It was a dark day. Smoke and screams filled the air while red snow fell. A soldier threw a corpse into a rampant fire that had been feasting on a mountain of bodies, scattering a pungent odor into the heavy iron sky. A woman huddled her children in a corner, attempting to cover the sight of their father's murder only for her neck to be snapped. Cries and wails futilely resisted the men's steel grip, dragging numerous children to the town square.

"Sir, we have blighted every house and killed every adult. Not a single sign of Resulatt."

"Indeed, Conrad. It seems that this village was an incorrect guess."

The man's amethyst eyes leered at the congested children like they were a herd of cattle. Weak, vulnerable cattle that stood in the face of a Greatwolf. They'd flinch whenever they heard the dense creaking of metal armor, many of them had already broken into a silent sob. The man ran his calloused fingers over his abyssal cloak, tracing to the sheath fixed on his leather belt.

"Perhaps if we kill the children, Resulatt will reveal himself." He drew a blade, one so thin that it could break from the slightest gust of wind. The sun glistened on its brittle silver structure.

"Sir, that is morally unjust."

"Correct. Let's kill half of them."

Conrad furrowed his brow.

"Sir, I again don't thi-"

The man burst into laughter.

"That was simple jest, as much of a malevolent person I am, I do not condone killing children. My lackeys, apprehend them, leave them as dragon fodder."

The children broke into frenzied screams, toppling one another in desperation to escape, leading to cuts and bruises inflicted by the apathetic soldiers. They oozed a dull, authoritarian aura. From that point on, nobody dared to let out a squeak.

"Seraph, perform one final check of this village, leave no survivors nor any erected architecture."

"Certainly, sir."

"No need for formalities, vice-captain. Refer to me as Kieran."

The woman nodded, her scarlet hair sparked in contrast with her dreary eyes. She departed from the scene to augment the ongoing arson, her footfalls were as quiet as a cat. Seraph approached a small house, where she picked up faint cries in the nearby alleyway. It was a small girl, poorly enveloped by a tattered fleece. Her eyes glowed a crimson red, contrasted by the blue tears dripping down her cheek. The girl's face bore a wrathful sorrow, patches of blood spread across her soft face as her brown hair rested on her shoulders. The girl noticed the female soldier, rupturing a fierce glare into her soul. Seraph's sunken eyes stared at the girl's vicious rubies.

"That's not a good face to make, it'll ruin your beauty."

Seraph took off her leather coat and covered the girl.

"Don't move till the day breaks." She instructed.

The girl's face shifted into greater sadness, sniffling in an attempt to stay quiet. Seraph left her, igniting an orange stone and throwing it into the house, exploding it into debris of various wood and bricks. She returned to the town square, her face unwavering while bits of ash amassed on her white tunic.

"Checking in, Si- Kieran. No Spirit Warlocks found, no survivors found."

"Excellent. Conrad, we fall back to camp." Conrad nodded and waved to signal the troops. They all gradually disappeared from the town square, leaving dozens of traumatized children in its epicenter. The smell of unsupervised kids filled the air, and an unknown bloodlust exuded a foul stench as gnashing echoed from the nearby trees. A green leg emerged from the thorny bushes; it was a creature all too familiar. One that was always included in fables for the misbehaved. They were mischievous, greedy, and filthy–Goblins.

One leg turned into two, two turned into four, four turned into eight, and eight turned into a malignity. Their pointed ears shriveled in excitement and their wide jaws contorted into a ghastly grin. Their yellow eyes locked onto the helpless cattle, and their rough tongues rolled against their knives. The children cowered and yelled, only to be met with manic laughter and advancement. Their yells turned into shrieks and cries— they yearned for their parents, for anyone to save them.

And someone did.

A frail girl jumped in front of the impending attack, her arm stretched out with a grimace. A dozen scarlet needles the size of the girl materialized around her, suspended in place. She screamed a resounding roar, one that turned the air metallic. The needles propelled into the approaching goblins, piercing their bellies, torsos, and heads. Their bodies rag-dolled onto the soil, as the needles dissipated into the air.

The girl huffed in exhaustion, clutching her chest before falling to the ground, leaving the children awestruck, but safe.

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It was sicker than anything we have encountered. The town had been completely erased from the map, its once-great architecture had been wiped out. Embers still flared from the dilapidated ruins, the streets were soiled with fresh blood, the women defiled and the men murdered—their bodies mutilated into unidentifiable shells. I was disgusted.

"Calm down, Resulatt. I too, am outraged."

It took us five minutes to find the only survivors— thanks to a putrid stench—they were a dozen children. Nearly all of them had collapsed from shock, and only a select few were awake, these children bore a similarity: an octagram mark. The outliers were just shy of ten years old, yet they expressed no signs of fear.

I didn't know if I felt scared or grateful that these children were alive. My eyes had just processed the scene of numerous dead goblins. A certain girl a bit younger than the rest was also unconscious, but she lay in front of the pack. The goblins had clean punctures in their heads and torsos, their usual swamp-green color had deviated into a pale gray.

The surrounding skin of their wounds lacked hemoglobin, which was unusual. Only kin of the Harrison family left their enemies anemic. It was improbable, that bloodline is from a whole different continent and they would rather reside in the Citadel.

It couldn't be vampires either. Sure, they have broken free of the curse of day, but the wounds don't add up. Unless it's the girl? I glanced at the unconscious lass and retreated to the kids.

"Hey, did any of you witness this girl kill those goblins?"

The woke children ignored me, their eyes grew bleak and ultimately shut, reminding me of my initial task.

"Everyone! Untie the kids and provide aid to the wounded! Dante, relay a message for seven carriages and a meeting with a Citizen orphanage. This town is irrecoverable."

"..."

"Yes sir."

That day still haunts me, and even though I retired years ago, I nor Godfrey have forgotten that nightmarish scene.

"Old man, who's going to inherit me? You and I know that you don't have much time left."

"I get it Godfrey, there's no need for nagging."

I shrugged him off with a scowl, trying to hide the fact that I still didn't have an inheritor. Besides Ky, nobody is of the standard to inherit Godfrey, and he already got Tybalt from Rosina.

"Ack! What does it matter..."

"It does matter, has your insolence forgotten my status in your world? I chose you, be grateful and find someone suitable— that is the minimum."

"You tell me, is there anyone suitable?"

Godfrey furrowed his brow and his face darkened. We both knew no vessel was compatible.

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Upon reaching the river, I frantically examined the surroundings, hoping I'd catch a glimpse of a crate-like object, preferably with wrapping.

"Hey Tybalt, where's the present you were talking about?"

"It's right here."

Power surged through me again. I prepared myself for the ignition of my body, gritting my teeth and clutching my tunic. My body ignited, but this time, the pain wasn't severe, and it didn't last as long. Relieved, I gazed at my reflection. It was the same as last time, just with one difference; a sparking halo hovered over my half hat.

"Erm, can you hear me? I am the halo above you. Surprisingly, your body grew more tolerant of me. This is simply a fraction of me–the more you grow stronger, the more able I am to turn into a person again."

My body is adjusting to Tybalt's blessing, I'm becoming stronger. I curled my fist, I couldn't help but feel satisfied. All that time spent waiting and sulking, it was worth it.

"Anyway," Tybalt announced. "Since your Fluxi has been unlocked, now is a good time to unleash all of that accumulated Energy."

"Huh? Accumulated energy? How is that possible if my Fluxi has just been unlocked?"

Tybalt groaned.

"Resulatt hasn't even explained the basics?"

"No...?"

"Fluxi behave similarly to pressure valves; they're built to withstand a certain amount of pressure before releasing. If the pressure goes beyond the valve's threshold, it will explode. Similarly, if too much Energy is accumulated and goes beyond your Flux's threshold, it will explode, and your limbs will be completely wiped from reality."

"Right...but what is a pressure valve?"

"Damn. I forgot that the Steampunks haven't visited yet."

"Steampunks? Like the people who live in the sky?"

"Nice thinking genius, why do you think the people of the sky are called Aetherians?" she snarked.

"Anyway, I get this gist of it, now what do you want me to do?"

"Essentially, every person's energy manifests in their own unique way. This is influenced by a number of factors; bloodline, personality, ideals, etc. This uniqueness is called Zhangwan. And the whole Whitemaw family is a special case."

"Okay, thanks for the information, but it's not what I asked?"

"Hush, mortal. This is the consequence of having no fundamental Flux Theory."

I hiss at her in retaliation.

"You Whitemaws, have no Zhangwan. The Coyotes have their flare, and the Zeppelins have their radiance. Whitemaws, however, have nothing. But in exchange for that, this is the only family capable of becoming vessels for various deities and gods, hence, technically pertaining Zhangwan. Fundamentally, you don't, but theoretically, you do."

"..."

"No matter! You have me, Ky. I will lend you my strength. Let's conjure a simple spell."

Tybalt instructed me to extend my arm with my palm facing out. This is a common stance since the palm contains the most accessible Fluxi node. Imagery is a big part of correct casting—you have to tell your body where the proper channeling direction is for maximum efficiency.

"Focus all your Energy in your palm, and then release it. The more the charge, the more powerful the spell."

I closed my eyes and focused on my palm like Tybalt instructed me. My veins expanded as I felt my blood circulate and amass at my focus point. Taking slow, consistent, deep breaths, I subsequently felt a viable amount of Energy accumulate, so I relaxed my wrist.

Heat released as quickly as I felt it. I opened my eyes and a bolt of fire sailed across the wind. I did it, my first spell! I exclaimed in joy, I hadn't felt this happy since the kiss from Aeri.

"You're still far from the same caliber as your mother and father, but it's a job well done."

Even though Tybalt wasn't in her full form, I still felt the warm smile she gave—the halo flared brighter than before. I casted spells over and over again in succession. Even though the projectile was a bit slow and I could only conjure one at a time, it was a start. The start of my path to becoming a Warlock.