At the Edge of the Abyss

Aiden woke up with a sharp, throbbing pain pounding in his head. Each pulse felt like a needle piercing his skull, as if his own body was making sure he remembered he was still alive… for now.

His senses were dulled, his vision blurry. Everything was a whirlwind of distorted lights and shadows, spinning around him in a dizzying sway. The rough and damp sensation of the ground against his skin told him he had been moved. He wasn't where he had fallen.

He tried to focus, blinking several times.

"What the hell…?" he murmured, his voice hoarse. His throat burned as if he had inhaled dust for hours.

"Looks like he's awake."

A mocking voice cut through the air.

Aiden squinted. His vision was still a mess, but he could make out several figures standing in front of him. Faceless shadows that slowly began to take shape as his eyes adjusted to the dimness.

The room was long and narrow, with bare brick walls covered in cracks and damp stains. The ceiling was low, just enough to make the space feel suffocating. There was no furniture, only a few stacked crates in a corner and the echo of his own breathing bouncing against the stale air.

It smelled of old dust, dried blood, and stagnant moisture, as if the place had been abandoned for years before being turned into an improvised interrogation room.

When he finally regained full clarity, he found himself being watched by three figures.

All three wore dark leather clothing, their hoods pushed back, leaving their faces partially visible. Their garments were worn, patched and crudely stitched, but they weren't soldier uniforms or armor. They weren't professionals. They were bandits.

The first was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a square jaw and a scar running from his right cheek to the corner of his lip. His eyes held a dangerous hardness, the look of someone who had seen too many deaths and wasn't afraid to add another to the list.

The second, thinner and wiry, had a restless air and a twisted grin that never quite reached his eyes. He looked like a predator enjoying the game.

The third, the smallest of the three, had a nimble build, like a thief accustomed to moving through shadows. His fingers, wrapped in tattered gloves, tapped the hilt of a dagger hanging from his belt while his other hand held Aiden's bag.

The grinning one tilted his head with feigned curiosity.

"Hey, are you sure he can take it? We haven't even started yet, and he's already bleeding quite a bit."

The scarred one scoffed with disdain.

"Relax. The others were worse." He crossed his arms and looked at Aiden with indifference.

Aiden grunted, feeling a heavy weight in his head. He tried moving his hands, but something held them firm—rough, solid. His wrists burned from the friction of thick, tight rope. Instinctively, he tried pulling, but it didn't budge an inch.

Warm blood trickled down his temple. He blinked when the drop reached his eye, but he kept his breathing steady.

He clenched his teeth. He released a fraction of his Terum energy, trying to strengthen his arms and break the bindings, but the rope barely tensed. It wasn't ordinary rope.

He increased the intensity. Nothing.

A shiver ran down his spine.

The three bandits watched him with amused smiles, wearing the expression of men watching a trapped insect struggle futilely to escape.

They already knew he would try something.

Ropes laced with Terum?

"Are you done struggling?"

The voice came from the back of the room, echoing in the dimness like a veiled threat.

Aiden turned his head, focusing his gaze on the darkness. There, where the moonlight didn't reach, a fourth figure stood. Perhaps he couldn't see him clearly, but he could sense him.

"It's not worth trying," the voice continued, calm, with a faint trace of amusement. "You'd need the combined energy of at least two Terum masters to break those ropes."

Aiden didn't reply, but his mind was already racing with speculation.

Terum-infused ropes weren't something a group of bandits could afford. They were expensive tools, forged by order of Commander Solvayne, the leader of Zhailon's eastern domain. Each one cost a fortune.

So why the hell did these guys have them?

But before he could process the information, the scarred bandit leaned toward him with a mocking grin.

His eyes gleamed with a twisted thrill. He was enjoying this.

"I don't like how he's looking at me," he sneered, letting out a dry laugh. "How about we teach him a lesson? Maybe it'll help him wake up."

Without warning, a fist slammed into his stomach.

The impact was dry, direct.

Aiden clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to groan.

Pain shot through his body like a surge of fire.

He had no time to catch his breath before a second blow struck his jaw, making his head snap sharply to the side.

A sharp crack echoed in his mouth as his teeth clamped down violently, and blood followed.

"Looks like you're losing your touch," the nimble bandit teased.

The scarred one clicked his tongue and cracked his knuckles.

"We're just getting started. Let me give him a few more."

Without hesitation, he threw another punch, this time to the ribs, but Aiden was ready. He let Terum spread through his body, hardening his muscles just before impact.

The punch landed with the same force… but he felt nothing.

The nimble bandit frowned.

"He didn't even flinch this time."

"Hah, anyone can do that with energy," the other scoffed.

From the shadows, the fourth figure spoke again.

"Enough playing around. Check his belongings and let's finish this."

If they only wanted to rob him, they would have already taken his money and left him unconscious in an alley.

The nimble bandit clicked his tongue while rummaging through Aiden's bag, pulling out his old jacket with a grimace of disgust.

"Look at this, a relic. How long have you been wearing this garbage?"

He tossed it aside without a second thought, like a worthless rag. Aiden didn't look away.

The bandit continued digging until his fingers found another pouch. When he opened it, twenty gold coins gleamed inside.

The wiry bandit whistled.

"Well, well… seems like our guest was carrying more than we thought."

The scarred one picked up a coin and bit it, a greedy smile spreading across his face.

"With this, we can live easy for months!"

"Today is our lucky day," the scarred one grinned.

After congratulating themselves, the nimble bandit kept searching until he found something metallic and small.

"Oh… what do we have here?"

He held up Aiden's pendant between his fingers, letting it dangle so the others could see. The symbol was worn, but still recognizable.

The emblem of his family.

The scarred bandit spat on the ground and crossed his arms.

"A damned Svalthren."

The air in the room shifted instantly. The mocking tone disappeared. What had been amusement turned into contempt.

"With the way he looks, it's not surprising," said the lean bandit, who had so far remained against the wall. "They wander the kingdom like stray dogs. They were lucky the last king had mercy on them."

Aiden clenched his fists. Mercy? If they hadn't fought, none of them would have survived.

"Well, I guess no one's going to miss a stray."

The scarred bandit didn't wait for a response. His fist crashed against Aiden's cheek with force. But this time, it wasn't an ordinary punch. The impact carried Terum. Aiden's head snapped back violently, his vision flashing white.

A second blow struck his ribs, knocking the air from his lungs and forcing a cough of blood from his lips. The burn spread through his body. The bandit smirked at Aiden's reaction.

"Not going to say anything?" he taunted.

These men were just like all the others. Hiding behind excuses, clinging to history as justification to treat people like garbage.

The blows continued. One after another. Each punch came with insults about his bloodline. About what his people had done. About how his very existence was a mistake.

Each word stoked Aiden's anger. It wasn't just rage. It was a fire that had been burning inside him since the day they locked him away.

The final hit to his head knocked him from the chair. His skull slammed against the stone floor, clouding his vision. A ringing filled his ears. He forced himself to stay conscious.

Then, the agile bandit found something else in his bag. His fingers curled around a cylinder of parchment. He pulled it out carelessly, but when he saw the golden wax seal on the top, his smirk disappeared instantly.

The air grew tense.

The agile bandit swallowed hard and spoke, his voice now far more cautious.

"Hey…" he said, doubt creeping into his tone. "This has the royal seal."

The other two bandits tensed immediately.

The scarred bandit stepped closer, yanking the parchment from his hands. His expression shifted from disdain to unease in seconds.

Aiden watched the color drain from their faces.

The lean bandit frowned. "What?"

The scarred bandit didn't respond right away. He slowly closed the parchment, a grim look crossing his face before turning toward the shadow lingering at the back of the room.

"Boss… we've got a problem."

The voice from the darkness was calm but carried a dangerous edge.

"Give it to me."

A figure stepped forward, slow and deliberate, allowing the faint moonlight to reveal his face. Aiden could finally see who he was dealing with. A strong-built man with a square jaw and faded scars on weathered skin. His dark hair was slicked back, streaked with gray betraying his age. He wore reinforced leather armor with metal plates, the emblem of Zhailon embroidered on his chest. A soldier of Veilon Thalmyr's army.

The man took the parchment from the bandit's hands, barely sparing Aiden a glance before calmly unfolding it. His eyes scanned the contents with deliberate slowness, his expression unreadable until he stopped at a particular name.

The atmosphere grew heavier.

"Change of plans," he said suddenly, his voice cold and calculating.

One of the bandits blinked, surprised.

"What's wrong?"

The officer snapped the parchment shut. When he looked up, his gaze was sharp with understanding.

"This is bigger than we thought. This man is important."

A small sneer crossed his lips as he held the parchment with a firmer grip.

"Angellon Norvel is involved."

The name dropped like a stone into a still lake, making one of the bandits scoff.

"Angellon Norvel? Isn't she the bitch that Iskaar kicked out of his domain?"

"That's her," the officer confirmed, his tone more serious. "Looks like Veilon decided to put her to use."

Another bandit chuckled.

"But he already has the great Rea Zephandor. What more does he want?"

"If it were me, I'd do the same. I mean, have you seen that ass? Rea wishes she looked like her."

The officer shot him a look of pure disdain, his patience wearing thin.

"This is beyond that, you idiots. This could easily spark a dispute between Xhandor and Vharos. We need to take advantage of it."

The officer turned sharply on his heel and drew a short, well-sharpened knife, letting it glint under the faint moonlight. His eyes locked onto Aiden with a probing gaze, showing no urgency or hesitation. With the help of the scarred bandit, Aiden was dragged back into his chair.

"What do you know about this?" the officer asked, parchment in hand, testing Aiden.

Aiden took a slow breath, ignoring the burning in his ribs.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he rasped.

The officer tilted his head.

"We saw your little Terum trick at the tavern. You used only a little, sure, but you're still tied to that rope, which means you're not that strong. What could the king possibly want from you?" He lifted his chin.

"No idea," Aiden replied dryly.

The officer's patience was thinning.

"What do you know about Angellon Norvel?"

"Nothing."

"But you've met with her. She must have told you something. Tell us what you know, and maybe we'll let you live."

Aiden laughed at that. It was obvious they had no intention of letting him go. From the moment he was dragged in, they made it clear they had done this before. And now, with a royal parchment in his possession, they had every reason to make him disappear.

The officer studied him for a long moment. Then, without warning, he plunged the knife into Aiden's leg.

Aiden let out a faint grunt, feeling the sharp burn of metal slicing through flesh.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice."

Aiden exhaled sharply as blood soaked his pants.

Then, a sharp snap echoed through the room. Something had been knocked loose, or maybe it hit the wall. Before anyone could react, the door at the far end swung open, letting in pale moonlight through the threshold. The night wind rushed in, kicking up dust and making the old brick walls groan.

The officer immediately turned his head, frowning. His hand instinctively went to the knife still buried in Aiden's leg before yanking it free, causing fresh blood to spill.

"What the hell—?"

The gust of air rustled his cloak, yet there was no one on the other side of the door. Aiden, still struggling to breathe, barely lifted his gaze. Something was wrong. The tension in the room felt like an invisible blade grazing the skin of everyone present.

The officer took a second to gather himself. But he needed to finish this quickly.

He turned toward the thin bandit, the one with the gaunt face and sunken eyes.

"Go check."

The bandit hesitated only for a moment before nodding.

"Yes, boss."

Aiden noticed something. The hesitation.

Bandits were scavengers, yes, but they weren't stupid. Something in the air was off. And that bandit had sensed it.

The thin man moved cautiously, his hand resting on the hilt of the dagger at his belt, his footsteps echoing against the damp stone until he stepped out the door.

The officer didn't wait to see what would happen. He turned his attention back to Aiden, his eyes darkening with irritation. The murmuring wind against the walls barely seemed to faze him, determined to continue what he had started.

"Let's get back to it."

He tightened his grip on the knife, twisting it slightly between his fingers.

"What were you doing in the tavern?"

"Making a living."

The officer clenched his jaw.

"I doubt that's the case, considering you have ties to the king," he said, narrowing his eyes.

Aiden didn't respond. He already knew where the officer was going with this, the same lie Aiden had been feeding the last officer. But he wouldn't give this one the satisfaction of hearing it from him.

"Did the king order you to go to the tavern?"

Aiden remained silent, making the officer exhale in frustration.

"What did he promise you?"

Silence.

The officer briefly closed his eyes, trying to control his growing irritation. Then, his gaze turned cold.

"Speak, you damned bastard."

The officer gritted his teeth, his patience crumbling with every second of silence Aiden gifted him. His grip on the knife tightened until his knuckles turned white, and without warning, he drove it deep into Aiden's shoulder.

The blade pierced the skin and tore through muscle effortlessly. The pain was a searing lightning bolt that shot through Aiden's body, but he didn't scream.

He wouldn't give him that pleasure.

The officer glared at him, bringing his face closer, his rancid breath colliding with Aiden's sweaty, bloodied skin.

"Don't play the martyr," he growled. "You're going to talk. Now."

Aiden clenched his jaw, feeling the knife buried in his flesh, his own hot blood trickling down his side. But he didn't break eye contact, holding firm in his decision.

The bandits exchanged glances, but the officer didn't react. He simply pressed the knife in a little more, his patience reaching its limit, but just then—

"Agh!"

A bloodcurdling scream tore through the air.

It wasn't the scream of someone attacking. It was the scream of someone dying—the most terrifying part was that it only lasted a second before cutting off completely. The sound had come from outside.

The bandits turned their heads toward the door by instinct, their hands gripping their weapons. A shiver ran through the room, as if a cold gust had blown through it.

The temperature seemed to drop, and the tension became unbearable. That was when everyone saw it.

In the doorway, right where the moonlight cast elongated shadows on the floor, a new silhouette had joined the darkness.

It wasn't the bandit who had gone outside. It was someone else.

The problem was that the shadow appeared for only an instant before merging with the darkness of the room and vanishing.

The officer, with the knife still lodged in Aiden's shoulder, straightened immediately, his body rigid and alert.

"Who's there?" he murmured through clenched teeth, his voice barely a whisper.

The wind blew again, whistling through the cracks in the stone.

The agile bandit drew a knife from beneath his hood with a trembling hand, while the scarred bandit, more calculated in his movements, let the Terum energy course through his body, strengthening him for combat. The skin around his knuckles glowed with a faint radiance, pulsing with latent power.

Aiden, still bound, watched in silence. He tried to sense a source of energy in the darkness, but the only one he detected was the bandit beside him. Whatever was in that room emitted nothing.

The scarred bandit moved forward cautiously, his muscles tensed under the energy coursing through him. His shadow stretched across the wall under the dim moonlight filtering through the opening above. He took a few steps toward the door and then froze.

His eyes scanned the farthest corner of the room, where the shadows were thickest. Something was there. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it.

And then, his body fell backward.

There was no warning. No sound of a struggle. Just a sudden, senseless movement. His figure collapsed to the ground with the stiffness of a discarded rag doll.

The agile bandit, standing right next to him, choked on a gasp and spun around, but he had no chance to react.

His body was lifted off the ground with inhuman speed, as if an invisible force had grabbed him by the throat. For an instant, his silhouette hung suspended in the air before being hurled brutally against the brick wall, his neck utterly crushed. The impact echoed through the room, sending a rain of dust and stone fragments to the floor.

The officer, his face contorted with terror, took a step back until he was nearly pressed against Aiden. His hands yanked the knife from Aiden's shoulder, causing blood to spurt, and he clung to the weapon so tightly his knuckles turned white. The officer stared unblinking into the darkness, searching for something—anything—that had dispatched his men in a heartbeat.

And then, he thought he saw a figure move within the shadows.

Plop.

The sound was muffled. Something warm and sticky splattered across Aiden's cheek.

The officer seemed frozen in place for a second before collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut. His body lurched forward, striking Aiden's shoulder before hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

Aiden's eyes instinctively dropped.

A dagger protruded from the top of the officer's skull, embedded with such precision that only the hilt was visible. The blade had pierced the bone as if it were butter. The man's eyes, staring blankly at the ceiling, reflected the faint moonlight as a pool of blood began to form.

Aiden inhaled sharply, his breath ragged. His muscles tensed instinctively, but he couldn't move.

Then, in the darkness, two red eyes glowed.

They burned like embers, locked onto him with a predatory intensity. They didn't blink. They didn't shift. They only watched.

Aiden felt his throat go dry.

Slowly, a figure emerged from the darkness.

Step by step, the moonlight revealed Angellon Norvel.

Unlike her military uniform, this time she wore a dark leather hooded cloak, the hem stained with blood. The only thing clearly visible was her face, with that cold, calculating expression. She stopped right at the edge of the light and tilted her head slightly, examining the scene with absolute composure. Then, in an unwavering tone, she let her voice pierce the silence.

"It seems you've been busy in my absence."

Aiden felt his mind struggling to process what he was seeing. The person who had just slaughtered everyone in the room was not a hired assassin or a mercenary. It was Angellon Norvel, a military officer of King Veilon, one of his key pieces in the war game. And yet, there she was, eliminating one of her own men without hesitation.

The Aiden from years ago might have felt fear. But the Aiden of now—the one who had spent years lurking in the shadows—felt only rage.

Something unsettled him. Angellon's eyes. Those red eyes, glowing with an unnatural radiance. It wasn't the glow of someone channeling Terum energy. It was something deeper, wilder. Something that reminded him of a beast lurking in the darkness, waiting to pounce on its prey.

"You're lucky I arrived before you bled out."

Angellon stepped forward, her boot crushing the pool of blood at her feet without the slightest concern.

"Although, you weren't going to die here anyway."

Aiden narrowed his eyes, his breath still ragged.

"What do you want, Angellon?" he spat, his voice hoarse from the dried blood in his mouth.

She smirked, almost amused.

"Even if you manage to leave here, if Veilon wants, he could bring you back. After all, your father is in Asnar."

Aiden felt his stomach churn at the mention of that name. Asnar. The worst possible place for his father to be. And if Veilon had influence there… no, there was no escape.

His mind drifted to memories he had tried to bury. The academy, his years training with his peers to become warriors. The chance he had to be something more. But when a Thalmyr attacked his friend, Aiden saw no other option but to fight. A fight that cost him his freedom.

Because once the conflict ended, everyone sided with the Thalmyr. They always had and always would. The army of King Zephandor, the officers—they all pretended to be neutral while condemning his people, while exiling them, while letting those who committed atrocities against them go unpunished. While his own people were locked away for life, his sentence was no different, even as a young man.

Because he bore the name of his lineage.

Because no matter what he did, he would always be guilty.

And now, Angellon intended to subjugate him in the same way.

"I won't let you drag me down with you," she stated coldly. "If you don't do it willingly, I'll have them go after your father, and then you'll have no choice. You will work for me and do as I say."

Her eyes gleamed with an intense red glow, as if she were waiting to see a flicker of despair in Aiden's. But he merely stared at the floor for a moment, analyzing his situation. His father was in Asnar, a place where no one would lift a finger to help him.

But Aiden wasn't going to let things end like this.

"No," he murmured, spitting out a bit of blood.

Angellon blinked, her expression hardening.

"What do you mean, no?"

Her tone was laced with simmering anger. Did this idiot not understand the situation? If necessary, she would break him until he crawled, begging for his life.

"I'll do it," he said coolly, "but for something in return."

Before she could react, Angellon kicked him in the face. The force of the impact made his vision blur, and a deafening ringing filled his ears. Aiden felt the blood pouring from his mouth.

Angellon leaned down and grabbed his chin, lifting his face with one hand.

Her eyes, wide open, like those of a predator.

"What makes you think you're in a position to negotiate?"

Aiden smiled, his mouth full of blood.

"You can threaten me all you want, but it won't work. You can beat me to death right here, but in that case, you'd be finished. The king will want to know what happened to one of his officers, and if you want me to keep my mouth shut, you'd better give me what I want."

Angellon's fingers trembled with barely contained fury.

"You already know who I am," Aiden continued, his voice firm. "You already know why they imprisoned me."

"What is it that you want?" she snarled through gritted teeth.

Angellon released him and took a step back.

Aiden lifted his gaze, his eyes burning with something beyond hatred.

"I want revenge."

His voice was a whisper, sharp as a blade, filled with years of pent-up resentment.

"I want them to pay for everything they have done. Both me and my clan. The Zhailonites. The Thalmyr. The clans... All that scum that all they have done is crush us, and strip us of everything... Help me with that... and I will work for you."

Aiden spat blood onto the floor, his breathing heavy but steady. His eyes, alight with fury, locked onto Angellon's without wavering. There was no plea in his voice. No fear. Only a promise drenched in vengeance.

For a moment, the room was silent. Only the creaking of the wind against the cracks in the wall disturbed the stillness. Angellon didn't respond immediately. She simply observed him, as if trying to understand every fiber of his being.

Aiden wasn't certain why Angellon served Veilon Thalmyr, but tonight had revealed more than she likely intended. If she were truly on the Zhailonites' side, she would have tried to negotiate with the officer instead of killing him without hesitation. And most importantly: her words—"You will work for me"—left no doubt.

She wasn't just following King Veilon's orders.

It was ironic. Angellon despised the idea of someone beneath her daring to set conditions. But she had already dirtied her hands more than necessary.

What Aiden was asking for… wasn't impossible.

After all, she had already been killing some Zhailonites.

Angellon took a step forward, her boot crunching against the broken stone and dust. Her hand was still stained with blood, the dark liquid drying over her knuckles. She leaned slightly toward him, her shadow stretching over the dim moonlight.

A glint of malice flickered in her eyes as her lips curled into a cruel smile.

"Fine," she murmured, her voice barely a breath between them. Her words slithered like venom.

She straightened, giving Aiden one last look.

"From now on, you are under my command… and I will give you the vengeance you so desperately crave."