After exiting the chamber, they stepped into a narrow hallway lined with metallic doors on either side—each one marked only by a sequence of runes and numbers, cold and clinical.
"I think it's almost time for them to return to their chambers," Kael murmured.
Almost on cue, the sound of footsteps echoed from the far end—soft at first, then swelling into a dense tide of motion.
Belzebuth turned toward the noise—and froze.
They came in clusters. Children barely able to walk, guided by quiet, watchful adolescents. Adults with tired eyes. A few elders whose backs were stooped and skin weathered, but whose golden pupils still faintly shimmered in the dim light.
The moment their eyes fell on Belzebuth, the entire corridor stopped breathing.
Some gasped. Others recoiled in fear. Most just stared—wide-eyed and unmoving—as if looking upon a ghost from their nightmares.
But when they caught sight of Kael standing beside him, a few relaxed—slightly. Murmurs stirred. Some shifted their weight, but none dared approach.
Belzebuth scanned them, his gaze lingering on their features.
Faint bloodline resonance tickled at the edge of his senses.
Strands of silver threaded through black hair. Golden irises shimmered faintly beneath layers of exhaustion. One child bore hair as pale as moonlight, save for a single streak of soot-colored black. An elder's eyes glowed dimly with a silver halo, faded but unmistakable.
They were the mixed-bloods—like Kael.
All but one.
Amid the cluster of weary figures stood a young man. His hair was pitch black. His eyes matched—cold, unreadable. He laughed softly with the others, perfectly at ease.
But to Belzebuth, something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
There was no resonance. No flicker. Not even a whisper of bloodline recognition.
Umbraen.
A pure one.
Yet none of the others seemed to mind him. They talked with him, welcomed him—as if he belonged with them.
Belzebuth didn't move. Not yet. But his gaze sharpened.
Beside him, Kael's breath caught as he scanned the faces—one by one. Relief bloomed in his chest… until it didn't.
His eyes moved quickly across the crowd, searching. Searching for her.
But she wasn't there.
His heart dropped.
Still, he approached one of the elders—an older woman with streaks of silver in her hair and tears already pooling in her eyes.
He rushed into her arms.
"Mother… I'm back! And I brought help—someone who can free us this time!"
The woman sobbed and clutched him tight.
"You foolish child… Why did you come back? If they catch you here again… they'll kill you!"
"It's alright, Mom. This time is different. I found someone—someone powerful." His voice was urgent. "But… where's Mia? I don't see her anywhere. Did she—did something happen?"
The woman stiffened in his arms.
"That's…" she faltered, voice trembling. "Child, you need to stay calm—"
"Where is she, Mom? What happened to her!?" Kael's voice cracked as panic surged through him.
The woman didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
A heavy silence fell over the hallway. Eyes dropped to the floor. Shoulders sank.
"…She awakened her bloodline," his mother finally whispered. "About a year ago."
Kael froze.
He knew what that meant.
Everyone did.
His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor, tears welling, then spilling freely down his face. No one moved. The grief was collective, shared—and helpless.
Then, a calm but cold voice cut through the silence.
"What happens," Belzebuth asked, "to those who awaken their bloodline?"
The crowd startled. They had forgotten he was even there.
An older man stepped forward, lips parting to explain—
—but Kael spoke first.
His voice was raw.
"When one of us awakens… they're taken away."
He inhaled sharply, as if trying to steady himself.
"They're refined. Slowly. Bit by bit. Our essence is extracted for cultivation experiments."
A bitter pause.
"No one ever comes back."
Belzebuth's gaze narrowed, barely concealing the storm rising within.
"Where is the refining process carried out?" he asked, his voice low—controlled, but seething.
"At the lowest level of the facility," someone answered, their voice almost a whisper.
Belzebuth gave a sharp nod, then raised his hand.
With a simple slashing gesture, the air before him shimmered and split open—a rift in space forming without a sound.
He turned to the gathered crowd and gestured.
"Go."
None hesitated long. A few gasped in awe at the effortless display of spatial magic, but most stepped through without question. What could be worse than staying in this place a moment longer?
They emerged on the other side—at the perimeter of the Cradle of Winter, standing amid the solemn ruins of Oakvale. A shimmering barrier surrounded the village, faint and warm—a protective ward placed by Belzebuth. Earlier, he had cleansed the ruins, a final tribute to those who once lived there.
Kael, however, lingered near the portal, torn with hesitation. His fists clenched.
He wanted to stay. He had to know what happened to Mia.
But Belzebuth turned to him, gaze sharp.
"You'll only get in the way."
Kael opened his mouth to protest—
But the portal pulsed once, brighter.
And the decision was made for him.
With a reluctant sigh, he stepped through… vanishing into the light.
Silence returned to the corridor.
Now alone, Belzebuth turned without pause and made his way deeper into the facility. Finding the elevator, he descended to the lowest level—no resistance, no alarms.
Too easy.
Above, chaos had begun to take root. Researchers and guards had just discovered the mass disappearance of their test subjects. Panic swept through the facility.
One missing experiment? A slap on the wrist.
All of them?
That was execution.
Frantic, they scattered to search—hoping, praying, that somehow they could salvage the situation. Most of them left the compound, fanning out into the icy horizon. A few remained behind, either by duty or bad luck, to guard the core.
It didn't matter.
By the time Belzebuth reached the basement, only a handful of guards and an aging researcher stood in his way.
They lasted seconds.
He cut through them with clinical precision, his eyes cold.
[Ding!]
[You have slain thirty hostile lifeforms.]
[Soul quality: Insufficient.]
[No essence harvested.]
[Growth: Unaffected.]
He continued onward, his steps echoing down the sterile corridor.
At the far end, he found a sealed door—thick, reinforced, humming faintly with containment wards.
A lab.
No—a chamber of refinement.
With a flick of his hand, the locking mechanisms cracked, then shattered. The door groaned open.
Inside, a cold glow lit the room.
Rows upon rows of capsules lined the chamber, each pulsing with a soft blue light. Mist coiled around the bases, and the air reeked of chemicals and dried blood.
Belzebuth stepped forward, approaching the nearest capsule.
And there—through the frosted glass—Belzebuth saw a figure suspended in pale fluid.
Alive.
Barely.
Eyes closed. Skin pallid. Silver-white hair floated like mist in the glowing chamber. Though not too hollowed out yet.
Then, he moved from capsule to capsule.
Some were still breathing—faint, trembling signs of life. But others… others had been hollowed out. Their bodies so emaciated and translucent they looked more like sculpture than flesh. One might mistake them for skeletal remains if not for the occasional twitch of residual nerves.
Even in death, they had found no peace.
Refinement didn't cease with the soul's departure, their body was still slowly turned into energy.
Essence could regenerate albeit slowly, but drained too deeply, the process became terminal. Torturous. Cruel beyond measure.
A slow death masquerading as research.
Fifteen capsules in total. Nine already gone. Six still clinging to life—barely—kept alive by the capsule's artificial infusion of life energy.
Belzebuth didn't hesitate.
With a flick of his fingers, he wrapped each remaining capsule in a reinforced spatial barrier, marked them with a sigil, and sent them to Oakvale—where safety awaited.
His gaze lingered a moment longer on the dead.
Then, he turned and pressed the only button on the nearby panel still flashing red: ALERT.
A siren wailed.
Far above, the guards and researchers still out in the field froze.
Then they ran.
They surged back toward the facility—panic rising. Blood smeared the floor at every turn. Their comrades were dead. The capsules empty. Their worst fear realized.
"They had returned and freed the others!"
But the truth struck colder: they were too late.
The moment they reached the lower levels, the walls began to shake. Lights flickered. A hum built in the air.
They didn't even have time to scream.
The ground caved. The entire facility collapsed inward, swallowed by a singularity of force.
Their bodies were crushed in silence.
No grave. No name. No legacy.
Only ash.
Back in the village, the mixed-blood survivors gathered around the capsules.
Some knelt weeping beside the lifeless. Others wept with joy as loved ones stirred within the transparent shells.
With gentle care, they opened the capsules holding the dead, carrying the bodies out to be buried with dignity at last.
Belzebuth stood silently nearby.
A soft glow pulsed from his body—uncontrolled, unconscious—yet warm and steady like sunlight breaking through snow-laced clouds. The life energy he now understood but could not command flowed freely into the capsules, drawn by the desperation etched into the bodies inside.
Those barely clinging to life began to recover.
The color returned to their cheeks.
Their breathing stabilized.
And then—they woke.
One by one, the survivors jolted upright, limbs shaking. Their gazes darted around in panic.
Then, as if fearing the pain might return at any moment, they scrambled out of the capsules with desperate urgency. Some cried. Others collapsed into waiting arms. The trauma still clung to their every breath.
From the capsule that he found first, a young girl got out. And then he saw Kael immediately hugging her. It seems like this is the person that he was searching back in the facility–Mia
Seeing them remind him of a memory five centuries ago.
It seems like we were also like that at the time. Wait for me, Ayane
But one capsule remained unopened.
Inside, a lone figure floated in stillness.
Unlike the others, she didn't jolt awake or claw her way out. She simply… remained. Suspended in the fluid, her silver-white hair drifting like mist, her chest faintly rising with breath.
The life energy pouring from Belzebuth seemed drawn to her—more than to any other. It streamed toward the capsule, and he instinctively guided it, narrowing the flow.
Still, she absorbed. As if her very soul demanded it.
Belzebuth narrowed his eyes, frowning—but said nothing.
He didn't notice the crowd behind him.
Didn't hear how their whispers fell into reverent silence.
Didn't see how they slowly, quietly stepped back… forming a circle around him and the capsule.
And at the very front stood the young Umbraen man.
His hands clenched at his sides.
His breath held.
His eyes… never left the capsule.