Ost Street 34, Opposite Monnem Bar.

The three men, dressed in old-fashioned detective attire and draped in black and beige coats, sat uneasily on the couch. Elliot lay motionless on the floor, curled up among plush cushions and a blanket. The room felt cold, as if an ominous presence lingered in the air.

Elton sighed and crossed his arms. "It's been over an hour now."

"Something's not right," murmured Bill, his melancholic gaze fixed on Elliot, as if he could see through him.

William tried to lighten the mood but looked just as worried. "He'll wake up... not like Simon." Yet his words only seemed to weigh heavier on their shoulders.

...

Elliot's eyelids twitched, and he gasped for air as he found himself abruptly in an empty, white room. A harsh, flickering red light pierced through his eyelids—first scarlet, then crimson—and he let out a scream. His hands frantically searched his face and stomach, but nothing felt burned or injured.

"Where the hell am I? Am I... dead?" Thoughts raced through his mind as his heart pounded in his chest.

"No," a deep, calm voice resonated behind him. Elliot turned to see a man smiling at him. Red hair, red eyes, red clothing—everything about him shimmered in various shades of red. The room, the man, the light—everything was drenched in a world of red.

"I am God," the man said, his tone almost casual. "One among many, but a true God nonetheless."

Elliot felt the breath leave his lungs. God? He had questions—so many questions—but before he could even begin to speak, the man continued.

"You are not dead, Elliot. Your soul was torn from your body, but that was not the end. You were forced into death—by someone who wields more power than you understand. But don't worry; I will send you back."

Elliot struggled to grasp a coherent thought. "Who... who was that? Who killed me, the women? And why?"

"Patience," said God with a wry smile. "There is much you need to know, and I will reveal some of it. But you must discover the rest on your own. It was no coincidence that you have these visions. It is the divine blood within you."

"Divine blood?" Elliot stared at the man, utterly bewildered. "What does that mean?"

"In your veins flows a hint of something you do not comprehend, something from the gods themselves. You inherited it from ancestors you do not know. This blood has granted you the ability to see through the eyes of others."

Elliot fell silent, his mind racing. All the visions he had experienced, everything that had happened until now—it was starting to make some sense. Yet something still felt amiss.

"But... that last vision... I could feel everything. Not just the footsteps or the scents, but also the pain."

"That is because," God said, stepping closer, "you were not merely a spectator. You were drawn into death because a greater power was at play. This being knew how to breach your divine protection. But you are growing stronger, Elliot. You will learn to control these visions, even the actions of those whose lives you witness."

"Control?" Elliot felt his thoughts crystallizing. "How?"

"You must know their names," God explained. "Then you can guide them. But be cautious—you cannot place them directly in danger; otherwise, the connection will break. Their lives hang by a thin thread, and you must learn how to stretch that thread without snapping it."

Elliot's confusion slowly morphed into a dawning realization. This power was immense, but it was also perilous.

After a brief pause, God continued, "You can absorb the blood of others without losing your mind completely, but only in moderation. You will not go mad as long as you ingest it through your mouth and mix it with your divine blood. It will grant you power—but do not overindulge. If you consume more blood than your body can handle, it will destroy you."

Elliot nodded slowly, the weight of God's words sinking in. "So I can... alter blood?"

God smiled. "Yes. It will be your tool. And you must learn to wield it wisely."

Elliot took a deep breath, feeling the power bubbling within him. But one final question burned in his mind. "Why me? Why this power?"

"Because you have been chosen, Elliot," God replied, and for the first time, his voice held a serious tone. "There is a balance that must be restored. You will play a role in this game—a role you do not yet understand."

Elliot swallowed hard. "And Ren? What about him? Where is he?"

God took a step back, the smile returning to his lips. "You will find out soon enough."

...

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In the Maggerson family's home at Ost Street 34, opposite Monnem Bar, Elliot awoke with a start. His vision was no longer clouded by red light but by the sight of a balcony in the middle of a house. Frantically, he looked around as he stood up. Cold sweat dripped down his brow, and he felt as though his veins were about to burst. While he was physically unharmed, a tremendous pain coursed through his body. It was not as intense as the agony he had felt in the body of the dead woman, only a few meters away from him, but it was nonetheless debilitating—like a knife peeling his skin and fingers digging into his eyes.

With a disturbed expression, Elliot brushed his hands across his face and hair, hastily retreating from the lifeless form. Finally, clutching his abdomen, he curled into a ball, unable to sit upright. He gasped and moaned in agony, his veins bulging across his body. Eventually, he lay on his side, trembling all over.

Elton, William, and Bill looked on with a mixture of relief and concern. They rushed to his side, gripping his shoulders to steady him. Bill, his eyes filled with worry, spoke with urgency. "Elliot! Can you hear me? What happened?"

Bill's usual calm demeanor had transformed. He resembled a dog eagerly approaching its master after a long wait, but this time directed downwards toward Elliot. Elliot could only groan, drenched in sweat and the blood of the woman. "W-where am I?"

His vision was hazy. "You are in the Maggerson estate, the home of the woman who was murdered. Elliot, what happened?" Bill asked carefully, his voice loud but tinged with concern, while William and Elton exchanged equally worried glances.

"I died. No, the woman died..." Elliot's eyes flickered between half-open and closed, sweat trickling down his cheeks.

"You died? Elliot..." But before he could hear any more, his eyes fluttered shut completely.

…

In the Dark Void.

Elliot gasped for air, as if he had been submerged underwater for minutes, but he was spared any further struggle. Where am I now? As he glanced around, his eyes caught the flickering of blue and green crystals, and realization dawned on him. “So, I must have fallen asleep…” He placed a hand on his abdomen and sighed in relief. Here, in this void, I have some form of protection from the gods. No pain, I am alone—no one can reach me here, only I can come and go, and on top of that, I can penetrate the bodies of others? He rubbed his brow in contemplation, a shabby smile creeping onto his face. If I can control them, then I could compel them to store certain blood elsewhere. But how would I get it there? No, Aston is wealthy; he could arrange for it to be transported here to the Kingdom of Avelor. But would they notice? No, no, they will notice eventually. Sooner or later, they will become aware. And when that happens, they will be frightened; they may fear me, but they will also try to fight back. I mustn't act hastily… Elliot's shabby smile faded, replaced by a resolute gaze. Ren... As he moved towards the crystals, thoughts of his brother filled his mind. I will find you, and then we will protect one another, rebel, fight, and save ourselves and others like us from oppression and enslavement. We will restore the balance and reignite the ashes. He gazed at the blue-glowing crystal, which hovered in the air, jagged and impure. With a touch, the entire endless space burst into a brilliant blue light, the wind whipping his hair back.

Whooosh!

…

Denklin, in the Main Street of the Kingdom of Zentria, within the estate of the Rosenmahl family.

Elliot's eyes fluttered open, seeing through Aston's eyes. “The Day of False Gods, in two days; today is the Day of Verdant Haven.” Aston Rosenmahl murmured to himself as he walked down a long corridor, every few meters adorned with paintings or sculptures. The walls were decorated with trilogical roses: blue, white, and gold. Day of False Gods? Verdant Haven? Is today some kind of holiday? Elliot frowned as he touched his brow, but he maintained a determined gaze through Aston’s elegant movements. “Aston, skip lightly for three seconds.” Suddenly, Elliot's voice emerged, and his eyes widened, his hair whipping back as if a powerful blow dryer was aimed at him. A brief flash of blue light enveloped Elliot, and he felt Aston pick up speed, bouncing lightly as he went. It was like Little Red Riding Hood innocently skipping through the woods with her basket. It really works. But this time, Elliot’s voice did not escape his lips; it merely echoed in his mind. An uneasy feeling crept over him, his mouth curling up as he looked toward the high ceiling of the elongated corridor. Three seconds passed, but nothing changed—except that Aston resumed his normal pace, albeit with slightly trembling legs.

“What just happened?” Aston murmured weakly, glancing around with trembling hands. “Am I sick? Blues need more sleep…” He strained to look ahead, where a large double door loomed. Two men clad in butler attire stood at the entrance, swiftly opening the doors.

“Let no one in for the next two hours,” Aston commanded. The butlers, their white cloths draped over their folded arms, nodded in unison. “Of course, Young Lord Rosenmahl.” The doors opened and closed as Aston stepped into his chambers. Being noble must seem significant, commanding authority, but the true power lies in controlling others. Aston Rosenmahl… today, however, that power will belong to me. Elliot's mouth curled upward as he fixed his determined gaze on the grand king-sized bed. With trembling legs, Aston stumbled and fell onto the soft, white bedding, adorned with a plethora of simple blue pillows. He sighed and sprawled out in a cross shape on the bed, still clad in his noble attire, emblazoned with the Rosenmahl family crest—the three roses.

“Aston, go to your writing desk and write the following: I am watching you.” A strong wind surged around Elliot as he projected his voice into Aston. The brilliant blue light momentarily blinded him, and he watched as Aston slowly and monotonously made his way to the desk, dipping a quill with a long feather into a vessel of orange ink before inscribing on a blank sheet. Suddenly, Aston's hands trembled again, his eyes fixated on the orange cursive script that appeared starkly against the blue light: “I am watching you.” Aston glanced nervously around, his demeanor now a stark contrast to the calm, monotonous gaze from before. His eyes flickered, sweat-soaked strands of hair fell over his forehead. Aston gripped the royal blue back of the tall chair with tense arms. His glances darted from the bedroom to the distant horizon lit by the blue sun, and then to the paper with the newly formed orange letters.

“Who are you?!” Aston gasped, breathless, his hands still shaking. “Aston, write now: I am merely an embodiment of God, one of a true God.” Aston's frantic and bewildered expression abruptly morphed into one resembling a robot. Cursive letters appeared, contrasting with the blue light, as the now bewildered Aston read the sentence: “I am merely an embodiment of God, one of a true God.” As Elliot's lips curled upward, reveling in the darkness, Aston’s eyes fluttered shut while he struggled to hold himself upright against the sparsely decorated writing desk. But as fate would have it, Aston's face collided with the orange script and the quill, leaving him motionless. Elliot's smile remained unwavering, even in the darkness. He gazed with a determined expression into the dark void. God’s work shall be accomplished through me.