"They… vanished?" Davian murmured, eyes fixed on the now-empty execution platform.
Only the wind remained, and a thin mist slowly drifting away under the harsh midday sun.
His breath was heavy.
His chest tight with a shock he hadn't yet begun to process.
"Seal every exit from the city!" he suddenly shouted, realizing time was the true enemy. His voice echoed in all directions, jolting the soldiers still stunned by what they had just witnessed.
"Send out all pursuit units. Trace the Blessing signature of the masked man—human or demon, I don't care! Don't let them cross the borders! Bring them back—alive or dead. Move!"
The orders were carried out instantly.
Within ten minutes, every road out of the city was locked down. The gates shut tight. Security doubled—even in the narrowest alleyways. Dozens of mounted units spread out in every direction. The sky still swirled with dust from hooves pounding against the earth.
But unbeknownst to them… it was all in vain.
High above, atop a distant tower, a man stood in a long, ashen-gray cloak. His face hidden behind a simple black veil, he simply watched the chaos unfold below.
From his calm, almost detached voice, it was clear—he had expected this.
"Just as I thought… quick to act, but still too reactive," he murmured.
"The puppets failed… but they served their purpose as a distraction."
He raised one hand, and a thin paper marked with strange symbols ignited on his palm, burning to ash without a spark.
"Perhaps… I was too hasty," he whispered, turning slowly.
His cloak billowed gently in the breeze as he stepped into the shadows—vanishing into the tower.
Far off, a lone raven soared… following the trail where the last black mist had appeared.
The masked man—the Raven—carefully loosened the wooden restraints that bound Arion's neck and wrists to the guillotine.
The blade still glinted above, almost disappointed it had not tasted royal blood today.
Once freed, the Raven knelt—his head bowed low in reverence, like one welcoming the return of a forgotten king.
"Forgive me for taking you without an introduction," he spoke softly, his voice deep and whisper-like, as if it came from the heart of a forest.
"I… am Savior. At your service, Your Majesty."
But Arion didn't even look at him.
His eyes were wild, scanning every shadow of the forest around them—seeking a way back, or perhaps… a way out.
"Leave," he said flatly.
"I'm going back to the palace. They'll find us soon. You can't hide a Blessing, can you?"
But when he tried to take a step—his legs wouldn't move.
Not from pain. Not from restraint.
But as if… his own body refused to return to the place where everything had shattered.
Savior offered only a faint smile behind his mask.
"Even in death… they will never find a trace of my Blessing. Let us leave this place, Your Majesty."
But Arion shook his head.
"There's no point. Living like this would be nothing but empty escape. I'd rather die on the scaffold… than become a coward who keeps running."
Savior studied him in silence.
Then, he slowly held out two items he had guarded since the beginning:
A small armored figurine—the same one once handed over by Gamunti—
And a ring, bearing the crest of the royal family… once worn by the late King.
Arion stared at them. Silent. Unwilling to understand.
"Pitiful," Savior murmured.
"Are you truly ready to give up? What of their hopes? This isn't coincidence… This is choice. Destiny."
"Leave," Arion repeated.
"Are you certain?"
"Leave!" His voice now sharp.
Savior tried again.
"But—"
"ARE YOU DEAF?!" Arion shouted.
"I said leave! How many times must I say it?! Hope? Hope for a failure like me?! You're only prolonging the agony!"
His voice echoed through the forest.
Birds fled the treetops.
The mist seemed to creep back in, answering the outburst like a living thing.
But Savior's eyes remained calm.
"You are not a failure. Gavrilo… chose you. And not only him. The King of Light gave you his blessing too."
Arion's eyes narrowed.
Slowly, he looked down at the mark on the back of his hand—
A radiant seven-pointed sun, the symbol of the divine Blessing.
He had always ignored it, even loathed it.
But now… it felt strangely warm.
"Fulfill their hopes," Savior continued.
"Make the world believe again… that the light has not gone out."
He offered the figurine and the ring once more.
Arion didn't take them right away. His gaze drifted—
Then filled with images of his father, bloodied, broken…
And the last voice he heard, echoing in his mind:
"Never lose hope. Lift your head. This world needs you. I will always guide you…"
Arion's breath trembled.
His fingers slowly reached out.
He took the figurine… then the ring.
A soft glow radiated from the mark on his hand.
And for the first time in many nights of darkness—
Arion looked forward.
Filled with doubt. Filled with grief.
But also… with purpose.
"I will endure…" he whispered.
Savior bowed his head.
"And we shall walk behind you… Last Prince of Light."