The darkness breathed.

  That was the first thing Aira felt when consciousness crept back into her broken senses. Not silence—no, silence would have been mercy. Instead, the air itself seemed alive, thick with whispers, groans, and the slow, deliberate scrape of something sharp being dragged across stone.

  Scratch.

  Her breath hitched.

  Scratch… scrape…

  The sound echoed through the chamber, uneven and jagged, like nails clawing against the tiled floor. It wasn’t random. There was rhythm to it—agonized, desperate, as though whatever made the noise was writhing in pain, too stubborn or too cursed to die.

  Aira’s eyes fluttered open.

  Darkness swallowed everything.

  No—almost everything.

  A single candle burned several feet away, its flame trembling violently, casting long, warped shadows against the walls. The dim light barely held back the void, but it was enough for her eyes to cling to, enough to anchor her mind before panic could fully take hold.

  Her body felt heavy. Numb. As though she had been submerged in ice and dragged out too quickly.

  Where am I…?

  She tried to move. Her fingers twitched weakly, brushing against cold stone. The floor beneath her was slick—damp, uneven, stained with something she refused to identify.

  The scratching sound returned, closer now.

  Her heart pounded.

  She forced herself to look around.

  The candle’s glow revealed shapes—distorted silhouettes scattered across the room. Broken furniture. Torn drapes. Dark smears trailing along the walls and floor. Every instinct screamed at her to look away, but something else held her gaze steady.

  Something reflected the candlelight.

  A glimmer.

  Red.

  Aira froze.

  At first, she thought it was a trick of the flame. A trick of her half-awake mind. But as her vision slowly sharpened, the glow became clearer—more defined.

  It was a gemstone.

  A deep crimson ruby, polished to unnatural perfection, embedded in something metallic.

  As the candle flickered, the ruby caught the light and seemed to burn, glowing brighter, richer, as though alive.

  Her breath trembled.

  The object holding the ruby slowly emerged from the shadows.

  A sword.

  No—not just a sword.

  Its blade gleamed faintly, unmarred despite the carnage around it. Runes—ancient and unfamiliar—ran along its length, etched so finely they seemed woven into the metal itself. The hilt was ornate, wrapped in dark leather that looked untouched by blood… though blood surrounded it everywhere else.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  So much blood.

  Her stomach twisted.

  The weapon looked familiar.

  A memory stirred—faint but persistent. A book. An illustration. A story she had once read in a forgotten corner of a church library.

  A heavenly sword.

  Her eyes widened.

  As the sword drifted closer—or perhaps she was the one being drawn toward it—details sharpened. The ruby pulsed softly now, like a heartbeat. The blade radiated a pressure that weighed on her chest, forcing shallow breaths from her lungs.

  And then she saw it.

  The blood.

  It coated the blade in thick, dark streaks. Still wet. Still dripping.

  The hilt was gripped by someone’s hand.

  Aira swallowed hard.

  Someone is there.

  Her lips trembled as the words slipped out in a broken whisper.

  “Is… is someone there…?”

  The scratching stopped.

  Silence crashed down like a guillotine.

  Then—

  Eyes opened in the darkness.

  They glowed a burning gold, sharp and piercing, cutting through the shadows with terrifying clarity. Those eyes were not human—not entirely. They carried age, power, and something merciless beneath the surface.

  Aira couldn’t breathe.

  A voice followed, deep and commanding, reverberating through the chamber as though the walls themselves obeyed it.

  “Be gone.”

  The ruby flared.

  Golden light erupted from the sword, flooding the room in a blinding wave. Aira screamed as warmth slammed into her senses, not burning—but purifying. The sword lifted effortlessly, as though guided by an unseen will, and slashed through the air in a single, decisive arc.

  The world shattered.

  Monsters—shapes she hadn’t even noticed lurking in the dark—were suddenly visible, their grotesque forms frozen in terror. The golden light tore through them mercilessly, slicing bodies apart with surgical precision.

  Blood sprayed into the air.

  Screams echoed—cut short, swallowed by light.

  The stench of death filled the room as bodies collapsed, severed cleanly through their torsos. Blood ignited as it touched the radiant glow, evaporating into crimson mist.

  The monsters didn’t stand a chance.

  They never had.

  As the last of them fell, the light lingered—softening, fading slowly like the dying echo of a bell.

  In the center of the devastation stood a young man.

  He held the sword loosely at his side, its blade still humming faintly with power. His silhouette was tall, steady, utterly unshaken by the massacre surrounding him.

  Before Aira could see his face—

  Her knees buckled.

  Fear and shock finally overwhelmed her, dragging her consciousness into darkness once more.

  The light came first.

  Warm. Gentle.

  Aira stirred, groaning softly as sensation returned to her limbs. She felt… safe. Confused, but no longer drowning in terror.

  Her eyes fluttered open.

  She was lying on a bed.

  A real one.

  Soft sheets brushed against her skin, and the scent of clean linen replaced the metallic tang of blood. Sunlight—or something very much like it—filtered softly into the room.

  She exhaled shakily.

  I’m alive…

  The memory of golden light lingered vividly in her mind, making her chest ache.

  “I… am I alive?” she whispered.

  “Well, it certainly seems so.”

  The voice startled her.

  Aira’s head snapped to the side.

  Sitting calmly beside the bed was a young man.

  He was beautiful in a way that felt dangerous—strong build, sharp features, long black hair cascading past his shoulders. His eyes were golden-red, glowing faintly even now, watching her with unsettling intensity.

  She recoiled.

  “W–Where am I?” she demanded, pushing herself up. “Who are you?”

  He smiled—soft, almost amused.

  Her irritation flared.

  “Well maybe you shouldn’t knock people unconscious after terrifying them!”

  His smile twitched.

  Then vanished.

  In an instant, the air changed.

  Pressure crushed down on her chest as his eyes flared brighter. He stood abruptly, closing the distance between them in a blink. His hand shot out, gripping her throat and lifting her effortlessly off the bed.

  “Who are you?” he demanded, voice cold and sharp. “How did you get here?”

  Aira gasped, fear exploding through her veins.

  “I–I don’t know!” she choked. “Please—!”

  Her heart hammered wildly as tears blurred her vision. She forced herself to speak, words tumbling out in a panicked rush.

  “My name is A–Aira! I was pushed into a forest—there was a snake, a wolf, a castle—I don’t know how I got here!”

  His grip loosened slightly.

  For a moment, he studied her—really studied her.

  Then, without warning, he released her.

  She collapsed onto the floor, coughing violently as air rushed back into her lungs.

  “Tch,” he muttered. “Seems I was too lenient.”

  Without another word, he turned and walked out, slamming the door shut behind him. The sound echoed like a gunshot.

  Aira curled into herself, trembling.

  Her breaths slowly steadied as silence reclaimed the room.

  Only then did she notice it.

  The walls.

  They were covered in marks—deep gashes and glowing scars carved into stone. Sword strikes.

  If not for them… the room might have been beautiful.

  Her chest tightened.

  She crawled back onto the bed, hugging her knees as the sound of footsteps echoed faintly outside the door.

  Someone was coming.

  Aira pressed herself into the corner, heart racing, eyes fixed on the entrance.

  Waiting.