the fire dimmed.
Even as the world darkened.
He watched. Because at this point he could only watch.
Until the sun rose again, lighting up the broken sky once again.