The atmosphere around them remained heavy, almost suffocating. Though Ray had spoken with his usual carefree tone, the truth of the situation wasn’t lost on anyone.

This wasn’t just an ability.

It was an imbalance.

A single person, a mere boy, had just gained a guardian with thousands of years of fighting experience, knowledge, and wisdom. It wasn’t just about combat—this entity had witnessed eras unfold, had understood people, wars, civilizations. This wasn’t simply an ability. It was a force that tipped the scales entirely in Ray’s favor.

Rudra, ever silent, observed everything. His unreadable gaze held a flicker of thought—calculating, measuring.

Vidar, standing a few feet away, clenched his fists. It was subtle, but a hint of unease flickered through his eyes. He wasn’t afraid of Ray, but the presence of this Guardian of Life made something clear:

Ray was no longer just a kid among them.

And then—breaking the tension—Ray, with his usual playful grin, tilted his head toward his new guardian and asked,

"Hey, bodyguard—" he paused, eyes glinting with curiosity. "Is your real name actually ‘Guardian of Life,’ or do you have something cooler?"

The Guardian did not answer immediately.

Instead, he stood in silence, his golden eyes observing Ray as if weighing something unseen.

The stillness stretched.

Then, at last, in a voice that carried centuries of weight, he spoke:

"Amarok."

A single name.

The sound of it resonated through the air, heavy, absolute.

It was a name that belonged to no ordinary being. It felt ancient, mythical, as though simply speaking it would awaken something buried deep within the fabric of time.

Vidar’s breath hitched for just a second.

Jaipa—who had barely moved since the Guardian appeared—flinched.

But Ray?

Ray grinned.

"Amarok, huh?" He let the name settle on his tongue, rolling it over like a prized treasure. Then, with a carefree chuckle, he clapped his hands together.

"Yeah, that sounds way cooler than just ‘Guardian of Life.’ Guess I lucked out with a badass name for my bodyguard!"

Amarok remained still, his expression unchanged.

But something subtle flickered in his gaze—something unreadable, yet undeniably watchful after a moment

Ray moved swiftly, his pace steady as he closed the distance between himself and the bystanders—Vidar and Rudra. His guardian followed, but something was… off. The man’s usual calm expression had darkened, his eyes sharp and unreadable.

Ray glanced at him. “What’s wrong? You look—”

Before he could finish, the guardian’s gaze locked onto Vidar, and his entire demeanor shifted.

Ray, oblivious to the sudden change in the air, raised a hand toward Vidar and introduced him with a casual gesture. “That’s my friend, Vidar, the prince of Fronova.” He then turned toward Rudra to do the same.

But he was gone.

Ray’s heart skipped a beat. In just a split second—faster than his eyes could process—his guardian had moved.

Now, standing mere inches from Rudra, the man’s twin blades hovered at lethal angles—one poised at Rudra’s throat, the other at his ribs. But just as quickly, another set of blades met them, intercepting the deadly strike with a metallic *clang*.

Rudra had blocked them.

The moment was frozen in place. Rudra stood, his arms trembling, his muscles strained against the force of the attack. But what was most terrifying wasn’t the danger itself—it was the impossibility of what had just happened.

Four minds echoed the same silent question.

"How?"

But no one was more shocked than Rudra himself.

His breathing was uneven. His grip on the blades was firm, yet he couldn’t recall raising them. His thoughts were a chaotic blur as his eyes flicked from the steel to the guardian standing before him.

*"I was just looking at them… and then… the next thing I knew, I was holding these blades. I blacked out. I don’t remember moving. I don’t remember reacting."*

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

His fingers twitched against the hilt, his pulse racing.

"What exactly just happened? And more importantly… why did he point his blades at me?"

But Rudra was wrong—completely wrong.

This wasn’t a test. This wasn’t a warning.

Amarok wasn’t just pointing his blades at him.

He was trying to kill him.

The look in his eyes wasn’t the gaze of a warrior assessing a threat—it was something far beyond that. It was *absolute intent*. A cold, unwavering certainty that, in the next breath, Rudra’s life would end.

Then—**a voice shattered the moment.**

Loud. Urgent. Laced with disbelief and bitter disappointment.

*"Amarok—what... what are you doing?!"*

It was Ray. His voice cut through the thick tension like a blade of its own. His feet pounded against the earth as he sprinted toward them, his panic evident in every movement.

Vidar reacted just as fast. Without hesitation, he pulled Rudra behind him, his stance shifting into one of defense. He didn’t question, didn’t hesitate—he simply moved, shielding Rudra from the killing intent aimed at him.

By the time Ray reached them, his face was twisted in something between shock and fury. His eyes darted from Amarok to the frozen moment before him—his own guardian, weapons still locked in a deathly cross against Rudra’s, their clash mere inches from cutting flesh.

“Lower your blades.” Ray’s voice was firm, demanding.

But Amarok didn’t move.

His golden eyes, once filled with wisdom and an unshakable presence, were empty now—hollow, devoid of the warmth that once defined them. The charm, the loyalty, the fire—all gone. What remained was an abyss, a soulless void that turned to Ray, acknowledging his presence without truly seeing him.

And then, slowly, as if resisting something unseen, Amarok lowered his blades.

Ray took a sharp breath, steadying himself before demanding, “Now tell me—why? Why did you do that?”

Amarok remained silent for a long moment. His dark expression did not waver. His gaze, heavy and unreadable, slowly turned back to Rudra.

Then, finally, he spoke.

That… that thing…" his voice was low, almost a growl.

What is it?

His words weren’t directed at Ray.

They weren’t directed at Vidar.

They were for “Rudra.”

Ray's expression twisted the moment the words left Amarok’s lips.

"What did you just call him?" Ray’s voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. His fists clenched at his sides as his golden eyes burned with disbelief. "Thing?"

His voice rose, echoing across the silent training grounds.

Are you really that kind of person? Someone who thinks they stand above everyone else?!"

Amarok remained silent, unmoved by Ray’s outrage. His gaze remained locked onto Rudra, unreadable, unwavering.

A heavy silence fell over them, thick and suffocating.

But Ray wasn’t done.

"Explain yourself!" he demanded, his voice ringing through the air like a command.

Amarok exhaled slowly. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if steadying himself, and when he opened them, there was no hesitation in his words.

"Is that thing really human?"

Ray inhaled sharply. His shoulders tensed as he let out a breath, his expression darkening—not with anger, but with disappointment.

He shook his head slowly. “*You’re being too damn rude to a kid you just met.*”

But Amarok didn’t flinch. His voice cut through Ray’s words like ice.

"That kid isn’t human."

Ray’s breath hitched.

"Can’t you see it? He has nothing inside him. No presence, no life, nothing." Amarok’s golden eyes sharpened, narrowing as he studied Rudra with something close to… wariness. "He’s just a hollow shell. I don’t even know how he’s standing right now."

Then, as if the words themselves carried weight, Amarok’s expression darkened further. His grip on his blades tightened.

And the smell coming from him… it’s unmistakable." His voice dipped lower, filled with something deeper than suspicion.

*"That is of a Fallen God.

The words hit the air like a thunderclap.

Ray’s eyes widened. Vidar’s breath caught.

And Rudra… he just stood there in Silent

A heavy silence lingered between them. Amarok’s golden eyes remained locked onto Rudra, an unreadable expression settling over his face. His presence alone made the air feel colder, heavier—unnatural.

Then, in a voice laced with certainty, he spoke.

"If my senses are correct, that kid doesn’t belong here… in the world of the living."

Ray’s head snapped toward him, his brows furrowing. Without hesitation, he cut him off.

"You need to start talking some sense. Can’t you even tell the difference between someone living and non-living?" Ray’s voice held frustration, his usual cheerfulness replaced by something sharper. He gestured toward Rudra, his words firm.

"He’s here. He walks with us. He smiles with us. He cries with us. And you’re telling me he isn’t supposed to be alive?

Amarok didn’t hesitate. His voice, colder than before, sliced through the air like a blade.

"Do you actually think that kid isn’t acting?"

Ray’s breath caught for a moment.

Amarok continued, his tone unwavering. "Do you really think he’s showing his true self? That what you see is real? Or is he simply playing a role, deceiving you?"

Ray frowned. "And for what purpose would he do that?"

Amarok’s gaze never wavered. "I have seen countless people who wear masks—who craft perfect illusions just for their own gain. I do not know his reasons. But I know one thing for certain…

The face he’s making right now is a lie.

A perfect deception."

Ray turned to Rudra instinctively.

And that’s when he saw it.

A face of shock.

A trembling body.

A voice cracking with fear.

Rudra had crafted the perfect act. The perfect illusion of a helpless, terrified boy. His expression was flawless, his movements calculated to perfection.

And yet—

Amarok had seen through it immediately.

But Rudra didn’t break.

He didn’t let his mask slip.

Even as Amarok’s cold, piercing words rang through the air, Rudra simply thought to himself,

"What kind of thing… is this key?"

Rudra remained still, maintaining his act flawlessly. But inside, his mind was racing.

Amarok’s words gnawed at him. Not alive? What was he talking about?

But another question surfaced in his mind—his scent.

"What about my smell?"

Just as the thought formed, Jaipa—who had been trembling this entire time—suddenly spoke.

Even now, his body shuddered, but his voice, weak yet clear, cut through the silence.

"You… you actually smell like a Fallen God."

The words sent a ripple through the air.

Rudra’s expression didn’t falter. His act remained perfect, the same confused, slightly shaken look still plastered on his face.

With a controlled voice, he asked, "What do you mean by that?"

Jaipa hesitated, then took a breath. "I chose you because of that smell."****"At first, it was faint. But by the end of the ceremony, it grew… stronger."

Rudra processed his words carefully, then asked, "How do you know this scent?"

The moment the question left his mouth, everything about Jaipa changed.

The trembling ceased.

His expression hardened.

His very presence felt different.

He stared at Rudra, silent. And instead of answering, he responded with a question of his own.

"Why do you smell like that?"

Rudra immediately understood—he was avoiding the question.

That meant there was something Jaipa didn’t want to say.

Fine, then. Rudra pressed forward. "What’s so important about this scent? And what exactly is a Fallen God?"

Before Jaipa could answer, another voice joined in.

Two, actually.

Ray and Vidar.

Both had spoken at the same time.

Ray’s voice carried concern.

Vidar’s carried curiosity.

And then, for the first time since the conversation began, Amarok answered.

His expression had darkened.

Not just serious—his face carried a warning.

"If the scent is real… then he can’t be here."

A beat of silence.

Then, three voices—Rudra, Ray, and Vidar—all asked at once.

"Why?"

The answer that followed changed everything.

"Because they will descend. Again."

Amarok’s voice was deep, unwavering.

"This time, without mercy. Without conscience. Without hesitation.

"And the land of grass will be drowned in blood."

"The ones who stand above humanity."

"The ones at the pinnacle of evil."

"The ones we call… the Evil Gods."

The words rang through the air like a death sentence.

A tension so thick it felt alive.

No one spoke.

Each was lost in their own thoughts.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, Amarok’s voice cut through the silence once more.

"What they hate most… is the essence of a Fallen God."

He continued.

"Even if it’s just a smell—"

"They will come."

"They will remove it from existence."

"And when that happens… everyone around him will only see one thing—"

"Blood."

"Blood that exists for sacrifice."

The weight of his words was absolute.

But Amarok wasn’t finished.

His golden eyes sharpened. His expression darkened even further.

"I can’t let that happen."

His grip tightened on his blade.

"I… won’t let that happen."

In a single, fluid motion—

He moved.

His blade flashed in the light, a sharp gleam slicing through the air—straight toward Rudra’s throat.

But—

He vanished.

The blade never touched him.

Rudra hadn’t even noticed the attack.

He hadn’t even needed to close his eyes.

Because in the span of a second—

He was no longer there.

The world around him shifted.

His body felt weightless.

The oppressive air, the tension, the presence of Amarok—all of it disappeared.

And then—

A voice.

Breathless.

Unsteady.

"What… is this…?"

Jaipa answered immediately.

His voice was quiet.

Yet it carried the weight of something far greater than fear.

"This… is the World of 48H."