“Raven…”  

“Raven!”  

“RAVEN!”  

“You are a disappointment.” 

“Are you even a Serth?”

“How low can your dignity be?” 

“Crazy bit**!”  

“Monster!”  

Broken fragments of memories seemed to pierce her mind and soul. Her small body trembled, but she didn’t scream. Her lips pressed tightly together, fighting the urge to whimper. Her hands, usually so steady, shook uncontrollably, but she kept them pressed firmly to her sides, as though holding them still could stave off the panic rising inside her chest.  

“You deserve to die!”  

The visions—no, memories—came flooding in: people she recognized, others she didn’t. Raven realized with dread that fate might be warning her.  

But no matter what these memories showed, she still had to focus on the present.  

Her mind was clearer than ever, but her body betrayed her fear. Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps. She knew she had to remain silent, stay hidden. Any sound would draw the attention of the beasts she had only heard about in stories.  

The ground was stained red with blood as monstrous beasts ravaged the playground, the place where they had been playing just moments before.  

“Waah!” Cries of terror rang out, mingling with the beasts' terrible roars.  

“You are disgusting.”  

Raven’s eyes snapped toward the voice in her mind before the figure appeared before her—a man. He was striking, with flawless skin and golden hair that shimmered like liquid sunlight. His features were sharp, almost sculpted by an artist. But when his molten gold eyes met hers, they were cold, filled with disdain. There was no warmth, no recognition—just a palpable disgust, as though she were something beneath him, something he could barely stand to look at. The familiarity between them seemed to make his contempt sharper.  

In his hand, a bloodied sword gleamed, its crimson liquid dripping slowly—a silent testament to whatever violence had preceded them. He held her gaze, his expression unmoving, as though she were no more than an unwanted interruption.  

“Get out of my sight. Forever.” He said the words with icy finality.  

Then, as quickly as he had appeared, the scene blurred. She saw herself running—fleeing from the chaos, struggling to survive in a world that seemed cold and indifferent, until she finally met her end.  

The memories weren’t crystal clear, but one thing was certain: Raven was a villain. A useless, disgusting villain. Among the brilliant stars of this story, she was someone everyone despised.  

But that is the future, Raven thought with quiet determination. A future that won’t repeat.

Her focus snapped back to the present.  

They had been playing in the playground while the adults celebrated at the grand event, when the beasts attacked, trapping them in the chaos. Panic had swept through the children, and they had escaped, with the help of charms, at the cost of their nannies’ lives.  

Raven’s mind worked quickly—faster than usual—and she realized this must be a beast wave. That meant what they were facing here was nothing compared to what was happening with the adults. The adults must be bearing the brunt of the attack, giving the children a chance to hide.  

She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. Only a few adults were still alive, trying to fight off the beasts, but they were hopelessly outnumbered—one to twenty. No one had been prepared for this. Who could have predicted that a beast wave would strike the capital?  

The beasts, too, had proved cunning—Raven’s communication charm had failed, its magic somehow disrupted.  

“Raven…” A familiar voice called her name, accompanied by the comforting weight of a hand on her shoulder.  

Raven turned to see the boy with golden hair and eyes—Ashcal. The boy she had admired in two lifetimes. The one she had covetously dreamed of—apparently.  

This moment was eerily familiar. She had seen it as a vision not long ago.  

So this is where the first vision is playing out, Raven thought, feeling the weight of that realization in her chest. Ashcal and she had been close friends. She never expected that the future would twist so painfully, that she would drive him to the point of coldness toward her.  

“Ashcal,” she whispered.  

“It will be fine.” He flashed her a responsible smile, as though trying to reassure her. “Trust me.”  

At this moment, Ashcal was the only one who could tell her that. And in truth, it was what they all believed.  

Raven didn’t speak, but she knew deep down that what he said was true. It will be fine… but... She glanced around at the carnage unfolding before them. This is where it all started. After he saved me, I became obsessed with him and depended on him for everything. 

She still found it hard to believe.  

“They all died to protect us,” she murmured softly. “We have to live. Live well.”  

She made a promise, silently, to the souls of those who lost their lives to protect them. She would live. She would survive. Not relying on others, but depending on herself.  

“Signals are down,” Ashcal said, his voice firm. “And my stealth charm won’t hold for long. We’ll have to make our own way out.” He continued, “Low-level beasts don’t have intelligence. This is just a matter of hiding and escaping.”  

“I have a protective shield. It’s... strong and movable,” Raven said, after a moment of thought. She counted the children remaining—five, including her and Ashcal. Originally, there had been over thirty children, but some had managed to escape to nearby shelters with the help of older kids, while others had hidden themselves elsewhere.  

“Let’s wait until it calms down a bit,” Ashcal suggested. “They’ll probably think we’ve already escaped.”  

“Or they might try to lure us out.” Raven’s voice was low as she looked at the others, children she didn’t know. Their families were of a different class, not ones she typically interacted with. She turned away and addressed them matter-of-factly. “You can follow us if you want.”  

“We… will,” they said, looking at each other before nodding in agreement. “Thank you.”  

“Thank us after we’re safe,” Raven replied softly. The details of the memories were too fuzzy, so while she was certain she would survive, she couldn’t say the same for the others.  

Time passed, and the beast wave finally seemed to subside. Only a few scavenger beasts remained, picking through the aftermath.  

“We should go now,” Ashcal said, his voice low.  

They ran from one hiding spot to another. These had been designated during their earlier games of "hide and escape," a children’s game in which they attempted to outwit each other by hiding and avoiding capture. The low-level beasts, being mindless, weren’t much of a threat to children who knew how to outmaneuver them. And Ashcal, as always, was the best at the game.  

Still, Raven couldn’t shake her sense of unease.  

Even though they were experienced at the game, it was still just a game. It had been fun when there were no consequences, but now the stakes were life and death. If they were caught, there would be no sidelines to watch from. They had to be careful. But how could children, mere five-year-olds, manage this on their own? They were barely holding it together, barely managing to suppress the urge to cry for their parents.  

The only reason they hadn’t been caught yet was because Ashcal was leading them. Raven didn’t know how he did it, but he did. And he did it well.  

On their way, Ashcal had convinced the other children to join their group. Some were older, but none of them dared challenge him. None could disobey him, as his family commanded respect.  

There were now ten children in their group. That was the maximum number Ashcal’s stealth charm could protect. Raven understood his reasoning—he wanted to save as many as possible.  

“Don’t worry,” Ashcal said as they ran, trying to reassure the others. “We’re not that far from the nearest shelter.”  

Raven knew, however, that the “nearest” shelter he referred to wasn’t the closest one geographically, but the safest. There was a shelter in the playground, but after the beasts had seen so many children escaping there, it was likely now guarded by mid-level beasts. The safest place to go was a shelter in the neighboring garden, which was hidden from view and hadn’t been used much.  

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

But once they entered the garden, they would be in unfamiliar territory. Raven made a quick decision.  

“I’ll activate my shield now,” she said firmly, cutting off any objections. “Huddle together, hold hands.”  

They sprinted from their last hiding place and into the garden. No one had the time to appreciate its beauty. They barely registered the sight of the purple flowers before they began scanning the area for the shelter gate, their eyes darting over the bloodstains and the mangled bodies of the maids and gardeners who had fallen in the chaos.

This movement caught the attention of a few nearby beasts. With greater physical strength than the children—who hadn't yet awakened—the monsters quickly closed the distance and launched an attack on the shield.

"Hurry!" Raven shouted.

“There!” a boy pointed to the ground. “There’s a hatch!”

They ran toward it, Raven adjusting the movable hemispherical shield with practiced precision. Ashcal wasted no time. He dug into the earth around the hatch, clearing the dirt away before inserting his guest identity card into the lock. With a swift motion, the trap door opened.

“Get in!” he urged.

Raven stood by, waiting as the children scrambled down the ladder. A sharp sense of irritation flickered through her as she cursed inwardly at the poor quality of the underground shelter. Why use such fragile ladders? she thought, These look like they'd collapse with a gust of wind!

Some of the children hesitated, unsure about descending into the dark or afraid of the unstable ladder. Raven understood their fears, but she steeled herself and said, “My shield is going to break soon.” Her eyes flickered to the beasts, their growls growing louder as they closed in.

The children shuddered, their minor fears now overshadowed by the immediate danger.

Just as the sixth child started to climb down, Raven’s instincts screamed at her. "Hurry!" she urged, her voice tight with urgency.

Ashcal caught her tone. "Is the shield not going to hold up?"

"Five more minutes," she replied. The time was enough but the bad feeling didn’t go away.

As the last child, besides Ashcal and herself, started to climb down, the ladder suddenly gave way. With a loud, metallic *clang* it broke, sending echoes of panic through the shelter.

The sound of screams rose from inside the shelter.

Ashcal and Raven both went pale. 

Raven was speechless at the poor maintenance of this shelter. Why was there even a ladder here? Why not a proper staircase? She swore silently to herself that she would never attend a party with such careless safety protocols again. Such places are not worth visiting, she thought. If enemies don’t get me, poor safety measures will.

“We can jump down and figure it out later—” Ashcal started, but was interrupted by a high-pitched screech that split the air.

A mid-level beast had finally spotted them.

The beast descended from the sky with terrifying speed. Its enormous wings cut through the air with bone-shaking force. It resembled an eagle in some ways, but its size and monstrous nature set it apart. Its wings stretched wide, each feather tipped with razor-sharp edges, while its talons, curved like daggers, reached down toward them. The creature’s beak opened with a deafening screech, revealing rows of jagged teeth.

“The shield’s not going to hold!” Raven hissed, eyes wide. "It’s stronger than a usual mid-level beast!" Her mind raced as the barrier began to show signs of strain. Even though she knew she would survive, she didn’t remember how—her intuition screamed at her to take this threat seriously. 

This was the moment it all began.

She might live now, but survival didn’t necessarily mean a good life, did it?

There was a reason why she had seen these visions. This was the moment that could change everything.

Raven clenched her fists, her frustration mounting. How do I stop a high-level beast?

As the beast swooped toward them, its presence seemed to crush the very air. The ground trembled beneath its descent, and the deafening roar of its wings pushed against the shield. The force of its arrival sent cracks spider-webbing across the barrier, threatening to shatter it at any moment.

“Raven! Stand behind me!” Ashcal shouted, grabbing her waist.

So that’s how it happened, she thought. She remembered now. Ashcal saved me in my past life... but I can’t depend on him this time.

She refused to let him push her into the shelter. She knew what would happen if he did. “NO!” she shouted, holding onto him tightly. “You don’t have to save me!”

Ashcal’s expression shifted, confusion and pain flashing across his face as he looked at her. He seemed to understand something, but the moment was too fleeting.

His golden eyes darkened, and a soft glow began to envelop him. He turned away from her, his attention fixed on the shrieking beast, and then he let go. But he remained in front of her, unwavering.

Raven watched him, her thoughts swirling.

Today was the day they both awakened. 

Awakening could happen naturally as one’s body developed or through training by the age of fifteen. Some awakened through dangerous situations that triggered survival instincts, while others used an awakening stone—a rare and precious resource.

Ashcal’s awakening came from his will to survive, from his desire to defeat the eagle beast. In her past life, Raven had awakened after Ashcal had pushed her into the shelter. The fear of falling had triggered her own awakening, and she had used her wind element to prevent her fall.

Wind? The thought flickered in her mind, and something clicked. If wind is my element, though it is impossible to defeat it, I can perhaps stall the beast for a moment.

Her father shared the same element as her due to which the element of wind in their house was especially concentrated. While the wind flow in their house wasn’t liked by the servants Raven often enjoyed feeling the wind. Already, she was in a state of half awakening after her intelligence improved. To fully awaken, her father had told her a way. Her father was busy all the time and they had few conversations so she remembered his rare words exactly.

During one rare dinner together, when she had luckily managed to catch her father, she had asked him about awakening. 

“How can I awaken, Dad?” she had asked.

He had looked at her, brief and distant. “Just feel the wind.”

“That’s it?”

“When the right time comes, it would be that simple.”

“When will be the right time?”

“...You will know.”

Now, feeling the wind begin to stir around her and thinking that it was now or never, Raven closed her eyes. At first, it was gentle—almost imperceptible—but then it picked up speed, swirling with purpose. She tilted her head back, letting the breeze wash over her face, feeling a connection to it. The air seemed to speak to her, and she felt something stir deep inside her. A spark of power began to awaken, like a dormant force inside her, just waiting to be unleashed.

Her heartbeat synced with the rhythm of the wind, and she felt the pulsing of her own strength as the air wrapped around her. The more she focused on it, the more powerful it became. The wind was no longer just a passive force; it had become an extension of her will, responding to her commands.

She opened her eyes as the wind responded to her, a quiet thrill rippling through her. The shield broke as the eagle beast’s claws made contact, but just as the barrier shattered, the wind surged forward. It swirled around the beast, holding it at bay, pushing it back with an invisible force.

The beast screeched in frustration as it was unable to move forward, its claws digging into the ground in an effort to resist the wind’s power.

The wind only grew stronger, pressing against the creature’s wings, forcing it to halt. The eagle beast struggled, but the air around it seemed to fight back, refusing to let it approach. 

***

In a distant corner of the grand celebration grounds, where the echoes of festivity were quickly swallowed by the chaos of the beast wave, a fierce battle was unfolding. The clash of steel and the roar of savage creatures filled the air, creating a tempest of destruction that seemed to tear at the very fabric of the place. Yet, in the midst of this fury, there was a singular figure who stood apart from the rest, unaffected by the madness surrounding him, as if he were a shadow detached from the world.

With a languid motion, a man with jet-black hair and eyes as dark as the midnight sky raised a hand, and a violent gust erupted. It was no mere wind, but a howling vortex that tore through the enemy ranks, sending scores of beasts flying, their bodies swept away by the unstoppable force. The carnage unfolded in moments, but the man’s expression remained unchanged—his gaze, cold and unblinking, fixed on the destruction he’d wrought, as if it were nothing more than a fleeting inconvenience in the grander scheme of things.

His white robe fluttered in the winds of his own making, but it only served to emphasize the quiet majesty of his presence. The simplicity of his attire belied the terrifying power he commanded. His face—pale, sharp, and unyielding—seemed to be carved from stone. High cheekbones, a long, aristocratic nose, and thin lips framed an expression of serene authority. But it was his eyes, dark and piercing, that truly spoke to the nature of his being—there was an unsettling quiet within them, as if he could see through the very world around him. His features, though beautiful in their perfection, were overshadowed by an air of dominance, as though the very wind itself bowed to him. The subtle breeze he created was but a reflection of the tempest that brewed within, a reminder that he was the one who held the reins of nature’s fury.

Suddenly, the lord's senses sharpened, and a faint frown tugged at the corners of his lips. His dark gaze flickered briefly to the battlefield, a change in the wind pulling at his attention. Through the chaos of the carnage, a figure in a sharp tuxedo approached with perfect composure, his every step measured and precise.

The aide’s posture was immaculate, his face a mask of professional courtesy, as though the world around him was nothing more than a passing distraction. He stopped just short of his lord and, with the slightest of bows, asked, "Is there something wrong, my lord?"

"A new wind has emerged." The lord's voice was calm, though there was a subtle edge to it.

The aide blinked, his composed exterior faltering for a brief moment. A new wind? His brows furrowed in surprise, but he quickly regained his poise. "A new wind? Is it strong enough that you must mention it—"

"Strong?" The lord’s voice turned slightly amused, but there was a depth to his words that made the air around them feel heavier. His gaze shifted toward the direction of the playground, now far from the melee of battle. "Well, obviously."

He paused for a moment, the wind around him seeming to respond to his very words, a gentle caress that made the aide feel, for the first time, a little out of place. The lord’s eyes narrowed slightly as he surveyed the distant scene. "They’ve done a poor job at safety and broken our trust. Take care of this.”

His words were decisive, as though they carried an unspoken command. The lord’s tone was smooth, but the gravity in his voice made it clear: something had gone wrong. Without waiting for a reply, he continued, his expression becoming even more distant. "I’m going to leave with my daughter."

With a flick of his wrist, the lord vanished into the swirling winds, leaving behind only a lingering sense of his power. He disappeared in the blink of an eye, as if the very air had swallowed him whole.

The aide was left standing, blinking in confusion. Take care of this? he thought, feeling the weight of his lord’s words. Wasn’t he talking about someone with a strong wind element? The aide frowned, trying to piece it together. How did it shift so quickly to safety and trust?

The battle raged on, but his mind was preoccupied. The lord had been invited here as a guest—an honored guest—and yet now there was this sudden shift in priorities. Safety had been compromised. Trust had been broken. The aide could feel the subtle change in the atmosphere—the lord was no longer concerned with the beasts or the battle. He had his sights on something else entirely.

The aide glanced around the battlefield once more, and his thoughts snapped back into focus. Of course… taking care of this… He knew exactly what his lord meant. Compensation. The host would have to make reparations for the mess they’d caused. There was no way the lord would simply let this slip by.

With a deep sigh, the aide adjusted his stance, mentally preparing for the diplomatic maneuvers ahead. As always, it was up to him to smooth over the edges and ensure no grievances went unresolved.

***