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Khaslana had once made a promise to a girl, vowing to bear the blazing flames for every inch of joy and sincerity in this world, for every shred of warmth and emotion, transforming into a radiant sun rising and falling in eternity. He willingly walked alone, for every day spent in a world with her had become proof in his heart that the joys and sorrows, the weathered wills of every person in this world, were undeniably real.
“We are not mere kindling destined to fuel the gods’ designs.”
Thus, Khaslana turned the page to a chapter without her, becoming a bulwark in the torrent of fate, an ever-burning zenith sun, blazing to defy the doomed collapse of a world born into servitude.
He still remembered how, in his youth, Aedes Elysiae was always bathed in warm daylight. The people there lived in peace, their days simple yet never lonely. Khaslana grew up in that genuine tranquility. Perhaps even the souls of the past prayed for their reunion, for when the last trace of time’s power faded from his radiant sword, the first sight that greeted his eyes was that golden wheatfield.
He wrapped his divine, ink-black wings around himself, transforming them into a dark cloak and mantle. The heavy black feathers enveloped his entire form, concealing even his face, leaving only his unaltered, azure-blue eyes visible.
Like a thief, Khaslana hid every detail that might reveal his identity, yet beneath the shadow of his hood, his eyes—etched with the pattern of the sun—betrayed him. Perhaps he had some reason to gaze so intently.
The sensation of his homeland’s soil beneath his soles felt strange, perhaps because this was the first time in his life he had stepped onto this sacred ground as a grown man, making everything feel so unfamiliar. The breeze, woven with the scent of flowers and wheat, rushed into his mind, yet to Khaslana, it felt as bland as a spindle stripped of its thread, as if his burning self had lost the right to savor the fragrance of roses.
He took a circuitous route, hiding among trees and shrubs. Beneath an ancient tree with falling red leaves, Khaslana saw a young boy and girl. The white-haired boy radiated enthusiasm like a little sun, but after a few words, he pouted, muttering about “swords” and “heroes,” seemingly seeking the girl’s approval. The girl hugged her arms, thought for a moment, and finally smiled. With that, the white-haired boy grabbed a wooden sword from beside a chair, flashed a grin fragrant with the scent of wheat, and proudly dashed down the hillside, waving as he went.
From then on, the ancient tree, steeped in the scent of its leaves, fell silent. The gentle trickle of a stream spilling into this small haven became the serene melody. An untimely gust of wind brushed past, rustling the half-hidden shrubs beside Khaslana. The yellow leaves and breeze seemed to betray him, an outsider who did not belong, carrying a wind laced with maple blossoms and longing toward the red-leaved tree of that fairytale realm, stirring the girl’s short, pink hair.
The pink-haired girl was writing in the pages of her book when that warm, longing breeze lifted a strand of white hair by her ear. She set her quill back into the ink bottle and casually raised her eyes, instinctively locking onto the shadow where Khaslana stood. In that fleeting moment, their bright blue eyes clashed. The air of the fairytale realm seemed to freeze, as Khaslana gazed at the curiosity and calm in the girl’s eyes shift upon seeing him, contracting and twisting into shock and sorrow. She pushed against the edge of the small round table, rising hurriedly as if witnessing a rare marvel of the world.
The moment the pink-haired girl took her first step toward him, Khaslana turned away. The rustling of yellow leaves and branches scraping past his ears was piercing, like blades slicing into his flesh. He strode desperately in the opposite direction, only to stumble over a quiet tree root, lurching forward a few steps before painfully regaining his balance and continuing to run. Yet no matter how far he fled, the sound of the girl’s breathless pursuit echoed clearly behind him, like a relentless demon or vengeful spirit dogging his every step.
“—Khaos!”
He kept running.
“—Khaos!!”
He convinced himself that wasn’t a name he should hear.
“—Khaslana!!!”
His frantic dash finally halted at the girl’s last, hoarse cry. He looked around, shaken, as if searching for a lifeline—a white-haired, blue-eyed boy whose youthful face could prove this was all a mistaken farce. He hadn’t been seen, hadn’t been recognized; the girl was merely chasing her childhood friend, that white-haired boy.
But around him, aside from the thriving green leaves and redwood trees, there wasn’t a single trace of snowy white.
Khaslana couldn’t stop, shouldn’t stop, and absolutely couldn’t be seen—especially not by that pink-haired girl. Yet his feet seemed rooted to the ground, weighed down by an unbearable heaviness, leaving him unable to muster the will to move. He stood there like a charred piece of wood, caught between hope and despair, until the uneven sound of footsteps—sometimes quick, sometimes slow—approached from behind, carrying a gentle breeze and the girl’s unrelenting, breathless gasps.
“You’ve got the wrong person,” he said, lowering his voice.
“No way,” she replied firmly. “This is Aedes Elysiae, Khaslana. You can’t fool me, even if you disguise your voice.”
The girl blocked his path, leaning forward with her hands behind her back, peering at the trembling eyes beneath his ink-black hood. A gleeful smile spread across her face, and she giggled, covering her mouth. When she playfully reached out and gently took Khaslana’s hand, he snapped out of his daze.
Just as he once eagerly pulled her to one secret hideout after another, they now walked hand in hand toward the edge of Aedes Elysiae, where the breeze carried the scent of wheat. They stopped at the end of a wheatfield where the sun never set, peeking through the towering stalks. In the distance, the horizon blended sea and sky. Their arrival startled a few seagulls scavenging on the small beach, who took off with a flurry of flapping wings.
After sitting briefly on the shore’s embankment, the pink-haired girl slipped off her sandals and stepped into the sea, inviting Khaslana to splash in the cool water with her. But he remained unmoved. Feeling bored, the girl returned, brushed off her feet, and sat beside him on the embankment. She talked endlessly, laughing again and again, her topics ranging from the past to the present, from distant skies to their homeland. Through it all, Khaslana couldn’t utter a single word.
Finally, the girl grew a bit frustrated and, with a flick of her finger, pushed his dark hood back behind his ears. In the eternal daylight, her fingers revealed a face frozen in awe. His gaze locked onto her cherry-blossom eyes. Then, the lively girl, whose thoughts danced like a robin, froze as well. Time seemed to halt in that moment. The armor at Khaslana’s shoulder clinked unguardedly, his black-armored arm resting near her folded legs. His resolute fingers dug deep into the fine, white sand. In the instant he kissed her, her hands brushed his eyes, perhaps sensing the unshed tears he’d held back through all his trials. But his tears turned to vapor, vanishing in the haze of that kiss.
“How did you know it was me?”
“No special reason. I just thought it looked like you, so I believed it without hesitation.” After the gentle kiss, the girl’s eyes, brimming with emotion, lingered on his face, which burned as if aflame. “I’d love to praise your boldness, but… your kissing skills are pretty average. It’s like… your first time kissing a girl.”
Khaslana didn’t argue. He knew his kiss had been hesitant, full of stumbles and pauses.
“Wait, Khaos… was that really your first kiss?”
“Yes,” he nodded, unsure if the feeling stirring in him was the long-forgotten sensation of shyness.
Hearing his soft admission, the pink-haired girl burst into laughter, her face glowing with pride and satisfaction. After giggling mischievously for a while, she calmed down, gently touching Khaslana’s slightly red earlobe. Her cheeks flushed as she whispered back.
“Me too, Khaos…”
On the third day of Khaslana’s arrival, the pink-haired girl bid him farewell with her usual smile. She agreed to everything with that same radiant grin, whether it was the hoped-for future or the inevitable cycle that would come again. Khaslana would never forget her eyes, brimming with love and warmth. He had long since etched her existence into his soul, piercing it like a dagger, halting his heart, ensuring every beat carried her name.
Golden wings, as if sprinkled with golden ichor, bloomed with light from his back. The scorching wind pushed aside the hidden rice blossoms and wheat stalks under the boundless sunset. Khaslana reached out and pulled her waist toward him, and the cherry-haired girl fell silently into the center of his curled wings like a dandelion. She closed her eyes, as if slipping into a quiet slumber, her cheek framed by scattered pink hair, her chest laid bare before his trembling gaze.
In the end, Khaslana knelt, still trembling as he held her waist. She slowly opened her brilliant azure eyes, and before she could smile at him again, he enveloped her in a tight, desperate kiss.
“Haven’t you kissed enough?” she whispered, nestled in Khaslana’s arms and wings. “Didn’t you promise this would be the last time?”
Khaslana was overcome with unbearable pain, yet he could say nothing, only nodding faintly.
“Learn to love yourself,” she said, her final smile as fleeting and tragic as a night-blooming cereus. “I’ll wait for you in the next Aedes Elysiae, Khaos.”
A radiant golden light burst from his palm, forming a dazzling sword, its only trace of softness in the hilt’s gentle glow. With a guttural roar, Khaslana drove the DawnMaker sword into the girl’s chest. His heartbeat stopped first. Warm, viscous streams flowed over the arm cradling her waist, the cherished weight in his embrace growing lighter until it was nearly nothing.
Black flames erupted from Khaslana’s right arm, spreading to the greatsword buried in her heart, gradually charring it to blackened ash. The murderous blade fell into the uneven golden wheatfield. Khaslana wailed, clutching the dying pink-haired girl, staining his pale chest with the mournful hue of golden ichor.
“snowy… don’t cry.”
Her faint, broken whisper trembled into his ears. Tears, burned by grief, shrieked into white smoke and vanished from his face, condemning him as an executioner unworthy of shedding tears. Cold, merciless light descended from the sky, tearing through the warm heavens of Aedes Elysiae. A single glance—a chilling force capable of ripping apart the pixelated fabric of the world’s sky—cast its extraordinary spotlight on the girl’s remains, no longer trembling from her pierced chest. The divine oracle, transcending all worlds, froze time in that moment, stretching Khaslana’s despair and pain into eternity.
Khaslana looked back. It was a towering pillar of blue ice, THEN, tearing open the world’s sky to cast a single glance at a place unworthy of such attention. That being’s gaze gathered endless cold, its piercing chill spreading from the girl’s broken chest, twisting into silver-gray moonlight that crept up Khaslana’s right arm, solidifying into thorns of silver guilt, embedding deep into his flesh and bone.
The power of memory descended once more from beyond the heavens, breaking through the constants and functions of the world. At the cost of the girl’s erasure once again, it granted him the strength to alter the story’s end.
From then on, Khaslana no longer wielded a sword with his right arm. The ceremonial blade, shaped like a crescent moon, had transformed into silver-gray thorns, rooted forever in his dominant arm. His sword, DawnMaker, burned to a charred black, twisted and shattered. Yet he did not hesitate, did not mourn. Dragging the blackened sword with his stiff, unpracticed left arm, he pressed on toward the end of time’s reversed flow.
The devastating black tide descended upon the world as if fated, draining the life from countless beings, turning them into thousands of grotesque, blood-red skeletons that maniacally devoured the remaining survivors. Khaslana’s efforts yielded no better outcome; the coreflame he gathered became an accomplice in hastening the world’s destruction. The golden heirs, powerless to uphold their divine authority, were consumed one by one by the black tide, reduced to meaningless fodder. The white-haired youth, driven by vengeance, was also pierced through the chest by Khaslana, dying in an unnamed corner.
“You… venomous… bastard…”
Those were the final words the nameless white-haired youth spat into Khaslana’s ears before death.
Khaslana, the accomplice in the world’s collapse and ruin.
He gazed from afar at the world, where the black tide and golden ichor surged and receded without end, until the end of the flame’s pursuit. At this fated moment once more, he unfurled his divine wings at the zenith’s center, driving the dark tide and golden blood back to their origin. Silver-gray time clung tightly to his right arm. Raising it high, the radiant moonlight swept away, submerging all existence in an apocalyptic world into a reversing flow of sand. The dead inhaled, their drained blood restored; the creatures of the black tide shed their orange-red flesh; and time and space rewound together under the moon’s glow, back to the origin of history.
The coreflames in his chest collided, tearing his torso apart only to heal his wounds with their blazing power, resetting the countdown of creation to its first tick once again. Like a wounded viper, Khaslana tightly clutched the silver-white moonblade, hiding at the bottom of a nameless canyon, waiting as time, enveloped by nothingness, dripped away. Only the mocking wind lingered at his ears, the faint light at the zenith flickering in the eyes of the divine. Wind, rain, and snow swirled around him, meaningless as they fell upon his divine form, which no longer needed food, water, or even rest—a luxury he could forgo. It wasn’t until the sky plunged into endless darkness that he slowly stirred, shaking off the dust and moss from his body, rising to stumble toward the night.
From then on, the interplay of light and shadow at the zenith and the golden ichor never left Khaslana’s dreams. Countless times, the savage sky unleashed icy rain, pouring in heavy drops through the narrow gap in the cliff above, striking his burning body and hissing into white steam. Like a coiled spring, he shot upright, his left arm wielding the sword with practiced ease, slicing through the rain-soaked rock wall in a single stroke, leaving a gash that ignited with black fire.
What sound?
No, no… it can’t be…
“Come out! I know you’re here!”
Khaslana roared, his sword crashing down, splitting the decayed wood at the cliff’s base in two. He saw figures—one after another. A gallant, golden-haired man, valiant and skilled in battle; an elegant woman wielding a single-handed sword; a timid girl clutching a scythe. They came, they came again, determined to stop Khaslana, hell-bent on achieving era nova.
“Never…”
“Coreflame....give me!”
A white-haired man, his face scorched by the coreflame, swung his sword in a frenzy, each strike slicing through the mist-laden wind, severing silver threads of rain. He stumbled like a headless fly, mocked by the rain and wind that ravaged his broken body, until the clamor of countless coreflames tore through his chest once more, forcing the deranged man to collapse into the mud and evaporating steam. Clutching his head in agony, his fragmented words failed to form a single coherent sentence. The pounding rain pierced his coreflame-seared back like needles, and he screamed, questioning why he persisted, why he fought against era nova, why he had to slaughter his former brothers-in-arms with his own hands.
But the icy rain and roaring wind offered no answers, only mocking him with their opposing chill, ridiculing this foolish Sisyphus.
The bones of his companions formed the earth beneath his eyes, their golden ichor transformed into the relentless rain soaking the sky. Khaslana dragged his charred sword, staggering through the blood-soaked storm, unable to find home or refuge, aimlessly pressing forward. He trudged through rain and scorching heat, passed under rainbows and auroras, stepped over the black tide and eternal night. Second by second, month by month, era by era, he wandered silently, year after year—tumbling off cliffs, rolling into mud, falling into rivers and icy plains. The time to chase the flame had not yet come, and his sole, hollow mission remained unfulfilled. Thus, he could only continue his bitter search—for meaning, for an end, for release.
He dragged his filthy body, collapsing at the world’s end, engulfed and consumed by the dim yellow sunlight until its gentle rays cleansed the grime and dried golden ichor from his form, bringing the serene scent of wheat. That sunlit fairyland remembered him, and before he could even attempt to flee, it embraced him in its radiant tranquility. The edges of the fairyland rippled like water, as if softly affirming his existence, permitting him to leave. Yet the golden wheatfield, swaying in the breeze, shimmered like tender light, ensnaring his soul, luring him—a nymph chasing flames.
Cruel memories flooded Khaslana’s mind like a tide, scenes of golden ichor dripping in tragedy, countless images of the pink-haired girl dying in his arms piercing his thoughts with the warm breeze of the fairyland. Yet his legs, as if obeying a mechanical command, moved on their own, propping up his broken body and staggering toward the village on the hillside.
Beneath the maple-red ancient tree, Khaslana saw her again—the pink-haired girl who always sat on a swing, quietly gazing at the distant sky. As in countless times before, she seemed to sense his arrival with uncanny foresight. Her face held a trace of helpless resentment, but Khaslana had long lost the ability to discern her emotions. The maddening hallucinations and the burning of the coreflame left him devoid of purpose, driven only by an unyielding obsession to bear the flame.
As in countless times before, the delicate girl would be pierced by his black blade the moment after calling his name.
But Khaslana’s body, already scorched through by countless coreflames, faltered this time. His sword missed its mark, and like a kite with broken wings, he crashed to the ground, leaving only a pitiful gust of wind to stir the girl’s hair.
“Khaos!”
The man, shrouded entirely in black, buckled, nearly collapsing to his knees, but the pink-haired girl rushed forward, catching him in a desperate embrace. His searing body heat made her tremble, and wisps of air escaped her hair. In that fleeting moment of their embrace, she chose to stand with him against the relentless, unquenchable fate. Ice-blue and soft pink light radiated from her chest, suppressing the eternally burning coreflame of creation with the power of memory. The searing pain of their mutual burning lingered, the scorching heat causing the girl, clinging tightly to him, to hum with strain. Khaslana could no longer even support his own body, sinking to one knee. Yet his instincts fought against the torment of the coreflame’s burn, his soul screaming and trembling, commanding his broken body not to fully collapse before her.
But the girl held his neck tightly, pressing his masked and hooded head to her chest, vowing to smother the blazing flames into nothingness. The coreflame burning within him was eternal, unextinguished. As the morning dew-soaked black cloak ceased to steam with scalding vapor, the girl, burned by his heat, collapsed exhausted onto the ground, curling her legs beneath her.
“That's so mean! Coming to see me and you're still wearing a mask?” The girl, feeling the no-longer-scorching warmth of Khaslana’s embrace, gave a gentle smile. “Hurry up and take it off, huh? Let me get a good look at your face~ Khaos.”
Khaslana, as if he’d forgotten the meaning of words, stared blankly at her radiant, spring-like smile, unable to utter a sound. Then, a playful breeze from her fingertips brushed his ear, carrying the sunlight and fragrance of the fairyland. She carefully lifted his hood and mask, but the moment she saw Khaslana’s face, she gasped, dropping the mask. It clattered loudly against the wooden embankment, scattering petals.
Her eyes trembled as if struck by lightning, as though the being before her was the most ferocious, twisted monster born from the black tide. Before she could cry out, a pure, unblemished laugh rang out from the nearby courtyard. The voice’s owner eagerly called a soft, melodious name, shouting it with a rhythmic cadence, as if searching for its bearer.
The pink-haired girl started again, scrambling to gather the petals on the ground and shoving the twisted mask back into Khaslana’s hands. She yanked him to his feet and, circling around, pushed him toward the shadow of the ancient tree bathed in the setting sun. The tree roots tangled his steps, and with her urgent shoving, Khaslana stumbled, tumbling into the pond beneath the wooden railing.
*Splash.*
The cold water rippled outward from the intruding weight. Unlike every other water source he’d touched, this pool of his homeland’s fallen flowers didn’t instantly evaporate into hissing steam. Looking back, he saw the pink-haired girl, covering her mouth, too hurried to apologize. Half-bent, she frantically gestured for him to hide in the water and not come out, pressing a pale finger to her lips to silence him. Then, brushing the water stains and petals from her skirt, she darted around to the other side of the sturdy ancient tree.
A sudden wave of exhaustion wrapped around Khaslana’s body like vines. He sank to the pond’s bottom, gazing at the ripples swaying the red leaves and petals as they drifted to the center. The muffled voices from above sounded like they came from the nostalgic dreams he’d once endlessly cherished.
——You’re not mad, are you?
——No way.
——But your face…
——I said no way.
——I—I’m sorry, okay?
…
The boy’s less-than-sincere apology and the sound of another girl’s footsteps creaked back and forth on the wooden embankment, their playful bickering rising and falling. The lone outsider hidden here listened quietly, as if everything around him truly stemmed from the deepest, most ignorant, and arrogantly delusional dream in his heart. Khaslana, lonely and self-absorbed, dreamed of returning to his homeland, until a ripple—forever etched in his memory as a wave from the past—flowed across the clear water submerging his face.
“Khaos, you can come out now!” The shimmering ripple’s shadow waved toward the water with a playful giggle. “What, you love soaking in chilly pools that much? Come on, get up already!”
A crisp rush of water was shattered into chaotic currents by jagged cracks. Khaslana rose from the shallow pool, waking from a sorrowful dream. He turned to see the pink-haired girl squatting by the stone edge, her cheek propped in her hand. Perhaps she caught a glimpse of that familiar expression, because the clouds of displeasure on her face grew even more obvious. If she hadn’t tossed a handful of red leaves from the tree roots at him, the flame reaver, slow to react to the world’s stimuli, might’ve stayed sprawled in the cool pool, staring at her face in a daze.
The leaves she’d thrown in a huff spun weakly, drifting into the water to float with the current. But at least they finally caught Khaslana’s attention, making him notice her expression demanding a response. Only then did he understand why she was puffing her cheeks and glaring at him. Standing up from the water, streams poured from his body, pushing aside floating leaves as he waded through the petal-strewn waves toward the shore where gnarled tree roots curled. Water cascaded from the scars on his face, and the pink-haired girl, still a bit miffed, couldn’t help but frown.
“Blockhead,” she huffed, plopping down on the sun-warmed stone ledge. The low platform let her feet dangle naturally into the cool pool of flower-strewn water. “Both of you, inside and out, never change—just a pair of wooden heads!”
Pouting, she stuck out her tongue at him, then reached out to tug at the tattered cloak on Khaslana’s shoulder, pulling him closer.
Khaslana stared somewhat blankly, drawn so near by her insistent tug that he could feel her breath. He gave a slight nod, unable to voice the emotions swirling in his heart. But the girl’s focused gaze never wavered at his silence. A soft pink glow shimmered from her fingertips, vibrant and flowing—her first question cast without words. A warm, gentle heat traveled from her pale fingers into his ashen, lifeless cheek. Khaslana’s vision was enveloped by a blue-pink glow of time, and the girl before him tilted her face up, her wide azure eyes brimming with expectation. As the warmth on his cheek grew almost lulling, she broke into a smile, as if she’d uncovered a treasure.
“Guess why I’m mad?” the girl chirped, spilling her complaints with a playful huff, kicking her feet to push the gathered leaves to one side of the rippling water. Her fingers never stopped casting their glowing light across Khaslana’s face. “You think that goofy, smiley Khaos has nothing to do with you? Nuh-uh!”
“You’re *exactly* like him, so don’t think you can dodge the blame just ‘cause it wasn’t *you* who did it,” she said, pouting. Her glowing fingertips, soft as moonlight, drifted a few inches farther along his cheek. “Wooden sword, wooden training dummy, wooden toy soldiers… why don’t you just go marry a piece of wood already?”
Khaslana felt an oddly unfamiliar sensation, a faint displeasure that seemed like a long-forgotten warning—pain. Belatedly, he raised a hand to touch his face, the strange sensation filtering through his cold armor. Now, he could only feel this fleeting existence in the moment his blade pierced an enemy. Flesh—the concept felt so alien to him now. This twinge of dissatisfaction, laced with pain, came from her fingers deliberately pinching his skin.
“Always got your head full of wood—watch me pinch your face till it’s all bruised and lumpy!”
Her fingertips flowed with the gentle touch of time, slowly restoring his form to its original state. Yet her annoyance with Khaos’s mood was woven into that tenderness, turning into a punishment as she pinched his cheeks and refused to let go. Despite her words, not a single mark marred Khaslana’s newly restored face.
In this millionth cycle, his homeland had somehow drifted away from the countless tiresome, tragic endings. Khaslana could no longer claim to understand it all, to foresee the fate of the girl before him, whose end was drawing near. When this realization hit, his heart was flooded with a desperate, ecstatic despair.
“What turned you into this, Khaos?”
His pale face gradually flushed with color under her touch, his human flesh slowly restored by the gentle glow of her palm. Her voice softened, unable to hide its tenderness. But her gentle tone couldn’t draw out his honesty. He shook his head silently, as if fleeing from something.
As they leaned into each other, time ticked by. The girl’s fingers, caressing his face with the power of time, held less and less of her playful smile. She leaned closer, staring intently into his eyes—eyes that had been burned to charred embers by the world’s coreflame. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t heal those once-vibrant, sea-blue eyes that had seemed etched with the sun’s pattern. Khaslana’s face had been restored to humanity under her touch, but his striking blue eyes, once so captivating, remained lost, replaced by hollow, shattered coal-like pupils.
After countless lifetimes, witnessing the collapse and reversal of myriad worlds, Khaslana’s heart—shattered by boundless flames—finally reclaimed the yearning of his boyhood. By now, he had drained every drop of golden ichor from his veins, letting his bones and flesh be consumed by the coreflame, reduced to pale ash. Only hatred and obsession had driven him to slaughter until this day, when at last, amid the anguished echoes of his body and mind, he heard the end of his self-denial—a prayer carved like a knife’s scar into his heart, a figure frozen like permafrost in his soul.
“Hey! Quit messing around, Khaos!” the girl giggled, pushing his face away, not letting him close in during their tender gaze. Maybe she was still hung up on his hollow, charred eyes, but her cheeks were already blooming like peonies. Khaslana no longer cared about right or wrong. The needle-like flames in his chest burned with the voice of longing, and before she could scold him again, he cupped her soft cheeks and pressed his lips to hers.
The pink-haired girl’s magic mended the cracks and voids in his skull, restoring his human flesh. As she sat by the pool’s edge, his eager kiss sent water droplets tumbling from his snowy hair, splashing onto her bare shoulders, making her shiver with a start. Her delicate lashes brushed his nose, bringing a long-lost tingle of fleshly sensation.
She didn’t resist the kiss, though she playfully nipped at his longing-drenched lower lip a few times. He didn’t pull back, letting her tease, and even when he loosened his grip to stop, she wouldn’t let him go—not until her laughter broke through, and she finally released his stubborn, greedy lips.
“What’s with the rush? It’s not like I said no!” Her fingertips traced his face again, brushing over the unhealable cracks. Feeling the fine ash fall from the scorched wounds as time wore on, her smile faded a bit. “Couldn’t you wait for me to heal you a little more with the power of formerly?”
His eyes were a wasteland of blackened charcoal, and she couldn’t read his expression for the longest time. All she could sense was that dogged, loyal devotion and care. Perhaps because she truly understood this, she stopped pressing him with trivial questions.
“But since you really missed me that much, fine,” she said with a bright, spring-like laugh, laced with a teasing challenge. She lightly tapped her still-damp lips, her sly confidence shining through. “Let’s call it a reward for finally getting a clue…”
With that, she lowered her brows slightly, her gaze settling on his throat, outlined by the faint glow of memory’s light. Beyond that boundary, his body remained a lifeless white. So, she gently placed her fingertips on his shoulder, her confident smile assuring him that her “pretty girl magic” still had plenty of tricks up its sleeve.
This time, when Khaslana leaned in for a second kiss, the girl didn’t just accept it—she met him halfway. His stiff, sluggish lips were greeted by her playful, fleeting kiss, light as a dragonfly skimming water. Before he could even close his eyes, she cheekily licked his lips, catching him off guard. As if that teasing wasn’t enough, she pulled back a few inches with a mischievous grin, batting her long lashes and squinting playfully to gauge his reaction.
Khaslana knew his racing heart was already hers. His gaze locked onto her eyes, where the smile was slowly fading, and their noses brushed gently, breaths mingling with a warm, tentative dance. As the soft trickle of the pool’s water grew faint, the girl, her eyes half-closed, finally met his pursuing kiss. The white-haired man in black leaned along the curve of her smiling eyes, his snow-white hair, damp with water, sliding across her cheek as he kissed her, igniting this chase of longing.
She gently tucked a strand of his white hair behind her ear, responding with a soft bite on his lip. At her heart, the light of time, briefly dimmed, flared again, flowing through their kiss, carried by the wheat-scented breeze, into Khaslana’s body. It sparked the stalled boundary line at his throat to spread, slowly restoring his ashen form to what it once was. Their lips, tangled in longing, drew soft, misplaced sounds from her curious, unpracticed kisses, quickly drowned out by his pursuit. Her breath hitched, unprepared for his sudden, instinctive advance.
The kiss paused for a moment, and she opened her eyes in surprise, her azure pupils shimmering with crystalline tears. Catching her breath, she dove back in, as if refusing to admit some unspoken truth. But the next round of kisses struck her with merciless reality. The white-haired man, his flesh riddled with hollow cracks, kissed with a steady, unhurried rhythm. Yet, in her unguarded moments, he always found her trembling, vulnerable spots, his slow, unrelenting pace making every nip and gentle suck perfectly timed, as if he already knew how she’d kiss, how her heart would race at his teasing.
Her thoughts began to falter, her quickening breaths betraying the fluttering chaos in her throat. Most infuriatingly, whenever she pulled back to escape, he let her, as if even her retreats were expected. He wasn’t clumsy or overbearing, just giving her space to catch her breath, gazing at her with those charred, black eyes, waiting.
He even knew she’d never refuse him in that moment.
When her flushed cheeks and ragged breaths finally steadied, she had no excuse to stop, only able to surrender to Khaslana’s approaching nose, his silent plea for another kiss. In the end, she had to admit—he was *way* too good at this, impossibly so. Their halting, deepening kisses carried an unshakable tenderness. The soft sounds escaping her lips grew clearer against the pool’s tinkling backdrop, her fingers tightening instinctively, clutching his shoulder’s fabric. Her face tilted under the relentless momentum, her breaths growing erratic in the tangle of their lips.
Khaslana’s hand slid to her waist, lifting her gently. He pulled back, but this time, she was a blushing mess, barely able to control her breathing. Trapped in his embrace, with no escape, she bit his lip in playful protest when he leaned in, obsessed, to continue.
“Where’d you *learn* that, Khaos…?” Staring at his cracked, scarred face, the girl’s fluttering eyes slowly dulled with a teasing pout. “Are you trying to tell me the future you’s gonna be some kind of kissing *master*?”
Though the girl nestled in his arms didn’t push him away, her faintly flushed brows betrayed a hint of jealousy. Those questioning eyes, narrowed and unyielding, showed she wasn’t exactly thrilled about this, even if the whole thing was a bit nonsensical and out of nowhere.
Her sharp intuition had already seen through him. Khaslana could no longer predict what would happen after kissing her so deeply under this tree. Her actions had veered far beyond the understanding he’d gained from countless cycles. His heart, unknowingly stirred and stolen by her, lacked the courage to lay bare the world’s truths. He tried to brush off her questions, but from then on, she stopped playing along. She’d either turn her face to dodge or flash her little teeth to nip at his lips, refusing to let the kiss flow freely. Yet she never went too far—just pouting and glaring, fully aware he didn’t have the guts to push back. She was clearly waiting for him to spill.
“What’s with the headshake?” she said, tugging his shoulder. “Turned into a big, handsome guy, went out flirting with everyone, and now you’re bored, so you’ve come crawling back home?”
When his voice, rough as crumbling sand, finally fell, her eyes—tinged with mock resentment—widened in surprise. She’d likely never imagined that his voice, silent all this time, had become so broken and worn.
“No…”
As children, Khaslana and the girl loved playing under the ancient tree where the water and shore met. He never liked swinging too high on the swing, because the tree’s branches would creak and groan, and the pink-haired girl would frantically yell at him to stop, followed by a flurry of scolding. In the end, it was always him on the ground, gently pushing her back, swinging the autumn swing with the same tender grace as her everyday smile. As for hide-and-seek, Khaslana once climbed the red-leaved flower tree, evading her for three rounds until she couldn’t find him. They’d made a bet: the loser would cover a whole year’s worth of picnics. He’d fallen asleep in the fragrant branches, arms behind his head, only waking when his father’s anxious shouts told him he’d gone too far.
But those beautiful memories were ultimately drowned in the black-red tide.
Back then, Khaslana thought that as long as he had the small village of Aedes Elysiae, his life would be complete. But the gods beyond the world shattered and denied everything he held dear.
The childhood friend who grew up with him always shared heartfelt stories of emotion. At first, Khaslana didn’t grasp their meaning, but in the moment they were about to part forever, he realized the deep sadness and reluctance in his heart were learned from her lively, radiant shadow. From then on, her existence became a curse—one that descended inevitably in every cycle. Not once did she fail to recognize him, as if she wielded some magic that transcended time and space, seeing through any disguise Khaslana tried.
She always told him: “The grown-up Khaos will definitely look just like you, so I’ll *always* recognize you, no matter what you become. Because Khaos is Khaos.”
“No Flame Reaver nonsense with me, okay?”
“Only my little hero, Khaos.”
A breeze carrying the scent of wheat and a faint salty tang from the sea swept by, a few red leaves drifting silently through the tender air between their gazes, rippling as they hit the water.
“I…” He forced the searing breath from his chest, refusing to yield on this one thing.
He had never, for a single moment, forgotten the promise they made at the start of the cycle, nor could he ever resist the urge to kiss her when they were alone in this wheat-scented fairyland. This life, she had broken the lonely, monotonous ending. His overwhelming longing could no longer be contained, and the reawakened reclaimer, slow to grasp her true heart from childhood memories, could only futilely try to make up for the regrets he owed her.
“This life…” His charred vocal cords struggled to form his hoarse voice.
In past cycles, she’d always dragged him to corners filled with childhood memories—wheatfields, valleys, the Membrance Maze. Her topics always circled back to him, until those far-ranging reminiscences were stripped bare by his hollow, longing eyes, dissolving into silent gazes, ending in his unhesitating kiss.
“Only…” The black flames in his body had long stolen his simple speech.
Her every reaction—the first touch of a kiss, the hesitation, the shy yet joyful smile when it ended—felt infinitely precious, no matter how many times he kissed her.
“One…” He dared not speak her melodious name, the shadow rooted deep in his heart terrified of letting it pass his parched lips.
In his early years, after daily sword practice in the barracks, all Khaslana wanted was to collapse onto his cot and stare at the whitewashed walls, slipping quickly into dreams to escape his pain and exhaustion. But in that half-awake state, the Teleslate’s chime would always ring, filled with her chatter—curious, wistful ramblings. Back then, studying oracles in Janusopolis, she loved telling him about the girls around her receiving love letters, saying how romantic it was to unexpectedly receive handwritten words of longing from someone special. Khaslana didn’t get it then. After all, the Teleslate could send messages a thousand times faster. Love letters? To him, lovers had no reason to choose them.
Now, he finally understood what she meant by those letters. But now, he owed her too many letters—ones he could never repay or send, with no room left for regret.
“Kissed…” His eyes could no longer hold anyone but her. “That’s… you.”
“Cyrene…”
The moment Khaslana mustered the courage to call out the girl’s name again, it was as if time itself froze in that instant. Her eyes trembled faintly at the weight of his weary, heartfelt vow, the gravity of his words too much for her to bear, leaving only a flush of vibrant color blooming across her cheeks.
“What’s that supposed to mean…?” she huffed, still resisting, but the sincerity from his heart was undeniable, and she could no longer convince herself to dig deeper into the question. “What’s *going on* with all this…?”
Her sleeve slipped down, revealing a pale forearm that stood in stark contrast to his grim, lonely black cloak. Khaslana’s insatiable longing burned brighter, like a roaring flame, unchecked and aggressive. The pink-haired girl, no longer resisting, was naturally overwhelmed by his centuries-honed obsession, her body yielding under its weight. She could only drape her arms, glowing faintly with the light of memory, around his cracked neck, their gazes so close they nearly lost focus.
“Don’t… ask.” The white-haired man, like a shattered sculpture, struggled to speak again, his hoarse, broken voice carrying only a timid plea.
His armored arms, fragile and trembling, encircled her waist, pulling her close. A slight nod brought a tender kiss—this time, it was her, wrapping her arms around his neck, offering a soft, answering kiss. She gently nipped at his lips, as if scolding yet soothing with heartache, lingering for what felt like forever, unwilling to release his quietly trembling lips.
“You won’t tell me anything, so…” She paused the kiss, her fingertips brushing his fractured cheek, her eyes rippling like a spring breeze over water, unable to settle. “How am I supposed to stay by your side?”
“This… is… enough…”
Khaslana, indulging himself further, kissed the pink-haired girl again, like a lovesick pup, eagerly licking and nibbling, pressing her back toward the embankment until her waist nearly buckled. She was relentlessly pursued by his unheard-of kissing prowess, bitten and teased until her body softened and her breaths grew ragged. The numbness in the broken man’s charred eyes slowly gave way to waves of inexplicable sorrow. His slender fingers wove into her soft hair, claiming full control of the kiss, until both grew weary of the inevitable pauses for breath.
A pair of tattered wings, woven with black and gold, burst forth behind Khaslana, unfurling with a flourish. The serene air beneath the ancient tree trembled with the blazing light and heat of a midday sun. The gusting wind startled the girl, who released his lips mid-nibble, casting a surprised glance at Khaslana.
But in the next moment, she let out a soft, warm, yet sorrowful smile.
“You’re *really* like the sun, Khaos…”
“Warming everyone, but at the cost of burning yourself to ashes…”
“I… know…” A golden spark flickered in his charred eyes, spreading from the center until they glowed like radiant suns. Khaslana gazed intently at the cherry-haired girl before him—the one for whom he had made his vow thousands of years ago. “But I… willingly... be...blazing....sun....”
“You know, Khaos,” she said, her delicate fingers lifting his face, her pale thumb brushing over the fine cracks beneath his golden eyes, unsure if she feared unwept golden ichor or unshed tears. “I wish so badly that the me right now could keep up with all your pain.”
“But I… know nothing about you…” She looked at his ferocious wings, at the power that could never belong to this world, yet felt no fear or hostility. “The only thing I can say with confidence is—”
“You’ve worked so hard, my little hero.”
“You really became the deliverer of this story, didn’t you…?”
“Yeah.”
Her gentle touch melted the scorched stone of his heart, and even his once-hollow eyes softened with a relieved smile, dissolving into the tender, wheat-scented breeze of his homeland. His arm, entwined with silver moonlit thorns, swung through the air, tearing open a blue-pink rift.
“Hey, what’s this? Where are you taking me?” she teased with a playful grin, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around his neck, whispering in his ear, “But, like, shouldn’t our alone time keep going a bit longer~?”
“Hehe…”
In a fleeting embrace too swift to follow, Khaslana, wings spread wide, scooped the giggling girl into his arms and vanished into the blue-pink rift. Her carefree, soaring laughter echoed in his ears, the dizzying whirl of their freefall through the shimmering passage vivid in his memory even now. Starlit glimmers of memory lifted her pink hair, and in that seemingly endless descent, he folded his wings, holding her tightly. She’d occasionally cup his face, kissing him with a burst of giggles each time.
Countless hands, reeking of the abyss’s deathly aura, surged forward, seizing the girl in his arms and the surrounding soft pink light and warmth, halting them. With a single claw, they shattered all memories like brittle candy, leaving only endless darkness and cold.
—Why, of all times, did Khaslana recall the beginning of that cycle now?
Searing pain and the bone-chilling breath of death coiled around his broken body, tempting him to surrender to sleep, to a dream of an idyllic haven where all lingered at the west wind’s end. But Khaslana refused to rest. He despised and loathed rest, for the flames in his chest never ceased burning, and he had never forgotten the reason for this necessary suffering. Raising his right arm, he conjured a crescent silver blade from the radiant silver moonlight. The serene power of time erupted from it, piercing through the surrounding darkness and death. Guided by the moonlight, Khaslana, like a vengeful spirit chasing its soul’s purpose, clawed through the blackened earth, shoving aside golden ichor, broken limbs, and shattered bones, casting away twisted memories and fleeting happiness, charging toward the dark end where time stood still.
His left arm, drenched in golden ichor, broke free first from the shadow of death, followed by his thorn-wrapped, masked head. He emerged like a rotting corpse clawing out of a grave, a stray dog driven by a singular purpose.
—“Lord Mydei, he’s broken free!”
—“As expected, we can’t contain him.”
The searing agony of countless coreflames scorching his body jolted Khaslana awake. He clambered to his feet, once again straightening his chest, rousing from the torment of endless cycles’ fiery pain. Once more, he drew the charred sword from the burning inferno, and again and again, he faced the countless unyielding faces under the empty sky—faces that, like him, once bled golden ichor—and roared his defiant command.
“Demigods…”
“The coreflame… give it to me.”
“Or die.”
And time after time, those who faced his haughty decree answered with their actions. A golden-maned lion, wreathed in flames, charged through waves of blood, wielding a gleaming spear and heavy fists as its reply. Black butterfly wings, carrying the cold breath of death, swung a scythe of finality. The sequence of time shattered like a broken mirror. Khaslana stood alone at the center of the fractured world, its colors twisting and shifting. A knight commander strumming a violin, an empress leading armies of order, a woman dancing a sword duet with her puppet, a one-eyed man aiming an alchemical flintlock, a swift-footed catlike-girl, a messenger summoning golden portals, and a valkyrie descendant healing wounds—they stormed from all corners of the earth, through day and night, channeling their collective defiance toward Khaslana’s position.
Khaslana couldn’t tell if this was another hallucination or madness, but even if it was a deranged dream, he would never allow the fire piercing his chest to be extinguished.
Khaslana recalled his teacher, a defiant scholar who shocked the world with his blasphemous theories, an ancient demigod surrounded by self-made inventions. Their teachings, over countless millennia, reminded him to see through the heavens’ designs and tread carefully. He missed the friends of his youth: a warrior’s heir who chose to heal as a priest, and a reserved girl skilled in literature, their days studying together under the oracle tree vivid in his mind. Then there was his rival-turned-friend from Kremnos, always challenging him to arm-wrestling matches, their wins and losses, stolen glances at girls, and crude hometown greetings shared with laughter. And the noble who welcomed him in the holy city, a golden heir leader who fussed over his clothes like a mother, her ear-tugging scoldings marking the start of this entire saga.
Once again, he thought of his homeland’s breeze and rice fragrance, the tranquil stream, the villagers’ joyful laughter, and the blue-eyed girl with cherry-blossom hair. In that unique cycle’s beginning, the pink-haired girl from his hometown restored his human flesh and cooled his burning body with her gentle touch. He could never forget the rippling sensation of her lips when she giggled during their kisses or the slight bloom of her eyes. His reckless longing stole her away, and with divine wings spread, he carried her to the hidden corners of the fairy-shrouded Membrance Maze, beside a small embankment where a stream fell. There, he kept his promise, revealing all the truths up to this day. It began with a kiss as soft as a spark, but the unbearable sorrow and longing spread into an endless coreflame in his chest. Abandoning their tender kisses, he hungrily kissed her neck and ear, listening to her soft gasps as her body melted under the tingling sensation.
Khaslana never forgot them. Carrying his teacher’s ideals, his friends’ understanding, and his benefactor’s care, he pressed forward. Time and again, in the madness of nothingness and the agony of burning, he recalled them, their faces, and the smile of his childhood friend from his homeland. So, time and again, he pierced the girl’s chest, severed his teacher’s head, stripped his friends’ spines, and tore open his own body, letting endless flames consume him, attaching to one Khaslana after another. Again and again, he summoned the tide to push back the world’s end, rolling the boulder of impending doom back to the peak’s starting point.
For the memories he could never forget, for his teacher and friends, for his homeland and beyond, for the girl’s unwavering smile and her boundless love for this land. The hollowed man stood with sword raised, the blade wreathed in black fire slashing through unquenchable shadows. He lifted the charred greatsword toward the sky that mocked their fates, the crescent silver blade glowing with gentle, radiant moonlight. In the interplay of love and hate, sun and moon, the full moon’s eclipse birthed a crown of their combined light. The fusion of silver moon and black sun unleashed a blazing storm of black fire. The flames spiraling from his blade burned fiercer, coalescing into a tempest that reached the heavens. A pillar of shadowed fire, a darkness that blotted out the sky, surged from the overlap of moon and sun—the flaming sword guarding Eden, the heavenly fire that burned Sodom, the mythic epics sung by mortals—all dimmed under the gods’ manipulation. Only this self-igniting black flame still resisted the undeniable fate.
—Once more.
—Once more.
“IF THIS IS NOT THE END.THEN I WILL KEEP WALKING.”
“BUT I WILL NEVER SUBMIT TO THE FATE WE BE MADE FOR”
“NEVER.”
*END