The silence at the bottom of the abyss felt like a final tribute. Azril stood frozen, gazing at the peacock's remains, which now looked like a gemstone stripped of its luster. Before turning away, he bowed deeply. Within his four-year-old mind, he felt a familiar warmth. That embrace of energy from the peacock hadn't just been power; it was the remnants of an affection that reminded him of his mother's embrace—a warmth torn away by fate.
"Thank you," little Azril whispered. His voice was hoarse, swallowed by the winds of the gorge.
However, as Azril began to walk in search of an exit, an extraordinary phenomenon occurred. The lingering energy from the peacock's carcass did not vanish into the air. Instead, it began to writhe, forming strands of clear blue light like a river flowing against gravity. The light swirled around Azril's small frame, enveloping him in a mesmerizing blue aura.
Azril flinched. He felt a searing warmth crawling through his pores, seeping into the very marrow of his bones. Inside his body, a violent upheaval took place. His silver blood boiled, clashing with the peacock's blue energy. There was a strange sensation, like thousands of fine needles piercing his nerves, but the pain lasted only a moment before exploding into a cold tranquility. The energy was absorbed perfectly, leaving a thin trail of vapor wafting from his skin.
As the highest form of respect he knew, Azril prostrated himself. He pressed his forehead against the cold ground before the peacock. He remembered vividly how his father, Arlo, always prostrated when showing the deepest respect to officials or when praying. In this cruel world, Azril had learned that respect was the currency for those who had given life.
With a light leap, Azril attempted to reach the edge of the cliff. What happened next, however, defied the boy's logic.
Syuuuut!
A small thrust from his feet created a burst of air pressure. His body shot forward like an arrow, crossing dozens of meters in the blink of an eye. A trail of blue vapor lingered in the air, forming a straight line that cut through the darkness of the abyss. Azril landed atop the cliff unsteadily, his eyes wide with disbelief.
The world around him seemed to freeze. He could see grains of cosmic dust that usually drifted rapidly now moving in slow motion, as if time itself were holding its breath for him. This was the peacock's legacy: speed that transcended the perception of mortal eyes. To Azril, the world became slow, while he was the lightning bolt splitting the silence.
Meanwhile, outside the silence of the Sanctuary, the world was far noisier and more cruel. The gargantuan metal gates of the Aethorian Empire creaked mournfully as they swung open, venting hot steam from the ancient clockwork mechanisms that moved them.
Arlo and Lizra stood there, squeezed among a crowd of impoverished youths pinning their hopes on the imperial military. The towering watchtowers looked intimidating, guarded by soldiers in full plate armor that shimmered under the scorching sun.
"Name?" barked a giant military instructor. His face was a map of scar tissue, his eyes sharp like a hawk searching for weak prey.
"Arlo. From Remnant Village," Arlo replied curtly. There was no tremor in his voice. His eyes were flat, yet in their depths sat a void that could make one shudder.
Mocking laughter erupted. The instructor guffawed until his shoulders shook. "Remnant Village? That dumping ground? Heh, kid, you'll barely last a day before crying for your mother's skirts!"
The jeers were met with the laughter of other soldiers. Arlo did not flinch. To him, the insults were nothing but wind. The ache in his heart from losing Azril burned far hotter than his trampled pride. He accepted the coarse training uniform and a weathered wooden sword with steady hands.
While other recruits began to complain about the searing heat or the weight of the gear, Arlo was already in the center of the field. He swung his wooden sword with a constant rhythm.
One... two... a hundred... a thousand...
Sweat mixed with dust poured down, soaking his haggard face. His palms began to blister and bleed, yet he did not stop. In his eyes, every swing of the sword was a distance he cut down to find Azril. He realized that as a commoner with nothing, the imperial military was his only path to access information, tracking mages, or the power to search for his son even to the ends of the universe.
"Arlo, rest for a bit! You'll die if you push yourself like this!" Lizra shouted from the sidelines, his face full of anxiety.
Arlo paused for a moment, his breath coming in gasps. He looked at Lizra with a gaze that seemed to pierce his soul. "I already died that night, Lizra," he said coldly. "Now, I am merely a vessel without a soul searching for the way home for my son. If this vessel must be shattered to find him, then so be it."
The instructors began to whisper. They saw something strange in Arlo. The youth lacked beautiful sword technique, but he possessed a terrifying survival instinct. Every swing of his sword was aimed to kill, as if the wooden post before him were the enemy that had robbed him of his world.
Back in the silence of the Sanctuary.
Azril had successfully made his way out of the abyss. With the speed of his blue vapor, the journey that should have taken a long time now felt brief. He walked past the ruins that had once borne witness to his battle with the fledgling. The place was now empty. There was no trace of the bird, as if the creature had never existed. All that remained were strange plants with shapes that twisted like frozen tentacles.
Azril finally returned to the ruins of the building where he had left his mark. He sat on the ground, his small fingers gripping a sharp stone. With deep emotion, he began to carve into the hard earth.
He drew the tall figure of Arlo, the gentle Lana, Aerith, and Lizra. Small tears fell, wetting the carvings. Amidst the vast silence of the Sanctuary, a profound loneliness began to stab at his chest. He missed Aerith's laughter, his father's rebukes, and the warmth of a home that was now ashes.
However, that melancholy moment did not last long.
BOOOOOM!!!
A colossal explosion of energy shook the entire dimension of the Sanctuary. A terrifying growl, like the scream of a primordial monster from another dimension, echoed deafeningly.
In the distance, a pillar of golden-purple light soared high, piercing through the Sanctuary's atmosphere and striking the star clusters in the sky. The explosion was so powerful that the surrounding stars shattered, creating a horrific cosmic firework display.
The ground beneath Azril's feet vibrated violently. A chilling, oppressive aura suddenly blanketed the area. The hair on Azril's neck stood up. This was no ordinary explosion. It was a sign that something truly horrific was awakening—or was heading straight for him.
Azril stood, gripping his carving stone tightly. A great fear gripped his heart, but at the same time, his silver blood pulsed wildly. Azril's moment of peace had ended.