“Hmm~ Hmm~”

Her voice light and breezy, Yana Fatma hummed while watering the plants on the balcony. She was lost in thought, reflecting on the afternoon's event. Unlike the other children, Damian seldom shed a tear. She herself was seventeen now, and she would cry every day.

She was downcast, disappointed in herself. Reflecting back on it, Damian looked like he had something on his mind.

“I will definitely ask him after the banquet is over.”

She declared to the bluish flower in a determined tone. The flower offered no response.

“In the book, it’s written that heralds are haunted by the memories of their past life. Even Yakup, that legendary elder himself, was depressed after learning of his family on Earth.”

“Damian is not at that stage, though. He’s not even awakened yet. So why is he so worried? He can’t be so scared for no reason. Do you know?”

Fatma paced back and forth as she spoke to the flower. Once again, the flower remained unperturbed.

“Wow! Look at the twilight! The book mentions a large sun dominating the daylight sky and a moon ruling the night on Earth. But I doubt it can match this beauty.”

She pointed toward the falling sky. In the morning, the stars were mere specks, barely noticeable. By night, they expanded into colossal orbs that bathed the entire island in starlight.

Their colors shifted from a faint yellow in the morning to a luminous white at night. And now, those stars shimmered with a blurred, reddish glow.

“Fatma! The head maid is mad again! All because of you.”

Fatma’s daze into the transforming sky was interrupted by an annoyed shout. As the maid stomped toward her, Fatma let out a heavy sigh.

“The banquet is about to start soon! We lack hands. Just what have you been up to!?”

“Philosophical endeavor into thyself.”

She replied with a wry smile, repeating Damian’s usual excuse whenever he was late for studies. The young maid was puzzled as those were not the words that would come out of Fatma. She brought her hand to her forehead, pressing her fingertips against her temples.

“Come and help me carry the Samovars. The tea is almost done.”

Reluctantly, Fatma followed her. As they hurriedly walked down to the culinary chamber, they passed numerous other servants, each under the weight of large trays laden with dishes. The bustling corridor was filled with chaos, contrary to the serene twilight outside.

As they entered the culinary chamber, Fatma and the maid weaved through the chaos, their eyes set on the hefty samovars stationed near the back. Approaching the gleaming metal urns used for brewing and serving tea, she and the maid each grasped a handle of the nearest samovar.

The metal was warm to the touch, its surface etched with patterns that caught the light from the candles. Together, they lifted the heavy vessel, feeling the heat seep through their gloves, the steam steaming with comforting brew.

They retraced their path back through the frenzy, balancing the samovar filled to the brim with hot tea. They emerged into the hallway as the noise fell away, replaced by the soft murmur of newly gathered guests and the distant melody of organ music in the banquet hall.

As they set foot in the grand hall, they saw servants darting back and forth, each step taken with precision. Voices of orders shouted over one another, mingling with the clatter of silverware and the clinking of glass.

The preparations were almost done as the food was being served to the newly arrived guests. After Fatma and the maid placed the heavy samovar on its designated stand in the grand hall, she paused to take in the scene. Seeing that the tables required final touches, she moved from table to table, straightening silverware and aligning chairs.

After ensuring everything was arranged down to the last detail, she transitioned to serving the guests. She took up a tray of beverages from the sideboard, her movements graceful. The tray was heavy, but she balanced it effortlessly, her posture perfect. Fatma approached a group of warriors, offering them drinks with a polite smile.

"May I offer you some refreshment?”

The guests responded with nods and words of thanks, selecting glasses from the tray. She continued to flow seamlessly among the tables, responding to guests' requests and ensuring their comfort.

She was engrossed in doing her job, half-lost in her thoughts, when commotion arose. People were rising from their seats, their expressions morphing into outright horror.

‘Hm? Did something happen?’

Fatma was absorbed in her duties at the far end of the hall, when fragments of alarmed conversation and gestures began to drift toward her. Fatma's ears pricked up as the whispers around her grew more frantic.

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"The young master…"

“How could that be!”

“...Who did that?”

Each snippet of conversation added to her growing sense of alarm. Her eyes darted around the room, trying to gather clues from the faces of the guests. Had something happened to Damian? Her heart skipped a beat at the thought.

She needed answers, but in the midst of chaos, it was hard to discern the truth. Her focus narrowed, finding Damian's state her immediate priority.

“Poisoned,...”

A jolt of shock surged through Fatma. Her face paled. The tray slipped from her grasp and crashed to the floor. The sound of shattering glass cut through conversations, drawing looks from nearby guests.

Fatma's instincts kicked in. She darted towards the table where the head family was seated. Each step felt both heavy and hurried as she pushed through the swarms of guests.

As she approached, the gravity of the situation unfolded before her eyes.

Damian, the boy who meant the world to her, was lying on the triangular table, spilling his guts out. All the reputable healers that had participated in the banquet gathered around him. They were barely of any help.

Damian’s body didn’t give any resemblance to humans. His skin melted in decay, his bones smelted. The golden table he was lying on was colored black by his blood, yet with it also came the poison intoxicating his body and soul.

Overcome with raw panic, she screamed as tears streamed down her cheeks. She ran toward Damian, her feet barely touching the ground. Before she could reach him, a firm hand clasped around her arm. One of the external elders held her back.

Fatma's body trembled as she watched, helpless and heartbroken.

----------------------------------------

Among unranked keepers, Ajarsan’s poison was both the deadliest and most painful. Strangely enough, despite the staggering difference in spiritual energy between Damian’s and Ajarsan’s souls, the boy’s was barely depleted. Ajarsan was already succumbing to the sheer ferocity of Damian’s will.

But there was something even more horrifying than Damian’s willpower.

Although the quality of spiritual energy, soul power, was dependent on the individual’s willpower, that did not mean it was the only component. More important than that was the karma.

The child had an immense amount of karma. It meant that throughout his past lives, he had played an active role in the shaping of worldly affairs. Whether they were good or bad deeds.

"Monster..."

Arslan was frozen in his place like a statue. He could not understand. Bearing the pain is one thing, yet the four-year-old child not only withstood, but fought against it. Similar questions lingered in everyone’s minds.

All except Mehmed, who was still frantically trying to find a way to minimize the risks. Thankfully, the poison was only affecting his soul. It appeared Damian had already drunk an antidote beforehand. Still, the soul might not have fallen, but the body was deteriorating. If this continued, Damian had a chance to die just from the sheer amount of blood he lost and the injuries he sustained.

“It’s here!”

Hakan burst through the surrounding crowd as she threw a wooden box toward Mehmed. Mehmed quickly opened the lid as he shoved a rank two elixir into Damian’s throat. The boy, engrossed in soul-excruciating pain, could not feel the disgusting taste of the pill and just swallowed it.

This was the second pill he took. The first elixir was immediately forced on him the moment his body started falling apart. That elixir was of rank one, and although potent, it only slowed down the process. Even with the effect of a rank one elixir and an antidote, the boy still struggled. They couldn’t just give him many rank one elixirs, as that would be an overdose.

But after taking this rank two elixir, the deterioration ceased. Usually, the body of a non-awakener would not be able to withstand the might of an elixir, at least not one of the second rank. In his case, though, the poison and the elixir were offsetting each other out.

“Aghhhh!”

The boy roared. With this elixir, even more pressure befell his soul as the body started adapting to poison, yet it still could not adapt to the rank two elixir itself.

The same was true for Ajarsan. Finally, all of its spirit was wholly devoured. Damian subdued the keeper.

“Hakan!”

The danger of the keeper had passed, yet the elixir was beyond what Damian could handle. She took the hat off of Tayfun’s head and pulled out a scepter - Bazbala. Using the scepter's powers, she tried to draw the elixir out of Damian’s body. Nothing came.

“Damian! Let go!”

Not even a hint of energy came out of a body enveloped with the golden chains. Mehmed felt aggravated. He knew his son had a few screws loose in his head, but not to this extent!

“If only Roxelana were to be here!”

…

Damian was also shocked. Why was he resisting? The boy did not understand.

He wanted to let go.

The boy treasured his family and clan. Everyone would grieve his death. The boy did not want to hurt others’ feelings.

He had always tried to bound himself with principles and morals, suppressing the ugliness within him.

Yet as much as he wanted to let go, he wanted to let loose - aloose of himself, the shackles he had chained himself with.

He was Hellion, and Hellion was him. As Damian, he knew he needed to protect his people at all costs, and as Hellion, he knew he needed power for that, at any cost!

Since, soon enough, a catastrophe would befall Heart Isle.

Insurmountable amounts of spiritual and elemental energy gushed toward Damian’s tiny soul. Each surge fractured his soul, tearing it further. The energies clashed and collided, creating fissures that threatened to disintegrate him into nothingness. It vibrated with the agony of being stretched and torn, struggling to maintain itself against the overwhelming onslaught.

At this point, even Damian himself wasn’t sure if he would survive. It all depended on his karma. This was nothing but a gamble.

The boy was always on the verge of giving up, yet couldn’t. This was the reason he was stuck in the darkness before being born. Stubbornness is as much of a curse as it is a blessing. The inability to give up is the most painful of all the characteristics a being can possess.

And thus, he suffered. He screamed as he tore through the silence of the hall, thrashed wildly in searing pain that blackened his nerves, contorted in an excruciating grimace, clawed at the air and his own skin, and wailed at the soul-scorching burn.

As Ajarsan’s soul was fully integrated into Damian’s, the boy awakened. With it, memories rushed into his head.

He remembered.