Chapter 2

This was a war far beyond mortal understanding—a disaster so unspeakably horrific that even divine beings would cower in dread.

Soul-deep dread coiled tight around Edgar's heart, cold and suffocating. He hunched in on himself, small and insignificant, a single speck of dust caught in an unstoppable tempest of ancient ruin.

He craved to scream, yet no sound would pass his lips. He tried to flee, but his limbs grew heavy as lead, pinned in place by the crushing weight of lost history.

This was no fleeting delusion. Edgar was trapped within the apocalypse, forced to endure every brutal second of its destruction.

Drip.

A thin trail of warm blood trickled from his nostrils, fading into the endless void.

That faint physical sensation shattered his fragile resolve. The raging surge of ancient memories tore through the last fragile barriers of his mind.

"Ah—!"

A scream welled deep in his chest, choked and restrained, escaping only as a ragged, broken whimper. His body convulsed violently, his eyes rolling backward as a wild, untamed power erupted from the very core of his being.

Crash!

An invisible shockwave ripped through the archive chamber, sending stacked scrolls scattering across the stone floor like withered autumn leaves. In a shadowed corner, a lantern's flame flared wildly before sputtering out with a dull pop, plunging the entire lower archive into thick, inescapable darkness.

A tomb-like silence settled over the chamber, cold and final.

Edgar crumpled backward, his skull slamming harshly against the cold stone floor as his consciousness slipped into darkness. Even in unconsciousness, his right hand remained tightly curled around the azure teardrop.

The last shards of cracked clay clung to his sweat-slick palm, thrumming with a faint, wavering glow—like the final, fading breath of a dying star.

*****

Across the city, deep within the Purity Commission's headquarters, a stark reality took hold.

The compound jutted upward like a stark, unadorned obsidian monolith, stripped of all ornamentation. Only a towering royal crest loomed above the main entrance, glaring down at the streets like a cold, unblinking eye.

Time dragged sluggishly within these walls, weighed down by an oppressive aura that pressed heavily on every living soul.

In the depths of the first basement, inside a soundproof chamber lined with precision arcane instruments, a young man sat cross-legged in quiet focus, his eyes sealed shut. Clad in a tailored black tactical uniform, he wore the engraved rank of Captain on his epaulets.

This was Marcus Shaw—the youngest Captain in the Purity Commission's long history. His features were sharp and striking, yet his gaze remained as cold and hollow as the obsidian walls around him, utterly devoid of warmth or mercy.

Without warning, a massive bronze compass mounted on the wall began to tremble violently. Its needle jittered erratically, clicking and rattling with sharp mechanical clatters. At its core, a once-dormant crystal flared to life, blazing with a vivid, searing crimson glow.

Marcus' eyes snapped open in an instant, his gaze sharp enough to slice through steel. He rose to his feet and crossed the room in long, deliberate strides, his focus locked on the frantically trembling compass needle.

"The Taint... Class-A energy surge," Marcus murmured in a flat, frigid tone, his words nothing more than cold, objective observation. "Origin point... the Royal Archives. Interesting."

By the Silent Dynasty's official doctrine, the Taint was defined as a corrupting blight left over from the Lost Era—a foul force that warped minds, spawned catastrophe, and unraveled order across the realm.

The Purity Commission existed for one sole purpose: to hunt it down and purge it completely. And Marcus? He was their deadliest, most flawless instrument of purification.

He showed no sign of alarm, no flicker of unease. With unshakable poise, he reached for the wall intercom and pressed the button. Seconds later, steady, disciplined footsteps echoed down the hallway outside.

"Captain." Two Commission guards stood rigid at attention, their identical uniforms immaculate as they snapped into a formal salute.

"Deploy an elite unit," Marcus ordered in a crisp, commanding voice. "Lock down all entry and exit points around the Royal Archives.

"Primary target: a newly awakened Taint bearer. And mark this clearly." His tone dropped, sharp and unyielding, leaving no room for dispute. "I want the target taken alive."

"Understood, sir!"

The guards departed at once, and the chamber sank back into a suffocating silence. Marcus' gaze drifted back to the blood-red glowing crystal, a faint, cold smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

A faint flame in the dark, finally lit. He wondered just how many buried secrets of the forgotten age this Taint bearer could dig up.

He spun on his heel and strode out of the chamber, his black cloak billowing behind him in the shadows like a predator unfurling its wings before the hunt.

Meanwhile, far away in the Royal Archives, Edgar lay crumpled on the cold stone floor, completely oblivious to the fate closing in fast. All he could recall was an endless, fragmented nightmare: a shattered sky looming overhead, and colossal abominations howling endlessly in the dark.

Danger had already caught his scent. Like sharks drawn to fresh blood, unseen threats slithered out from Highcourt's shadowed corners, circling silently to trap him.