A Tamia's Tale

"Are you sure about this?" Jason asked, his brow furrowing as he handed Kanami a small bag, light enough to hang comfortably at her waist. His voice carried a mix of concern and doubt, but he kept his tone even, not wanting to show too much of the unease gnawing at him.

Kanami nodded firmly, securing the bag to her belt. "I am. There's nothing left for me here, Jason." Her tone was resolute, her movements deliberate as she adjusted the strap, her fingers working quickly. "I've already thought it through."

The ex-captain that had now taken his position anew crossed his arms. "Thought it through, huh? And where exactly are you planning to go?" he said, searching her eyes for any sign of hesitation.

"I thought about going back to Ryuuji, in the mountains." 

"You're not going back to your village, I see…" he sighed. He knew that no matter how much he hated this, he had no choice but to let her go. "Is it because of Luka?" he finally asked, pointing out her switch in behavior ever since the otherworlder had left this place. 

"No one knows where he is," he continued. "It's better to assume he is either dead or back to his own world."

Kanami froze for a moment, her fingers pausing mid-adjustment on the strap of her bag. Jason's words cut through the air like a blade, sharp and deliberate. She clenched her jaw, refusing to let her emotions show, but the flicker of pain in her eyes betrayed her.

"Maybe you're right," she said finally. "But that doesn't change anything for me." She straightened, meeting her captain's gaze with resolve. "I'm leaving because I need to get stronger. And because…"

She paused for a moment. After their little expedition to Ryuuji, she realized how little the two of them talked to each other., how little she knew about him. But in the end, she knew that he would have wanted for her to find her own place.

To finally do something she wanted to do.

"I want to find my own path." she finally stated, a slight smile drawn on her face.

Jason's expression softened, though his arms remained crossed. He studied her for a moment, before finally letting out a long, drawn-out sigh.

"You really are of the same family…" he chuckled to himself. "Fine. But promise me you will visit your grandma once in a while."

Kanami's smile grew a fraction, and she bowed respectfully. "That was always the plan, sir."

With that, she turned and began to leave the room, her steps light but purposeful. At the threshold, she paused, looking back at the man who had been a steadfast presence in her life. Her gaze met his, though her eyes deliberately drifted to his tightening hands to avoid any accidental activation of her curse.

"Thank you for everything, Captain," she said, her voice steady but heartfelt. "You truly are incredible."

Jason blinked, momentarily taken aback by her sincerity. Then, with a faint smile and a nod, he responded. "And you're a very courageous person. Take care of yourself out there."

She gave a final bow before stepping out into the open air, the sun casting her shadow as she began her journey. Jason watched her go, his chest heavy with a mixture of pride and worry.

"Good luck, Kanami," he murmured, the words lost to the wind as the door swung shut behind her.

"I hope you find what you're looking for."

The holy city, the stronghold of the church worshipping the three dragon gods, was a sight that inspired awe and reverence in all who approached it.

This was the place where thousands of worshippers and pilgrims gathered each year to receive the blessings of the revered dragon gods. It stood as a beacon of faith and tradition, its grandeur unmatched in the known lands.

If Luka were there to describe it, he would compare it to a harmonious blend of Greek and Roman architecture. Grand circular domes rose high into the sky, supported by immense marble pillars etched with intricate carvings depicting the deeds of the gods. Statues of dragons, poised in flight or coiled protectively, adorned the city's entrances and the many shrines scattered within.

The city's white limestone houses, lined along winding streets, seemed untouched by the passage of time. Their walls bore a smooth, ancient sheen, standing resolute as if they had been present since the world's inception. Beneath the radiant sunlight, the city gleamed, casting long, cool shadows against its stone-paved roads.

Fountains and parks were scattered everywhere for the weary travelers to rest in, people in white cloaks embroidered with gold walked around in quietude and sculptors and artists of every genre worked tirelessly to bring life to the city.

In the center of it all stood the Grand Temple, Drakilopia, the heart of the city and the pinnacle of artistry. Its five towering spires seemed to pierce the heavens themselves, their elegant peaks glinting in the sunlight. Stained-glass windows adorned the temple's walls, their vibrant hues transforming the light into a kaleidoscope that bathed the courtyard in an ethereal glow. Atop the central dome, a colossal statue of Veo, the revered dragon god of creation, stood as a sentinel. Its wings stretched wide, coiled protectively around the dome, while its tail curved majestically above the temple's grand entrance, exuding both power and serenity.

Despite its timeless grandeur, the holy city was relatively young. It had been rebuilt a mere three centuries ago, rising from the ashes of its predecessor following the catastrophic events of the Great Demonic War. This devastating conflict, one of the most harrowing chapters in recorded history, began with an invasion led by Loki, the demon of malice and illusion.

The original city, far to the east of the current location, was a beacon of faith and civilization. But Loki's forces, shrouded in illusion and chaos, swept across the land, reducing the city to ruins and leaving its people slaughtered. The invasion seemed unstoppable until the emergence of Luvon Cradan, a hero whose courage and strength turned the tide of the war. Luvon's defeat of Loki marked the beginning of the demon's retreat, but the cost was monumental.

Not long after Loki's defeat, the wrath of Araël, a cataclysmic force, obliterated what remained of the eastern lands. A great portion of the continent sank into the sea, erasing the old city from the map and rendering the region inhospitable. In the wake of this devastation, the surviving leaders of the church sought a new sanctuary for their faith. They chose a site at the midpoint between the northern desert and the rugged mountain range—a strategic and symbolic location equidistant from the bustling cities of Sora and Fyr.

Today marked the commemoration of this pivotal event, celebrating the resilience of the faithful and the reconstruction of the magnificent holy city. The streets were alive with a sea of people who had gathered from all horizons. Merchants sprawled their wares to form colorful stalls, performers entertained with music and acrobatics, and the air buzzed with the mingling of conversations and laughter. 

On the central platform of the temple courtyard, a priest dressed in ceremonial robes addressed the crowd. His voice boomed across the square, amplified by the acoustics of the architecture. He spoke of faith, unity, and the divine protection of the dragon gods.

Amidst the jubilant crowd, a cloaked figure moved quietly, weaving through the sea of people. The figure's head was bowed low, their scarf wrapped tightly around their neck, trailing behind them like a dark ribbon caught in the wind. The mask that covered their face was plain, dark, and featureless, a stark contrast to the colorful festival attire of those around them.

The cloaked figure was a mystery, moving with an uncanny fluidity through the crowd, unnoticed yet never truly blending in. The people around them shifted without a second thought, caught in the frenzy of celebration, their attention fixed on the priest and the divine spectacle unfolding before their eyes.

But for the figure, the spectacle held no allure. Their gaze, hidden behind the mask, remained focused ahead, moving toward a destination that only they knew. Each step was deliberate as if they had already walked this path a thousand times in their mind. 

Until they reached the altar.

The cloaked figure moved with quiet precision, their footsteps barely making a sound on the marble floor as they entered the inner sanctum. The room was circular, its walls adorned with intricate carvings of dragons and celestial patterns. At the center of the room stood a single stone altar, bathed in a ray of pure, golden light that seemed to come from nowhere but the dome above. The light illuminated the altar like a sacred offering, casting long shadows on the walls as if the very air was holding its breath in reverence.

The altar was simple, yet imposing—a flat, smooth surface carved from a single piece of ancient stone, its edges worn with the passage of time. No offerings lay upon it, no incense burned, only the pure, unblemished light that danced across the room like a silent prayer. It was as though the altar itself was waiting for something—someone—to fulfill its purpose.

"So this is here…" the cloaked figure murmured to itself.

"And so, this is how I managed to cut that tree in half, master!" a voice boomed behind them, vibrant and cheerful, followed by a more composed and stern one.

"Good, Lupus. Your training as a hero is going well."

The cloaked figure turned sharply at the sound of the voice behind them. Without a moment of doubt, they went straight into hiding, right behind the altar. The soft hum of the room's energy was now replaced by the footsteps of two individuals approaching.

Lupus, a young man with silver hair and a broad grin stepped forward, his hand resting proudly on his sword. His blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, a stark contrast to the man beside him. A slender figure, dressed in a white robe and wearing glasses. He was tall, imposing with a stoic expression, and exuded an air of authority and stillness. 

"Now, do your prayer and you can be dismissed, Lupus," the master's voice echoed through the walls of the room. 

"Yes, master!" the young hero answered cheerfully, before stepping right beside the altar and kneeling in a prayer. 

The cloaked figure remained still, pressing their back flat against the cold stone of the altar, barely daring to breathe. Every muscle in their body tensed, and their mind raced. The young hero Lupus was close—too close. The figure could hear his rhythmic breathing as he knelt before the altar, his voice murmuring an almost sing-song prayer under his breath.

Meanwhile, his mentor, the tall man in the white robe, stood a few steps back, his eyes scanning the room with the same quiet intensity he had carried since entering. His gaze lingered on the altar for a moment, and the figure felt their heart skip a beat. They had to remain hidden. If the mentor noticed them, everything would be lost.

For a long moment, the silence stretched, broken only by the sound of Lupus's prayer. The cloaked figure could feel the weight of their presence in the room, but they knew they had to wait.

Lupus, oblivious to the figure lurking in the shadows, finished his prayer with a cheerful hum. "There!" he said with a grin, standing up and turning to his master.

"Good," the man replied. "Now, go help the sisters prepare the next festivities."

Lupus grinned wider, already moving towards the exit with his usual enthusiasm. "Okay! Bye, Master Julian!"

The mentor gave a silent nod, watching as Lupus bounded toward the door. But before he followed, he stopped and glanced toward the altar again. 

"Now, would you come out of here? This place isn't for hiding," the mentor said coldly, his arms crossed behind him.

With a sigh, the cloaked figure stepped out from behind the altar and they faced Master Julian. 

The air was thick with tension, a single movement and one of them would strike. Julian stood tall, his white robe immaculate, his glasses catching the light as he studied the figure before him. 

"Now," Julian continued, readjusting his glasses. "Who are you? And what were you doing behind that altar?"

Julian could see the figure's body tense, but without betraying any ill will.

"That kid, he was an Edensveel?" the figure asked, its voice muffled by the mask.

Master Julian's gaze hardened at the question, his posture remaining unyielding as he considered the masked figure before him. The air around them seemed to grow even heavier as an unseen hostility emanated from the cloaked man.

"I don't see why I should answer a question about identity to a man wearing a mask," Julian replied, a smirk cornering his lips.

"And I don't see why I should pretend he is one," the masked man replied with a snark. "Like everyone else here. Does he know…"

Julian's eyes narrowed and took a step forward. 

"That he is just an abomination created by the church?"

"I repeat, who are you? And what do you want?" Julian repeated, this time with a dangerous undertone.

The masked figure stood unmoving as Julian's words sliced through the tension in the room. The soft hum of mana in the air filled the silent room. 

The figure stood unfazed, his voice came with deliberate calmness but not without a sharp edge to it that annoyed the priest.

"I want to talk to see the Grand Priest. And I'm here to stop this madness that you've perpetuated for hundreds of years."

Julian's eyes hardened, the anger in his expression barely concealed. His posture remained rigid, but the coldness in his voice betrayed the building tension.

"Stop what madness?" Julian's tone was cutting, his hand tightening into a fist. "It is this very what you call madness that saved humanity countless times. You speak as though you know the truth, barge into a sacred place with your baseless accusations, and demand to see the Grand Priest? How insolent."

The masked figure did not flinch at the priest's anger. Instead, his voice remained steady, almost too relaxed. "I am convinced this place is corrupted with demonic interference. Otherwise, you wouldn't have created such a half-hazard hero on such short notice. How old is he? Three days-old? Four?"

"That's enough!" Julian's face contorted with rage, the calm demeanor that usually defined him unraveling in an instant. His hand clenched into a fist, his knuckles white with anger as he took a step forward, closing the distance between himself and the masked figure.

"You speak of things you don't understand!" Julian's voice was a low growl, the power behind his words shaking the air around them. "The creation of heroes, the preservation of humanity, and the very church you now insult—none of it is as simple as you make it out to be. We have fought for centuries to protect this world from the very demons you claim we are in league with!"

The cloaked man smirked, his voice dripping with derision as he leaned slightly forward. "Is that why your brother cooperated with the demons? What was his name again...?"

He clapped his hands together, a mocking gesture that echoed through the room. "Oh, right! Julius! Have you heard the latest rumors? I heard he died in Sora."

The words hung in the air like poison, cutting through the tension between them. Julian's face twisted with a surge of anger, his control slipping for just a moment.

"Enough!" Julian roared, his voice reverberating off the ancient stone walls, the sound of it ringing like thunder. The temperature in the room dropped sharply, and the very air seemed to warp around him as mana surged from his body, crackling with raw power. His fingers curled into a fist, every muscle in his body coiling with pent-up fury.

For a brief moment, the cloaked figure's expression faltered, his eyes narrowing, and he instinctively raised his arms in a defensive posture. But it was too late.

Without warning, Julian surged forward, moving with the speed of a predator. His fist shot out like a lightning strike, the air splitting with a sound that could shatter glass. The cloaked man's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he twisted his body to the side, narrowly avoiding the punch, the force of it cracking the stone floor beneath them.

The ground trembled, and dust exploded into the air from the impact. The cloaked figure, though visibly shaken by the force, remained on his feet, his mask barely concealing the surprise in his eyes.

"Damn, you pack a punch…" he whispered to himself, seeing the damage caused by this single punch. "Is that really how you want to solve this?"

Julian's response was immediate, his voice laced with venom. "I can smell the stench of a monster," he spat, his eyes narrowing as he readjusted his glasses, the calmness of his demeanor at odds with the building storm inside him. Slowly, deliberately, he began to unfasten his robe, the fabric pooling at his feet with a soft rustle.

The mask-covered figure tensed, momentarily unsure of what to expect, but Julian's next movement caught him off guard. As the robe fell away, Julian revealed his upper body—tattoos of dragons, intricately detailed and pulsing with a faint, glowing energy, covered his back and arms. The designs were ancient, and though they looked like mere symbols of devotion, there was something far sinister beneath them. The power they radiated was unmistakable.

"You know nothing," Julian repeated, his voice now a cold whisper, dripping with anger. "You are but a fool to come in here and make a mockery of the church, of our history."

"Runes…" the cloaked figure murmured upon examining the tattoos. Carved symbols granting powers to the one using them. Their power was unrivaled when drawn directly onto the skin.

"I will not let you see the Grand Priest. Someone filled with the stench of blood like you…"

With a sharp inhale, the runes on his body glowed even brighter. 

"Should disappear from this sacred place!" 

In a flash, Julian's body surged with speed, and with a ferocious burst of energy, he vanished from his original position. The air itself seemed to tremble as the floor beneath him cracked and splintered, sending a shockwave through the room.

Before the cloaked figure could react, Julian was there. Standing right next to him, barely a breath away.

The mana around him was so dense it nearly choked him, but the figure didn't flinch. Without hesitation, Julian aimed a crushing kick at the figure's head, his speed so overwhelming that it seemed like an unstoppable force. The cloaked man, however, remained calm. With a fluid duck, he narrowly avoided the strike, his movements so precise and swift that it almost seemed like he had anticipated the attack.

In the blink of an eye, the wanderer catapulted himself backward, his feet finding purchase against the stone wall as if gravity had no hold on him. He pushed off with a fluid motion, sending himself into the air in a perfect arc, just as Julian crashed into the wall with bone-shaking force. The stone splintered and groaned under the impact, but Julian, relentless, was already springing back to his feet.

The cloaked figure, poised mid-air, twisted his body in the blink of an eye, landing lightly on the opposite wall. His boots skidded against the stone floor, the force sending a crack along the surface.

Julian's gaze narrowed. In the next moment, he was already in pursuit, his body a blur as he launched toward the figure again, his movement as fast as the strike of lightning. He sent a barrage of punches and kicks, each one carrying the full weight of his power, each one coming from a different angle, designed to overwhelm.

"Just stop it already!" the cloaked figure said as he moved out of the way, flipping backward, twisting sideways, his body evading every blow with no unnecessary movements. The room was filled with the sound of rushing wind as the two of them danced through the room. 

Every strike from Julian was lethal to him, yet he anticipated each movement, dodging and weaving with a definitely unnatural fluidity.

Furthermore, something was bothering him. The runes on his body weren't activated all the time but in short bursts, making it difficult to predict when Julian was strong and when he wasn't.

Without having thrown a single attack, the cloaked figure moved again out of the way as Julian poured all of his strength into one punch, creating a shockwave that blew a hole in the wall. 

In usual circumstances, Julian wouldn't have used that much strength but something was gnawing at him. An intuition that told him this killing this man was far more important than everything else. 

"Don't you have pity for Lupus?" the cloaked figure tried to reason with him. "You know they will send him to fight against the demons, right?"

"Such is his destiny," Julian answered, his breath controlled and unhindered even after such effort.

"Just like all the others that fell before him?" 

Julian froze for the briefest of moments, his stance tightening as the words settled over him. His brows furrowed, but before doubt could take hold, he forced it away. "Eran created the Edensveel to fight against the demons," he said, his voice colder than before, resolute. "If they died, it was for humanity's sake."

The cloaked figure exhaled sharply, a sound halfway between a sigh and a growl. "Why are you trying so hard…" he murmured, his teeth clenched. Though he moved with precision and agility, his frustration was beginning to seep through. Internally, he hated this—hated every second of this confrontation.

"Then," the cloaked man continued, his voice low, "I have one last question. If you answer me, I'll leave this place."

Julian straightened slightly, his glowing tattoos dimming for a moment as he regarded the figure. His expression was unreadable, his glasses catching the light. "Ask away," he said. "I shall decide your fate once you do."

"Was Kaeris Edensveel supposed to fight the demons too?"

Julian's eyes widened, his body momentarily freezing as though struck by an unseen blow. The name reverberated in his mind, pulling at something buried deep. Of course, this was no genuine question; it was rhetorical. The man in front of him already knew the answer.

And with that, Julian's thoughts crystallized. He no longer viewed the intruder as an annoyance or a mere threat to the sanctity of the temple. No—this man knew far too much. Too much about the Edensveel, too much about Kaeris, and by extension, too much about the church's darkest truths.

Julian's eyes grew cold, the analytical precision of a scholar replaced by the unfeeling stare of a predator. His lips parted, his voice low and deadly.

"Die."

The tattoos across his body ignited with renewed intensity, the runes glowing like molten lava as Julian's mana surged. In a flash, he lunged forward, the sheer force of his movement fracturing the stone beneath his feet as he closed the gap between them in an instant.

"I see. That's a shame," the cloaked figure muttered, his voice calm but tinged with regret. His eyes, hidden behind his mask, darkened in resignation.

In an instant, the room was filled with a sharp crack, a blinding red flash illuminating every corner. The air seemed to freeze for a moment as a wave of unnatural energy pulsed through the space. Julian didn't even have time to process what was happening.

Before he could deliver his blow, a searing pain—so sharp and sudden it didn't even register—cut through him. His vision blurred, then went completely dark. His body froze in mid-motion, and he crumpled to the ground in silence, his momentum stopped as if by an unseen force.

It was only after his lifeless form hit the marble floor, split cleanly in two, that the figure's hand lowered, crimson blood covering its fingers.

A man not wearing a blade, cutting through flesh as if it were butter.

"I'm sorry." the figure murmured, his voice barely audible, staring at Julian's motionless form. Regret laced every word, heavy and sincere. There was no triumph in his tone, only an unshakable sense of sorrow.

"What happened here?" a voice interrupted, sharp and alarmed. The sound of rushing footsteps filled the sanctum as shadows of several people appeared in the doorway.

The cloaked figure tensed, not turning to face them yet. His gaze remained fixed on Julian's form, his thoughts swirling.

"I-Is that… Master Julian?" a familiar voice called out. The silver-haired boy, Lupus, stepped forward, his expression a mix of disbelief and horror. His wide blue eyes darted between the motionless body and the man standing above it.

"Who… Who are you?" Lupus's voice cracked, trembling as he took a step closer, his hand trembling near the hilt of his sword.

The cloaked figure finally moved, but not to answer. Without a word, he leaped through the gaping hole in the wall, disappearing into the shadows beyond.

"Chase after him! We have a murderer!" voices cried out as the sanctum erupted into chaos. Guards flooded the room, their weapons drawn, rushing to pursue the fleeing figure.

But Lupus didn't move. He stood frozen, his tear-filled eyes locked on Julian's bloody form. His chest heaved, and his fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms until blood dripped onto the marble floor.

A lump formed in his throat, choking the scream that yearned to escape. Hot tears spilled down his face, blurring his vision. An unknown feeling surged within him—rage, raw and all-consuming, filling every corner of his being.

"I… Will… Kill you…" Lupus's voice was low and shaky, his body trembling. With a final, guttural sob, he fell to his knees beside Julian's body, his grief swallowing him whole.

It was the day after this commemoration, that the young Julius started his long heroic journey. The cloaked man escaped the guards like a shadow disappearing when night fell, a name was given to him as well as wanted notices were scattered everywhere, declaring him the most dangerous enemy of the Church.

He soon became the most wanted man in Tamia: The Bladeless