The battlefield was ablaze.

Flames roared across the land, their golden tongues licking at the bodies strewn across the scorched earth. Blood soaked the ground—human and inhuman alike. The clash of steel against steel, the wails of the dying, the guttural roars of demons—each sound beat against her ears like a war drum.

The air was thick with the acrid stench of burning flesh, a suffocating blend of smoke and death. The sky, once a brilliant blue, had been devoured by a swirling vortex of darkness—a void that seemed to drink in the very light of the world.

She stood at the heart of the carnage, gripping a sword that gleamed with ethereal light. It felt both foreign and familiar in her grasp, as though it had belonged to her in another lifetime. Its weight pressed into her palm like an extension of her very soul.

And beside her, cutting through the chaos like a blade incarnate, was him.

A golden-haired warrior, his presence radiating an almost divine brilliance. His armor, battered and scorched, still shimmered as though defying the filth and ruin around him. Every movement was precise; every swing of his blade cut down the horrors that dared stand before him. He fought like a man with nothing left to lose—and everything left to protect.

Alioth.

She knew his name, yet could not understand how. It was etched into the core of her being, as undeniable as the blood in her veins.

He turned to her, urgency and sorrow woven into his expression.
“We don’t have much time, Star.”

Her breath hitched.

This moment—it felt real. More than a dream. More than an illusion.
It was a memory.

And yet… she did not remember ever living it.

A deep, resonant growl rolled across the battlefield, rattling her very bones.

The ground cracked beneath her feet as something massive—something ancient—rose from the depths of darkness.

A monstrous entity of shadow and flame loomed before them, its hollow eyes burning with a malevolence vast enough to consume the world. It was more than a demon. More than an enemy.

It was Nibelung.

The name burned into her mind, searing itself into her soul as though she had always known it—even before she was born.

The entity raised a clawed hand, darkness coiling around it like tendrils of living night.

A searing pain detonated in her chest.

Her gasp vanished into the chaos as a blade of pure darkness pierced through her, its malevolent energy swallowing her whole. It was cold—so unbearably cold it burned.

She staggered, the light of her sword flickering.

Alioth’s figure blurred, his blue eyes widening in horror.

He reached for her, anguish tearing across his face.
“No—STAR!”

The battlefield dissolved.
The flames dimmed.
Everything collapsed into nothingness.

On the other side…

The river was merciless.

Icy water surged around him, flooding his lungs, dragging him deeper into the abyss. The current howled in his ears—a relentless force pulling him down like unseen hands determined to claim him. Every breath he tried to take was stolen, his chest tightening in agony.

Above him, on the riverbank, a towering figure stood unmoving.

His father.

Clad in a pristine officer’s uniform, his posture rigid, his expression carved from stone. Even from beneath the water, Siegfried could see the disappointment in his father’s blue eyes.

“Get up, Siegfried.”

The words rang through the depths, cold and sharp as steel.

He tried. He kicked. He struggled. But his body felt heavy, his limbs numb with exhaustion. The river wrapped around him like chains of ice, dragging him ever downward.

He had failed. Again.

A younger Siegfried had trained endlessly for this moment. He had pushed past exhaustion, endured brutal lessons, relentless discipline, endless drills—all to receive his Gnosis.

It had not been enough.

His father had defeated him effortlessly, deflecting every strike, countering every move. Siegfried had fought with everything he had, but it made no difference. With a final, decisive blow, his father had sent him crashing into the river—punishment for weakness.

The cold seeped into his bones as the weight of failure pressed down on him. The water swallowed his screams, his despair, his shame.

A thought crept into his mind—
Maybe he should stop fighting.
Let go.
Let the river take him.

But then—

No.

A spark ignited deep within his soul.

A voice—his own—rose from the depths of his mind.

I am not weak.

Defiance surged through him. He forced his body to move, kicking upward as his limbs screamed in protest. The river resisted—pulling, dragging, crushing.

But he fought.

He fought like his life depended on it.

And then—

Warmth erupted within him, spreading through his veins like fire. A searing light ignited in his chest, so intense it rivaled the cold.

The water around him trembled, reacting to the force awakening inside him. A faint glow enveloped his body, flickering like a dying ember—before bursting into radiant brilliance.

And then he broke the surface.

Air tore into his lungs as he gasped, coughing violently, choking on water. His vision blurred; the world spun. The riverbank was a distant smear of gray.

His father was gone.

But something had changed.

Siegfried’s trembling hands clawed into the earth as he pulled himself onto the shore. His soaked uniform clung to his skin like chains, yet he barely noticed. He was burning—not with pain, but with power.

A mark shimmered faintly on the back of his hand—ancient, intricate, glowing with ethereal light.

His Gnosis.

His breath came fast and ragged as he stared at it, realization settling in.

He had escaped the river.

But not his past.