The arena roared with the echoes of battle as another vicious fight came to an end. The blood-soaked sand beneath the warriors was a testament to the brutality of the tournament. High above the chaos, in the shaded stands reserved for the most prestigious and powerful, Xyenn sat with his companions, basking in the afterglow of victory. He reclined confidently, his muscular arms crossed over his chest, still dripping with the remnants of his recent fight, his eyes glinting with arrogance.

Across from him, Skaris, a lean, sharp-eyed rogue with a sly grin, leaned forward, clapping Xyenn on the shoulder.

"That was savage, Xyenn," Skaris said, his voice dripping with admiration. "You tore through that last guy like he was nothing. I've never seen anyone fight with such... brutality. I’m honestly impressed."

"You make it look too easy," Kaelith added, her voice smooth and teasing. She was a sorceress of wicked beauty, her long silver hair cascading over her shoulders. She took a sip from her goblet, her eyes never leaving Xyenn. "Almost like they aren’t even worth your time."

Xyenn leaned back in his seat, flashing a cocky grin. "It was easy," he said, his voice heavy with self-satisfaction. He flexed his fingers, his knuckles still bruised from the last fight. "These so-called 'warriors' are just stepping stones. They don't even touch me. I’ve already won this thing; the rest of these fools just haven’t realized it yet."

Ellyra, the quietest of the group, raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She was always the reserved one, her dagger-sharp eyes taking in everything, but even she couldn’t help but smirk at Xyenn’s overconfidence. Druegan, the hulking barbarian sitting beside her, let out a low chuckle, his massive arms crossed as he listened to Xyenn's boasting.

"Careful now," Druegan rumbled, his voice deep and gravelly. "Pride comes before the fall. But I wouldn’t mind seeing you crush a few more bones before this is over."

Xyenn laughed, throwing his head back. "Fall? Me? You’ve seen what I can do. There’s no one left who can stand against me. I’ve already crushed the best they had to offer. The rest are just... warm-ups."

‘I’m unstoppable!’

The crowd in the lower stands had already started buzzing with excitement again, placing bets on the next fight, but Xyenn’s name was still on many lips. His recent performance had been a spectacle, and his confidence was infectious. People were betting on him for every round, convinced he was unstoppable.

"You hear that?" Xyenn said, tilting his head toward the distant shouts of the crowd. "They know it too. They know I’m untouchable. I’ll fight anyone at this point!”

Skaris chuckled, running a hand through his dark hair. "They’re practically throwing their gold at the bookkeepers, betting you’ll cleave through the next guy without breaking a sweat."

Kaelith smirked. "Let them. You’ll give them their money’s worth."

Just as Xyenn was about to speak again, the announcer’s voice boomed across the arena, cutting through the noise of the crowd.

"Next up, a special match!" the announcer cried, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "Xyenn!”

The crowd erupted in cheers, the sound crashing like waves against the stone stands. Xyenn grinned and stood up, his posture dripping with arrogance as he stretched his arms above his head, feeling the tension roll out of his muscles.

"Looks like they just can’t get enough of me," he said, smirking as he began to make his way down the steps toward the arena floor. "Another victim, another win."

"Good luck, Xyenn," Kaelith called after him, her voice mocking. "Try not to kill this one too quickly."

"Luck?" Xyenn scoffed, not even bothering to turn around. "I make my own luck."

As he walked toward the platform, the crowd's cheers grew louder. People were shouting his name, their excitement palpable.

"Xyenn! Xyenn! Xyenn!" The chants echoed through the air, and many spectators were already placing their bets.

"He’s gonna tear through this one too. No doubt!" one man shouted as he tossed a handful of coins toward the bookkeeper.

"That’s the monster right there!" another yelled. "No one can stop him!"

Xyenn soaked it all in, his chest swelling with pride. He gave a few waves to the crowd, his cocky grin never fading as he stepped onto the arena’s blood-soaked sand.

Standing at the opposite end of the arena was his opponent—Steed Duncan. The centaur was a massive, intimidating figure, his lower half a powerful chestnut stallion, muscles rippling beneath his gleaming black armor. His upper half, that of a man, was equally imposing—broad shoulders and arms thicker than most men's legs, covered in dark steel plating. His helmet, shaped like a snarling wolf, hid most of his face, but his eyes burned with a cold, calculated rage. In his hands, he held a massive spiked wrecking ball attached to a long, heavy chain, the iron ball gleaming in the sunlight, each spike as long as a dagger, dripping with traces of destructive magic.

The crowd gasped at the sight of him.

"Damn, look at that thing!" someone shouted from the stands. "That wrecking ball could crush a house!"

"Bet you five gold Xyenn dodges every hit. He’s too fast for this brute!" another voice called out.

Xyenn, standing across from Steed Duncan, looked the centaur up and down, his grin never wavering. "A centaur, huh? I hope you’re faster than you look, otherwise, this is going to be embarrassing for you."

Steed Duncan said nothing. His grip on the chain tightened, the metal links clinking ominously as he swung the wrecking ball in slow, deliberate circles.

The announcer’s voice boomed again. "Steed Duncan, the Centaur Warlord, versus Xyenn, the Unstoppable Champion! Let the battle begin!"

The ground trembled as Steed Duncan charged, his hooves pounding the earth, the wrecking ball gaining momentum as he swung it in a wide arc, aiming to crush Xyenn where he stood. But Xyenn, quick as lightning, sidestepped the massive weapon, his feet barely touching the ground as he twisted out of the way.

"Too slow!" Xyenn taunted, his voice full of mockery as he danced around the centaur.

Steed Duncan snarled, yanking the chain back and spinning the wrecking ball in another vicious arc. This time, the spiked ball crackled with destructive magic, leaving a trail of fire and dark energy in its wake as it crashed into the ground where Xyenn had just been standing, sending chunks of stone flying into the air.

Xyenn leapt, flipping through the air effortlessly, avoiding the blast. The wrecking ball swung again, and again Xyenn dodged, his body twisting and spinning in midair with inhuman agility.

"Is that all you’ve got?" Xyenn shouted, his voice ringing out over the crowd’s cheers. "I thought you’d be more of a challenge!"

Steed Duncan growled, his eyes narrowing as he poured more of his destructive magic into the wrecking ball. When it hit the ground again, the earth exploded in a wave of blackened energy, but Xyenn was already in the air, flipping and twisting above the destruction.

The crowd was on their feet, screaming as Xyenn defied gravity, his body moving like a blur. He dodged every attack, his movements so fast they were almost impossible to follow.

And then, with a wild grin, Xyenn did the unthinkable. Still airborne, he twisted mid-flip and caught the chain of the wrecking ball with his teeth. The crowd gasped as he bit down, his jaw muscles bulging with the effort. For a split second, the centaur hesitated, surprised by the sheer audacity of the move.

That hesitation was all Xyenn needed.

He twisted his body, using the momentum of the chain to swing himself around. His hands grabbed hold of the wrecking ball itself, and with a savage roar, he kicked off the air with such speed it seemed like he defied the laws of physics. His body became a blur of motion as he brought the wrecking ball crashing down—onto Steed Duncan’s body.

The impact was thunderous. Blood sprayed into the air as the centaur’s armor crumpled beneath the force, his head slamming into the ground with a sickening crack. The crowd went wild, their cheers deafening as Xyenn stood over the fallen warrior, breathing hard, his chest heaving with adrenaline.

For a moment, there was silence, and then the arena’s announcer hurried over, checking Steed Duncan’s limp form. After a tense moment, the announcer raised a hand.

"Steed Duncan is alive… but he can fight no longer! The winner is Xyenn!"

The crowd erupted into a frenzy, chanting Xyenn’s name, their voices a chaotic symphony of admiration and fear.

"Xyenn! Xyenn! Xyenn!"

"He’s a monster!" a voice screamed from the stands. "A ruthless killer!"

"That’s no man, that’s a beast!" another shouted, throwing coins into the air in celebration.

Xyenn stood tall, his chest swelling with pride as he soaked in the adoration of the crowd. He wiped the blood from his hands, grinning savagely.

"A true gladiator!" the announcer declared. "A warrior without equal!"

High above the arena, in the royal tower, Velmire, the arena’s overseer, watched the scene unfold with a cold, calculating gaze. His maids stood silently beside him, awaiting his word.

Xyenn stood in the center of the bloodstained arena, still riding the high of his victory over Steed Duncan. His heart pounded with the intoxicating rush of battle, his chest heaving with the afterglow of combat. The crowd's cheers still echoed in his ears, their chants of his name resounding like a victory song. He wiped a smear of Duncan’s blood from his cheek, grinning arrogantly.

But then, something changed. The announcer’s voice was about to call the next round of fighters when suddenly, the sky above the arena split open in a brilliant, blinding flash of light.

The crowd fell silent, their cheers dying in their throats as they all turned their gaze upward. Xyenn, standing at the center of the arena, squinted against the intense light, his heart pounding for an entirely different reason now.

From the heavens descended King Haldrek.

The figure that emerged from the light was mesmerizing, almost celestial in its purity. His long, flowing hair was the color of freshly fallen snow, cascading down his back in soft, shimmering waves. His beard, thick and regal, was dusted with frost, each strand reflecting the light as if kissed by the cold breath of winter itself. His skin was pale, but not sickly—more like porcelain, untouched by the world’s impurities. His eyes, however, were the most striking feature: icy blue, glowing with an ethereal light that seemed to pierce through everything they looked upon. They were the eyes of someone who had seen the world’s darkest corners and yet remained untouched by it, as serene as the highest snow-capped mountains.

He wore armor that gleamed with a radiant, silvery white hue, adorned with intricate runic patterns that seemed to pulse with a gentle, otherworldly glow. The armor was form-fitting, but not heavy—it was clearly not designed for war, but for something greater. Cloaked around his shoulders was a mantle of snow-white fur, as soft as the first snowfall, and a long, flowing royal blue robe trimmed with frost that trailed behind him as he descended from the sky.

But the most striking feature about the king was the draconic wings that extended from his back. They were enormous, made of pure, crystalline ice, shimmering with every movement, as if the very essence of winter had taken form. Snowflakes fell from his wings in a delicate cascade as he floated down, each flake glowing faintly as it drifted toward the ground.

And despite the awe-inspiring power radiating from him, King Haldrek wore a peaceful, almost benevolent smile.

The crowd gasped. Then, as if a wave had rolled over them, one by one, they began to **kneel**. From the lowest commoner to the highest noble, they bowed their heads, their voices hushed in reverence.

"It’s him," someone whispered in awe. "The vessel of the Draconic God of Snow, Kragvyr."

"The Sword Saint of Purity," another murmured, awe dripping from every word. "To see him in person... it’s a blessing from the divine."

"Why is he here?" someone else asked, their voice trembling. "Where’s his Divine Guard? The king never travels alone, especially not here."

Even from his high tower, Velmire, the overseer of the arena, stood with furrowed brows, his usually calm demeanor cracking. He watched as the king descended, his fingers tapping nervously against the stone railing. "No Divine Guard?" he muttered under his breath, his voice thick with confusion. "Why would he come here, of all places, without his protectors? Could it be… for him?"

His gaze turned downward, locking onto Xyenn, now standing frozen in the arena.

Xyenn, for the first time in what felt like ages, didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His arrogant smirk had vanished, replaced by a stunned expression. His heart thudded in his chest, but not from the thrill of battle. This was*the king. The very man he had been told to kill. The target of his mission. And here he was, descending from the heavens like a god, bathed in the light of the snow deity himself. Xyenn’s hands clenched into fists, his mind racing.

‘That’s the king?! Why does it seem so peaceful? Why now? Why here? It’s radiant…not what I expected at all. I would’ve thought he would’ve been a malicious bastard..some crazy arrogant guy surrounded by bodyguards that suck up to him. But this guy..I’m still in shock. I couldn’t imagine a million times he would be like this..but something is still off..what’s he doing here?’

King Haldrek’s feet touched the bloodied ground of the arena with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly. The snowflakes continued to fall around him, melting the very air with their chilling purity. The crowd remained on their knees, their heads bowed in reverence—even the most hardened warriors dared not look upon him without showing respect.

But Xyenn did not kneel. He could not. His body was frozen in shock, his mind struggling to comprehend the weight of the moment. He wanted to move, to react, to do something, but his limbs refused to obey.

The king’s glowing blue eyes swept over the crowd, his serene smile never faltering. And then, his gaze landed on the group sitting in the prestigious stands—Kaelith, Druegan, Skaris, and Ellyra.

"Come forward, my loyal servants," the king said, his voice as soft as falling snow yet echoing with an authority that could not be denied.

The group exchanged quick glances, their faces a mixture of confusion and respect. They rose from their seats and made their way down to the arena floor, standing before the king. Each of them bowed deeply as they approached, their heads lowered in reverence.

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"Your Majesty," Kaelith said, his voice full of respect but tinged with curiosity. "It is an honor."

Druegan, the massive barbarian, knelt on one knee, his head bowed. "Your presence humbles us, my king."

Skaris and Ellyra followed suit, both kneeling before him, their expressions solemn. The king’s calm gaze swept over them, and then, in a language that none of the onlookers could understand, he began to speak.

The words were ancient, draconic, and alien—a language that sounded like the cracking of ice and the howling of the wind across frozen tundras. It was a language of power, its syllables sharp like shards of glass, yet flowing like a river of frost.

"Vælnithra Shorak, irythna solnæ... Kralir Kragvyr, sormnæ ethara..."

The crowd stared in awe, unable to comprehend the words but feeling the weight of them in their bones. The very air around the king seemed to grow colder, the snowflakes falling more heavily.

After a moment, Haldrek smiled softly and translated the ancient words into the common tongue, his voice like a gentle breeze over fresh snow.

"Snow purifies all that it touches. It cleanses the earth, covering it in a blanket of purity. The harshest storms bring the greatest calm. And in the stillness of winter’s heart, peace is always found."

The crowd murmured in admiration, nodding their heads as if the proverb had touched something deep within them.

"You have all done well," the king continued, his voice still gentle. "Loyalty, strength, and dedication in the service of our land. I thank you for your work, and for your sacrifices."

He raised his hands slowly, and as he did, snow runes began to glow on his palms, pulsing with an ethereal light. The runes spilled from his hands like liquid frost, coursing down to the ground in swirling patterns. The crowd gasped as the runes began to crawl across the arena floor, like frost creeping over a windowpane, snaking their way toward Kaelith, Druegan, Skaris, and Ellyra.

The glowing snow symbols reached their feet, then began to climb up their legs, swirling around their bodies. The group looked down in awe as the runes climbed higher, their veins glowing faintly as the magic seeped into their skin like a cold breath.

"Your Majesty," Kaelith whispered, his voice trembling with awe. "This... this is an honor beyond words. We are grateful."

Druegan nodded, his eyes wide as he felt the magic course through him. "Thank you, my king."

Skaris and Ellyra remained silent, but their expressions were filled with respect and wonder as they felt the power of the snow runes infusing their bodies.

But then, the atmosphere shifted. The crowd sensed it before anyone else—the air grew colder, denser. The king’s gentle smile remained unchanged, but there was something dark in the way his eyes gleamed.

In an instant, without warning, the tranquility shattered.

White, gold, and dark blue snow swords erupted from the bodies of Kaelith, Druegan, Skaris, and Ellyra, the blades bursting from their chests, backs, faces, snd heads, and sides in a brutal, bloody fashion. The swords were made of pure, crystallized ice, jagged and sharp, each one shimmering with the king’s magic.

Blood splattered everywhere.

Kaelith gasped, his mouth filling with blood as he staggered forward, a frozen sword protruding from his chest. Druegan let out a guttural roar of pain, his massive form collapsing to the ground as three swords pierced his spine and stomach, blood pooling beneath him. Skaris and Ellyra fell to their knees, their bodies twitching as the swords impaled them, their blood staining the snow-covered ground.

All 4 of them dead.

The crowd was in shock—silent, horrified, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

A spray of warm blood hit Xyenn’s face, snapping him out of his daze. His eyes widened in horror as he watched them fall, their bodies torn apart by the king’s magic. His heart pounded in his chest as the reality of the situation crashed down on him.

‘…What?…What just…what just happened…?’

Badump

Badump

Badump

His heart thumped loudly, Xyenn was frozen in fear.

This was the king he was supposed to kill. But now, Xyenn wasn’t even sure if he could move. Fear, confusion, and disbelief tangled inside him like a vice.

‘Yuuna…’

King Haldrek, his serene smile never fading, reached out and gently touched one of the frozen swords sticking out of Kaelith’s body. He ran his fingers along the blade, admiring its sharpness, its purity.

Then, in a calm, almost peaceful voice, he spoke again, offering another proverb.

"Snow falls quietly, but it buries all beneath it. In its silence, it brings death as gently as a whisper."

He smiled softly, holding the frozen sword in his hand as if it were a delicate flower.

"And like the snow... I will kill every one of you."

The silence in the arena was suffocating. Every breath held by the spectators in suspense as King Haldrek stood amidst the carnage, his peaceful smile as chilling as the frost that clung to his wings. The bodies of Kaelith, Druegan, Skaris, and Ellyra lay crumpled at his feet, their blood pooling in dark, glistening puddles beneath the gleaming crystalline swords that had impaled them.

Xyenn stood frozen, his chest heaving with shallow breaths, his body rigid with shock. His heart pounded in his ears, drowning out the faint murmurs of the crowd. His mind raced, trying to process what he had just witnessed—the serene, god-like figure of the king slaughtering his companions with such effortless brutality.

‘I can’t move…I’m scared…’

The crowd, once silent in reverence, began to stir with fear. Whispers turned to gasps, and gasps turned to panicked screams as the realization set in. The king—their king, the revered Sword Saint of Purity, the vessel of the Draconic God of Snow, Kragvyr—was not here as a savior.

all.

One man’s shout broke the tension like shattering ice.

"Run!" he screamed, scrambling over the stone benches as he tried to flee. "The king has gone mad!"

That single cry of terror unleashed chaos. The arena erupted into pandemonium as people screamed and bolted for the exits, trampling over one another in their desperation to escape. The sound of their cries echoed off the arena walls, turning the once-celebratory atmosphere into a nightmarish frenzy.

But King Haldrek didn’t flinch. His peaceful smile remained as he bent down, wrapping his fingers around the hilt of his sword, still embedded in Druegan’s lifeless body. With a single, fluid motion, he pulled the blade free, the sound of steel sliding through flesh sickeningly loud amidst the chaos. Blood splattered across the pristine white of his robes, staining the snowflakes that fell around him.

He didn’t seem to mind.

Without a word, without a flicker of emotion crossing his serene features, Haldrek began to walk toward the fleeing crowd, his wings gently unfurling behind him, their crystalline feathers catching the light of the sun and casting brilliant shards of color across the blood-soaked ground.

His first victim was a woman who had tripped over the body of another fallen spectator. She looked up, her eyes wide with terror, as the king approached her, his sword glinting in his hand. She raised a trembling hand, as if to beg for mercy.

"No! Please—"

But her words were cut off as Haldrek’s sword sliced through the air with inhuman speed, severing her head from her shoulders in a single, graceful motion. Her body crumpled to the ground, blood gushing from the stump of her neck, spraying in a wide arc, adding to the growing sea of red.

Haldrek’s smile never faltered, and as the woman’s body collapsed, he spoke softly, his voice carrying over the screams of the crowd.

"Snow does not ask for permission before it falls. It covers all, the innocent and the guilty, without distinction."

Another man rushed at him, a desperate attempt to fight back, his dagger clutched tightly in his hand. He lunged at Haldrek, screaming in fury and fear.

"Die, you monster! You’re not our king!”

But the king didn’t even blink. With a swift, almost casual motion, he sidestepped the man’s attack, and in the same movement, plunged his sword into the man’s chest. The blade pierced through muscle and bone as if cutting through snow, the man’s eyes going wide with shock as blood poured from his mouth.

Haldrek leaned in close, his voice soft as he whispered another proverb.

"Snow does not fear the storm. It embraces it, knowing that in the end, all will be buried beneath its cold embrace."

With a flick of his wrist, he twisted the sword, tearing through the man’s insides before pulling the blade free. Organs spilled out from the gaping wound as the man let out a gurgling scream, his body crumpling to the ground in a pool of blood.

The crowd was in full panic now. People screamed and shoved, some falling to the ground only to be trampled by the stampede of bodies trying to escape. The fighters who had once cheered for bloodshed now found themselves on the receiving end of it, their bravado crumbling as they realized they were powerless before the king.

Near the edge of the arena, a group of warriors gathered, their hands glowing with magic as they prepared to fight back. One of them, a tall man with fiery red hair, raised his staff, shouting to his comrades.

“We can’t let him kill us all! Together, we can stop him!"

They unleashed their magic—all aimed directly at the king. The spells crackled through the air, lighting up the arena with their power.

But Haldrek didn’t slow. He didn’t raise a hand to defend himself. He simply walked forward, his wings spreading wide behind him, the snow falling heavier around his form as if shielding him from harm. The magical attacks fizzled out as they touched the snow, disappearing into nothingness as if the very essence of winter absorbed their power.

The warriors’ eyes widened in disbelief.

"What..the—!"

Haldrek continued to peacefully smile, his eyes glowing with a soft, tranquil light, and with a single swing of his sword, he decapitated the red-haired man. His head tumbled to the ground, followed by his body a moment later, and blood sprayed across the faces of the warriors standing beside him.

The others screamed, but before they could flee, Haldrek was upon them. He moved with the grace of a predator, his sword flashing in the air, cutting down one after another. His blade sliced through limbs, severing arms and legs with horrifying precision. One warrior tried to cast a spell, but Haldrek’s blade cut through his hand, sending fingers flying through the air, followed by a guttural scream as the man collapsed, clutching the bloody stump of his wrist.

"Snow does not discriminate. It covers all things equally, and in its silence, all life is made still."

One of the warriors tried to flee, but Haldrek’s draconic hand—the one covered in glowing blue runes—shot out, grabbing the man by the throat. Frost spread from the king’s fingertips, crawling across the man’s skin. His screams were cut short as his body began to freeze from the inside out, his blood turning to ice in his veins. Haldrek tightened his grip, and with a sickening crack, he crushed the man’s frozen neck, letting the body fall to the ground in shattered pieces.

"The cold reminds us that life is fragile. One breath, and it is gone."

Xyenn watched it all unfold, his body trembling uncontrollably. His breaths came in short, ragged gasps, his heart hammering in his chest like a war drum. His mind screamed at him to move, to do something, but he couldn’t. He was paralyzed, his legs numb, his hands shaking so badly that he couldn’t even think of reaching for the horn at his side.

Fear gripped him like a vise. Xyenn felt truly helpless.

His thoughts spiraled, hatred bubbling up inside him—not for Haldrek, but for himself.

‘Why can’t I move? Why am I just standing here? I’m supposed to be better than this!’

His eyes still frozen in shock, not moving, Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision as he watched Haldrek slaughter the arena’s spectators with terrifying efficiency. Each time the king swung his sword, another life was snuffed out, another body falling to the ground in a pool of blood. Xyenn’s breath caught in his throat, his chest tightening with fear, doubt, and shame.

‘I promised them… I promised Yuuna… I swore to Death himself I wouldn’t lose. But look at me! I’m too scared to even move! What kind of warrior am I? What kind of protector am I? I look pathetic…when faced with real adversity what use am I if I cower in fear? When I thought I was unstoppable just minutes ago during the tournament? This is embarrassing….fuck! I’m so damn scared, I miss Yuuna, I miss Big Mertha, even her workers!’

Tears rolled down his cheeks, but they weren’t normal tears—they were tears of blood, streaking crimson down his face as his fear and self-loathing consumed him. His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood.

The screams of the crowd grew louder, more desperate, as Haldrek continued his slaughter. He moved through the arena like a specter of death, his sword glistening with blood, his wings spreading wide as he soared through the air, descending upon the fleeing crowd like a predator hunting prey. He landed gracefully in the midst of a group of spectators, his sword flashing in quick, brutal arcs.

One man was cut clean in half, his upper body sliding off his waist with a grotesque squelch, his entrails spilling out in a slick pile. A woman’s arm was severed at the shoulder, the limb flying through the air before hitting the ground with a sickening thud. Her screams were cut short as Haldrek’s blade pierced through her mouth, splitting her skull in two, brain matter splattering across the sand.

"Snow falls quietly, but it buries all beneath its weight. In its silence, death is inevitable."

A father tried to shield his child from the chaos, but Haldrek’s sword cut through both of them, the blade cleaving through the man’s back and out through the child’s chest. Their bodies crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath them, their arms still wrapped around each other in a final, desperate embrace.

"Like snow, death comes for all. The pure and the unworthy alike are buried beneath its cold embrace."

Haldrek turned, his eyes glowing with a soft, tranquil light, and spotted a group of young fighters attempting to flee. With a single beat of his wings, he was upon them. His draconic hand shot out, grabbing one by the face, his fingers digging into the young man’s skull. The boy screamed, his voice muffled by the king’s grip, but it was short-lived as frost spread across his head, freezing his features in a mask of terror before Haldrek crushed his skull, brain and bone fragments exploding in a shower of gore.

"Snow purifies all. It leaves nothing behind but the cold truth of death."

More than two hundred people had fallen by now. The arena that had once been filled with cheers and laughter was now a graveyard, bodies piled upon bodies, the snowy sand turned to mud by the sheer volume of blood that soaked it. The few remaining survivors tried to crawl, to escape, but none could outrun the king’s blade.

And then, the arena fell into silence.

The last scream faded into nothing, leaving only the soft sound of snowflakes falling from the sky. King Haldrek stood in the center of it all, his sword dripping with blood, his wings shimmering in the pale light. He was covered in blood—but not for long. The snow continued to fall, gently cleansing his form, the crimson stains melting away like sins washed clean by the winter’s breath.

And then, his eyes turned to Xyenn.

Xyenn’s heart nearly stopped. The king’s gaze was like ice, piercing through him, freezing him in place. Xyenn’s breath hitched, his legs trembling, his mind screaming for him to move, to fight, to do something—but he couldn’t. His body refused to obey. His heart pounded in his chest, so loud it felt like it might burst, each beat shaking his whole body with terror.

Haldrek began to walk toward him, his steps slow and deliberate. His sword hung loosely at his side, still dripping with the blood of the innocent, but his expression remained the same—peaceful, as if nothing about the slaughter had disturbed him in the slightest.

As the king approached, Xyenn’s fear intensified. His mind raced with panicked thoughts, regret and shame overwhelming him.

Tears of blood continued to stream down his face, his body trembling uncontrollably. His hand twitched toward the horn at his side—the horn that could summon Mertha—but he hesitated.

‘No… I can’t bring her here. He’ll kill her. He’ll kill everyone. I’m 19, but still a kid in everyone’s eyes. Now I look like a real kid who is reckless..man I was so reckless! So reckless I let my guard down, got so easily distracted with winning a pointless tournament!’

Haldrek’s steps grew closer, the distance between them shrinking with every passing second. His wings fluttered softly behind him, and his eyes never left Xyenn’s, locking onto him with an intensity that made Xyenn’s blood run cold. The king’s smile remained—calm, serene, as if everything was exactly as it should be.

Haldrek was only a few steps away now. Xyenn’s legs buckled, his knees threatening to give out beneath him as his chest tightened with fear. His breath came in ragged gasps, his vision blurred by the tears of blood that continued to fall from his eyes.

‘I hate this… I hate this feeling. I hate being scared.’

The king stopped just inches away from Xyenn, his tranquil smile still in place, his icy blue eyes staring deep into Xyenn’s soul.

And in that moment, Xyenn realized something:

He was going to die.

In the blink of an eye—so fast that Xyenn didn’t even register the movement—King Haldrek was in front of him. The king's blood-splattered face remained tranquil, his serene smile never wavering. Xyenn's breath caught in his throat, his mind screaming at him to move, to fight, to do anything, but his body refused to obey. He was trapped, frozen in place by fear.

Then, Haldrek slowly raised a finger, covered in a soft veil of snow and glowing with ethereal, light blue runes that pulsed with draconic energy. Without a word, the king gently pressed his finger to Xyenn’s forehead.

The second the cold touch connected with his skin, Xyenn’s world exploded.

Memories flooded in.

They weren’t his own, yet they felt so familiar—as if they were buried deep within him, locked away in the corners of his mind. But these weren’t just memories of his own life; they were from Haldrek's perspective.

Xyenn’s vision blurred, and suddenly, he was no longer standing in the blood-soaked arena. He was a child, small, fragile, and alone, hiding under a broken-down carriage in the middle of a storm. Thunder roared above, lightning flashing across the sky, and the rain poured down in relentless sheets. His small hands clutched at his knees, his body trembling as he hugged himself tightly, trying to find warmth, trying to find comfort that wasn’t there.

His chest heaved with sobs, the sound of his own crying muffled by the storm. He was soaked, cold, and utterly alone. He could hear voices outside the carriage, but no one came looking for him. No one cared. He was just a child, forgotten, abandoned in the rain.

The scene shifted.

Xyenn was older now, but still a child—this time standing in the middle of a barren training field. His hands were bruised and bloodied, his knuckles scraped raw from countless hours of striking against wooden dummies. His breath was ragged, his body covered in sweat and dirt, but no matter how hard he trained, no matter how many times he swung his fists or tried to mimic the techniques he had seen warriors use, he couldn’t get it right.

He was always messing up, always failing. His strikes were too slow, his form sloppy, his body too weak. He tried again and again, pushing himself until his muscles screamed in agony, but it was never enough.

The frustration boiled inside of him, tears of anger and hopelessness welling up in his eyes. He collapsed to the ground, pounding his fists into the dirt, hating himself for his weakness.

The memories shifted again, and this time, Xyenn was kicked to the ground, his vision blurry from the pain. He lay there in the mud, beaten and bruised, as the bandits and adventurers surrounding him laughed and hurled insults. Their boots struck his sides, each kick sending sharp jolts of pain through his body. He tried to crawl away, tried to shield himself, but they were relentless.

Then, the memory changed again—this time more vivid, more painful.

Xyenn was back in his childhood home, standing before his parents. He was small again, his heart pounding in his chest as his father looked down at him, disgust etched into his face. His mother stood nearby, her arms crossed, her eyes cold and distant.

"You’re useless," his father spat, his voice dripping with venom. "

His mother didn’t say a word. She didn’t even look at him.

And then, Xyenn watched as his parents sold him off, handing him over to strangers like he was nothing more than a burden to be discarded. There was no sadness in their eyes, no regret—just relief that they no longer had to deal with him. Xyenn felt the crushing weight of rejection settle deep in his chest, the realization that his own family saw him as worthless.

The memories kept coming, each one more painful than the last.

Xyenn saw himself praying to the gods, pleading with them to grant him power, to fill his soul with draconic mana, to make him something more than what he was. He offered up everything he had—his loyalty, his devotion, his very soul—but the gods remained silent. No magic filled him. No divine power answered his prayers.

He was left empty, his pleas unheard, his soul unworthy in the eyes of the deities he had tried to worship.

And then, the memories stopped.

Xyenn was back in the arena, his body trembling, his mind reeling from the flood of emotions that had washed over him. His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart hammering in his chest as he struggled to process what he had just seen.

King Haldrek still stood before him, his peaceful smile never faltering. His glowing finger remained pressed against Xyenn’s forehead, the cold seeping into his skin, freezing him in place.

The king spoke, his voice soft, almost gentle, as he gazed into Xyenn’s eyes.

"Me and you are the same. Abandoned by a world of magic who didn’t accept the weak as part of society. As Vessels of dragon gods and goddesses, we are the ones who must create a new society where power cannot be what puts one ahead of another. But I can see that darkness in you that needs to be purified. I can save you.”

Xyenn’s heart lurched in his chest, fear clawing at his throat. He wanted to scream, to run, to do anything to get away from this man, but his body refused to move. The king’s words echoed in his mind, filling him with a sense of dread so deep it threatened to suffocate him. ent.

Then he stuttered, saying, “…Why…why did you kill all..those people?!”

“I let a few get away. Fear needs to draw these sinful humans to the glory of Kragvyr. Worship needs to be increased for him, he will not suffer the same fate as the other draconic gods who die and are reborn over and over without any memory of their past life. I want your power. You and that goddess Yuuna hold the key to killing off gods and making sure they aren't reborn in the Cycle of Rebirth.”

“She won’t ever..help you..you’re a monster…”

“Yuuna is the monster. And you are her vessel. Yuuna is more than just a goddess of darkness. Deep within her lies the key to breaking the Cycle of Rebirth: Unbeknownst to her, her heart is the last remnant of the First Dragon’s original essence—the core of divine creation. If her heart is consumed or destroyed, the Cycle will end, and the gods will either be freed from their torment or condemned to eternal oblivion. This makes Yuuna the most dangerous being in existence—not because of her powers, but because she holds the fate of the gods themselves within her chest.”

“…Tch…she’s not a monster—.”

“You probably just met her, you’re such a young whepling. Yuuna has killed thousands, her darkness still killing to this day. But me and you are the same, the same come up. Everything.”

“I’m..I’m not like you…”

“When you killed all those bandits..did you enjoy it? Did seeing me kill everyone at the arena here remind you of that moment? Only a monster would smile when killing.”

Xyenn remembered it, he remembered smiling when he killed those 50 bandits, thenp purposely stacked their bodies on top of each other to sit up there like some king.

Xyenn shook his head, “I’m not a monster…I was defending myself! And we are nothing alike..ever…”

“You underestimate me. Kragvyr hasn’t suffered from the Cycle of Rebirth in almost 400 years. Our power has cultivated to larger heights. I have established order in fear, those who fear death must worship for life. Like you, I aimed to elevate myself over those who let me down, those who forsaken me. And as for you, Where there is snow, my eyes and ears are present. I saw it all. I heard it. The snow speaks, for it is full of pure life. When your own blood hit the snow, they spoke to me:

{Xyenn was once at the mercy of others—powerless and weak. This past has shaped his current worldview, and now that he holds power, there’s a sense of vindication. He’s no longer the helpless boy who was kicked around. This moment of sitting atop the pile of corpses, with blood on his hands, is symbolic. He’s placing himself in an elevated position above those who once oppressed him, which reflects his rise from being downtrodden to becoming the one with control.}

{The fact that Xyenn smiles while sitting on the pile of dead bandits shows a part of him is reveling in the power and violence. For someone who has been powerless for so long, the rush of having control over others' lives, especially those who deserve it, even in his eyes, is intoxicating. This is a dark and almost cathartic release of everything he’s bottled up.}

{Despite the initial satisfaction, Xyenn’s smile fades as he contemplates whether this enjoyment of violence makes him “evil.” This internal conflict is crucial. It shows that Xyenn isn’t a mindless killer—he’s aware of the moral implications of his actions, and the fact that this is his first time killing makes the situation all the more emotionally complex. He’s not completely lost in the darkness, but the temptation is there. He questions himself, feeling the weight of what it means to take lives, even those of bandits. He’s struggling with the morality of violence and power. Xyenn tries to justify his actions by reminding himself that the bandits were killers, too. The fact that he repeats to himself that they "deserved it" shows his attempt to rationalize the bloodshed. He’s trying to convince himself that what he did was right, but the lingering unease implies part of him isn’t entirely sure. There’s a sense of isolation in Xyenn. He sits alone atop a mountain of corpses, both literally and metaphorically. He’s distanced from normal human emotions and interactions, especially after this bloody massacre. The question “does that make me evil?” reflects his internal struggle with self-identity. He’s detached, unsure of where he stands in the world now that he’s crossed the threshold from victim to killer.}

Xyenn, after hearing all of that, looked down, knowing he was completely right. But said nothing.

Haldrek continued, “As I mentioned, we are the same. The more you kill, the more you yearn for control. You will elevate even higher. To control a monster, you must become one.”

“You’re wrong…”

No one can outrun or hide from the pure aspect of snow reality, I am too powerful, purity itself is a world ending weapon. Give me Yuuna and her heart, I will slay the dragon god of war. I will let you live.”

Xyenn grunted as he weakly grabbed Haldrek’s wrist with one hand, saying, “She…doesn’t belong to you. I won’t give her up—.”

Haldrek’s eyes went pure black, and he said, “Then die.”