The moon hung high over the quiet corridors of the Abraham Estate, its silver glow casting long, haunting shadows across the vast halls. Most of the mansion slept peacefully, wrapped in the soft arms of silence. But one room remained lit—the private library of Belbub Van Abraham.
A single candle burned atop an old oaken desk, its flame swaying gently as if breathing. The shelves that lined the walls groaned under the weight of ancient tomes, magical scrolls, and relics that still whispered old languages. Dust motes danced like lazy spirits in the air.
Belbub sat at his desk, his long, graying beard lit gold in the candlelight. His eyes, though still sharp, betrayed exhaustion. He had spent hours leafing through a dense leather-bound volume, flipping between pages written in tongues long forgotten by common mages.
But something on the wall caught his eye.
A small photo frame—slightly crooked.
He stood slowly, his joints stiff, and made his way across the room. His wrinkled hand reached out and gently straightened it.
It was a picture. Faded, but precious.
A woman stood in it, smiling softly—her eyes wise, yet full of mischief. Her hair was dark like raven feathers, and beside her was a much younger Belbub, proudly holding her hand.
Sasha.
Elijah's mother. His daughter.
His expression softened, and he allowed himself a rare, unguarded moment. His fingers trembled as they brushed over the glass.
He remembered the day the letter came.
"To my dearest Father, Belbub Van Abraham—
If you are reading this, then I have likely disappeared, fallen into silence, or been taken by the winds of fate I could no longer outrun. Please do not weep, nor curse the stars, for my path was chosen the day Elijah was born.
I write these words with trembling hands, not out of fear, but of love. Love for my son… love for the life I could not give him. I wish I had time to tell you everything, but time is the one thing I no longer possess. So I will leave behind what matters most.
Please, if I do not return—then protect my heart.
I do not speak of the physical. Not my name, not my blood, nor even my broken body. When I say "my heart," I mean Elijah. He is everything. He is the last remnant of the light I once carried inside me, and he holds within him more than you know—more than even I dared to understand.
You have seen glimpses of it, haven't you?
The silence in his aura.
The eyes that dream but do not sleep.
The magic that answers even when unspoken.
He is not like the others. He was never meant to be. And that terrifies me.
There are forces at work—deep, ancient, and cruel. They move beneath the skin of the world like unseen roots, whispering names that were forgotten for good reason. Names even the stars no longer dare to speak. I have stood at the edge of that darkness, and I heard one of those names.
I will not write it here.
Even a name carries weight.
Father, I know your time is running short. I can feel it even from far away. But promise me—promise me with what remains of your magic, your will, your blood—that you will stand between Elijah and whatever comes.
If they come for him…
If the heavens or the hells mark his name…
If the kingdoms call him curse or savior or monster…
Do not abandon him.
And do not let him abandon himself.
He will question who he is. He will suffer, bleed, and bear the unbearable. The world may label him broken—but remind him: he was born from love, not from prophecy.
If one day he opens this letter, or if he asks about me, don't tell him I ran.
Tell him I fought until my last breath.
Tell him I believed in him even when I vanished.
Tell him… he is not alone.
My journey now takes me to a place even the stars cannot follow. But you—my father—you are the last wall. And if I fail… you must not.
Protect my heart.
Protect Elijah.
Until the end.
With all the love I could not say in person,
—Sasha."
He had read that line over a thousand times. Memorized the shape of every letter. It was the final thing she had left behind, and he had understood what she meant.
He returned to his chair, removing his spectacles and setting them down on the desk. Then, in the flickering candlelight, he wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve.
"My dear Sasha…" he whispered. "I did everything I could. But I fear… I was never enough."
He leaned back in his chair, eyes heavy with sorrow and truth.
"I can't promise I'll protect Elijah for long," he murmured. "My body's deteriorating faster than the doctors guessed. The lifespan of a mage was never meant to be eternal. And mine… has nearly run its course."
But then, as if something ancient and defiant surged in his blood, he straightened his back and clenched a trembling fist over his heart.
"…But until the last drop of blood runs cold in these veins—I swear, I will protect Elijah."
The words echoed in the quiet room, not just as a vow—but as a prayer.
The creaking of the door broke his solitude. A woman stepped in, wrapped in a soft blue robe, her silver hair tied back loosely. Vera.
She paused at the doorway, squinting into the dim room.
"Dear? What are you doing here at this hour?"
He glanced up at her with a tired smile. "Sleep eludes me."
She walked over and stood beside him, her presence gentle but firm. "You're overworking yourself again."
He chuckled. "Aren't we always? But tonight... it's not books that keep me awake. It's the children."
"The tournament?" Vera asked, pulling a chair beside him.
He nodded. "They left earlier today. Alaric's leading them. Daud, Drake, Ayn, the girls... and Elijah."
She rested a hand on his. "They'll be fine. Alaric is capable."
"I know," Belbub said. "But it's Elijah I worry for."
He hesitated, then added, "Alaric informed me… Karl Serpentine encountered him."
Vera's eyes widened. "What? Is Elijah—?"
"He's safe," Belbub reassured her. "But... the boy coughed blood. That man's pressure... was enough to nearly cripple him."
Vera leaned back, closing her eyes in relief. "Thank the stars… If Karl so much as lays a finger on my grandson, he'll pay with everything he holds dear."
Silence lingered.
Then Vera's gaze shifted to the book on the desk. "What were you reading?"
Belbub hesitated, then shut the volume gently. "Nothing worth dreaming about. It's Clark's words that won't leave me."
"What did he say?" she asked.
His voice lowered, almost reverent.
"A monster that looks like an angel but devours everything it touches.
A group of monsters that sleep endlessly—and in their sleep, the world breathes easy. But when they awaken… kingdoms fall.
A faceless monster with no identity—hidden deep within the source of all life. A being that tried to become a god but failed…"
Vera's calm expression twisted. Her eyes sharpened like a blade pulled from a sheath.
Belbub watched her.
"You know these riddles… don't you?" he asked.
She nodded slowly.
Her voice barely a whisper.
"Yes… I do."