The Madness of Yilheim

Valeirus stood at the heart of the great hall, face to face with the veiled figure on the high stage. Then—suddenly—the music ceased. Silence swept across the vast chamber. Thousands of spirits stood motionless, watching.

Among them was Fenry, arms folded, his eyes unreadable.

Before the veiled throne stood three figures—tall, majestic, and utterly inhuman. Yet… somehow regal.

The first was a towering being of white liquid, his form flowing like molten glass. He had the face of a man, long beard cascading like falling streams. He wore robes of translucent fluid, and stood eighteen feet tall.

Beside him stood a female spirit sculpted from pure yellow lightning. Her long, crackling hair flowed behind her like a banner in a storm. Her eyes burned bright, and her face bore noble symmetry—eyes, nose, and lips defined in electric precision. She stood sixteen foot tall.

The third was broad-shouldered and searing orange—his body composed of plasma that rippled like contained fire. A rigid moustache adorned his face, and his hair pointed straight upward. His suit was sleek, blue, and glowing, wrapped tightly around a muscular form nineteen feet tall.

To the left and right of the stage sat rows upon rows of ancient spirits—elders of the Venary. Some had the heads of beasts—lions, tigers, serpents. Some had no face at all. Some were limbless, others hovered as orbs. Each one unique. Each one powerful.

The lightning woman stepped forward, her voice sharp and mocking. She spoke a language Valerius did not understand.

"So… this is the new one."

She smirked. "I don't approve. He looks so… frail."

The liquid spirit let out a thoughtful hum. "Perhaps he will rise. Perhaps he will fall. Who knows? Even the last one surprised us."

The plasma spirit scoffed. "I doubt it."

Then, an elder stood.

He was thirteen feet tall, cloaked in a gold robe that shimmered like starlight. His form radiated blue energy. Eight eyes circled his head, blinking in unison. He had no nose—only a flat face with a wide, frowning mouth.

He stepped forward with refined posture, hands folded behind his back and spoke Valerius's language.

"You now stand within the Spirit Realm," he said, voice echoing across the sacred hall. "You, Elvhein, stand among the Venary. This is not your world. Speak now—what...is your name?"

Valeirus stared, unsure whether to bow or run.

The elder's voice sharpened. "Speak."

Valeirus swallowed. "V…Valeirus."

The elder narrowed all eight eyes. "Your complete...name."

Valeirus shifted nervously. "Valeirus… Valeirus Delindor."

The elder's expression darkened.

"Do not take me for a fool, boy. I issue a command—and I expect honesty. Falsehoods will not be tolerated."

His voice thundered now.

"I will ask one final time: what is your real, complete, name?"

Valeirus looked around, hesitated, then lifted his chin.

"I go by Valeirus Delindor. That... is the only name I will give."

The elder's aura flared—blazing like a wave of gravity. Valeirus was crushed to the floor, choking. His limbs trembled, his vision blurred.

"So you refuse to comply?" the elder boomed.

Valeirus groaned, barely able to breathe. He clenched his fists.

"You will die here, nameless and forgotten," the elder declared. "I ask again. What. Is. Your. Name?"

Valeirus screamed in agony. His form ached. He felt pain like his real body. But still—he didn't yield.

"You risk your soul for pride?" the elder asked. "You lose nothing by speaking it."

But Valeirus turned onto his belly, trembling. Slowly, he rose to his knees.

His voice broke—but his eyes were steady.

"You… have not… earned the right," he said through grit teeth.

He rose fully. White essence dripped from his nose. But he stood.

"To know my name."

The hall fell silent.

The elder studied him a moment longer… then exhaled and turned away.

He returned to his seat without a word.

The plasma spirit leaned back, a grin on his face.

The lightning spirit chuckled. "He's not bad. He may yet be worthy. But still, that remains to be seen."

The Plasma spirit took a step forward, his voice crackling with restrained power.

"I say he proves himself," he said coldly, "by conquering Mazorik."

The lightning stepped forward, descending the white stairs like a storm given form. Her voice rang out through the chamber:

"We do not follow cowards. We do not uplift the timid. We abhor weakness. We reject those who beg."

She stopped in front of Valeirus, eyes glowing like miniature suns.

"Prove your resolve, Valeirus. Earn our respect. For if we find you lacking…"

She reached out a hand—and placed it on his chest.

"…we will uproot your seed."

She waved her hand.

Light enveloped him—and in an instant, he vanished.

---

Valeirus's eyes shot open.

The sun poured through the window. Birds chirped softly outside.

He was back in the village. Back in his body.

And then the pain started. Agonising.

The scream tore from his lungs before he even knew it had begun.

‐--

Back in the present.

Valerius sat in the living room of Theosis's modest home. The room was quiet, its stone walls warmed by the fire in the hearth. Grace sat beside him, her hands resting neatly in her lap. Across from them were Theosis and Frederick, both with a quiet, guarded expression.

Valerius leaned forward, still wincing faintly from the pain that lingered in his body. "I just wanted to say… thank you. For trying to save me. I was in a bad state, and I know I probably scared everyone. So… really. Thanks."

Frederick raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "Well, it weren't us who saved you." He glanced at his daughter. "Grace brought you to us, but we didn't save you. No… you saved yerself." He pointed a finger. "Now tell me—how exactly do you plan to fix my house, boy?"

Valerius blinked. "Uh…" He glanced at Grace, then scratched the back of his head. "Right. That. I mean… you've got every right to be mad. I didn't exactly come in softly."

"No, according to grace, you came in like a lightning bolt from the stars," Frederick muttered.

Grace whispered" I didn't say lightning bolt"

Valerius sighed. "I don't have money, and I don't even know where I am. But I'm not gonna pretend it didn't happen. I'll help rebuild it. Brick by brick if I have to. You show me where the materials are, and I'll start right now."

Theosis raised a brow. "You would do such?"

"Yeah. I know a thing or two about building." he muttered under his breath, "I believe i can make your house even better."

Frederick snorted. "Well, that's a start."

As the conversation continued, a small tapping sound echoed from one of the windows. Then another. One by one, shadows appeared behind the curtains.

"Are people… watching us?" Valerius asked.

Theosis stood slowly, straightened his shirt, and walked to the door. He opened it abruptly. "Enough! Begone from here, all of you. The lad's not some beast in a cage!"

"We just wanted to see!" someone shouted from outside.

"See elsewhere!" Theosis barked. "Or I'll have Elder Miron fine every last one you for window peepin'."

The shadows scattered.

Meanwhile, back at the rubble of Frederick's destroyed home, a small group of children had gathered around something gleaming in the sun.

"Oy, what's that?" one boy said, pointing.

Another girl crept closer, wide-eyed. "Looks like a shell…"

"No, it's armour!" one of them cried, placing a hand on the arc-etched plating. "I bet it belonged to the demon!"

"I bet it shoots fire!" another one said, knocking on the surface. "Boom! Boom! Take cover!"

A younger child climbed into the hollow chest plate. "I am the metal knight of ruin!" he declared, raising a stick.

"GET AWAY FROM THAT!"

The shout cracked like thunder. A woman stormed over from the well, apron flapping.

"That's cursed metal if I've ever seen it!" she yelled. "Get away now! All of you!"

The children scattered, squealing and laughing, disappearing down alleyways.

Back inside, Grace turned to Valerius. "So… what happened to you? Where are your parents?"

Valerius looked down. For a moment, he didn't speak.

"I only have my mum, and she's very far away.," he said quietly. "And I don't know where I am, either."

"You… don't know what village this is?" Theosis asked.

"I've never even heard the name Kintol until today," Valerius admitted. "Where I'm from… it's nothing like this place. Nothing at all."

"You speak strangely," Frederick said, squinting.

"To me its you who speak strangely."

There was an awkward silence.

"Well," Theosis finally said, standing. "Best you all get some fresh air."

They stepped outside… and froze.

A crowd had gathered in front of the house. Dozens of villagers, old and young, stood packed along the path.

"We demand answers, Theosis!" one man shouted. "You can't keep us in the dark!"

"What's going on?" another cried. "A whole house broke down! And no word from the council?"

Someone pointed.

"There he is! Is that him?"

"Aye. That's him. He's so small."

Valerius raised a brow. "Excuse me?"

"That tiny thing destroyed a whole house?"

Valerius crossed his arms. "Tiny? Seriously?"

"He don't even look dangerous!"

A woman narrowed her eyes. "What is he, some kind of sorcerer?"

"Maybe he's a cursed prince!"

"I heard he came from the stars!"

"No, from underground!"

Valerius sighed and leaned toward Theosis. "You sure this isn't a circus town?"

Theosis gave a tired smile. "Welcome to Kintol, lad."

Frederick stepped forward, facing the gathered crowd with a firm voice. "We've come to an agreement. He will rebuild my house."

A gruff voice rose from the back. "So you're trusting the demon now? It was you who caused the panic, Frederick."

Frederick exhaled slowly and nodded. "Yes, I know. I was wrong. And I'm sorry."

Grace blinked, stunned. She leaned in and whispered to her mother, "Did Father just apologise?"

Her mother whispered back with a small smile, "Yes. It's a rare moment. Take it in."

An old man stepped forward through the crowd. He was tall—ten feet—with a long grey beard that brushed his chest, and a carved walking stick in his hand. His presence silenced the murmurs.

He stopped before Valerius and looked down with sharp, assessing eyes.

"So," the elder said, "you are the stranger."

Valerius looked up, straightening his posture. "I guess I am."

The old man gave a small nod. "I am Elder Miron. What is your name?"

Valerius hesitated. "Lerius," he said cautiously.

Elder Miron stroked his beard. "Where are you from, Lerius?"

Valerius froze for a breath. Then Mystvir came to mind. "Mystvir. I'm from Mystvir."

"Mystvir…" Miron muttered. "Never heard of it."

"It's very far away," Valerius added quickly.

The old man narrowed his eyes, then said, "Provided you cause no further trouble—and help rebuild the home you destroyed—you may stay."

Valerius nodded firmly. "I will."

Elder Miron turned to the crowd, raising his voice. "That is settled. Go about your business. We are not wolves."

The villagers grumbled and muttered, some still casting glances at Valerius. But they obeyed. One by one, the crowd began to disperse, the weight of tension lifting ever so slightly.

Grace turned to Valerius with a bright smile. "Come, I'll show you around."

Valerius nodded, brushing his fingers through his hair. "Yeah… sure."

As they stepped out, Frederick watched them go. His brow tightened, arms folded.

Theosis leaned casually against the wall, smirking. "You know, they're at that age where they—"

"Shut up, Theo," Frederick muttered, not taking his eyes off them.

—

Grace led Valerius down a worn dirt path that wound through the heart of the village.

"This way. That's the well—everyone comes here for water, unless you're lucky enough to live near the river."

Valerius looked around at the stone houses, thatched roofs, and fluttering clotheslines. "Looks peaceful," he said. "And the air… its lighter."

Grace laughed. "What, you lot don't breathe where you're from?"

"We do, the air is just different."

She grinned and tugged his sleeve. "Come on. That's Old Man Dervin's mill—he grinds grain for the whole village. Don't get too close though. He's grumpy and throws things."

From the building came a shout: "I HEARD THAT, GIRL!"

Grace giggled and picked up her pace.

They passed a forge where a broad-shouldered man hammered molten metal. Sparks flew like fireflies.

"That's Jorn, the blacksmith. He's kind, but not cheap."

"Noted," Valerius said, eyeing the flames with curiosity.

Further down, they walked past the baker's cottage, the weaver's shed, and the cobbler's corner. Villagers stared as they passed, some whispering behind hands.

Grace leaned closer. "They're still talking about the house. Don't let it get to you."

Valerius shrugged. "It's no problem. I've been stared at a lot since I got here."

Finally, they reached a wide shed where men chiseled beams and stacked stones.

"This is where the builders gather," Grace said. "You'll need help if you're going to rebuild our house."

Valerius nodded, stepping forward. "Hey—uh, what would it cost to hire a few of you?"

One of the workers glanced up and gave him a quick once-over. "The full job? Framing, stone foundation, thatch roof, nails, labour? That'll run you close to five thousand kairo."

Grace blinked. "Five thousand?"

"Aye," the man said. "Wood's dear this season. Stone's manageable. But labour costs plenty, stranger."

Grace sighed. "I was afraid of this."

Valerius scratched the back of his neck. "Guess I'm building it myself then."

The man raised an eyebrow. "You know how to build?"

Valerius smirked. "Every part of it. Just point me to where I can get the materials."

—

They headed to the wood merchant next.

"I need timber—good timber. For beams, framing, floorboards."

The merchant scratched his beard. "That'll cost you. Twenty-five kairo per stack. You'll need at least a dozen."

Valerius winced and looked to Grace. "Is twenty-five kairo a lot?"

Grace nodded solemnly. "Yes."

The merchant grunted. "Then chop it yourself."

Valerius nodded. "Guess I'm doing that too."

"You serious?" Grace asked.

"I've got the strength," he replied simply.

—

Next was the mason.

"I'll need limestone blocks—or clay bricks, if that's easier."

The mason shook his head. "Either way, it'll cost. One block's three kairo. Bricks are cheaper, but you'll need plenty more."

Valerius frowned. "I'll make my own bricks. Just need clay, water, and sun."

Grace raised a brow. "You know how to make bricks?"

Valerius nodded. "Yep."

—

They stopped by a metalsmith's stall.

"Got any nails?"

"Half-bag of iron nails? Fifty kairo."

Grace scowled. "That's robbery."

The merchant shrugged. "It's metal, girl. Take it or leave it."

Valerius stepped back. "I'll forge them myself."

"You… forge?" Grace asked, surprised.

"I build, I chop, I forge. If it saves money, I'm doing it. Never done it before, but I studied it."

—

Finally, they passed a stall with bundles of thatch and roof tiles.

"Do you have insulation or roofing tar?" Valerius asked.

The old woman behind the stand squinted. "Tar? What be that?"

Valerius hesitated. "Do you have any resin? Or pitch?"

"Pitch we got, but it's used for lamps. Resin… nay, not common here."

He sighed. "Never mind. I'll figure it out."

—

As they made their way back through the village paths, Grace glanced sideways at him. "You're strange, you know."

Valerius grinned. "Okay, this is becoming an anthem for me."

Grace laughed.

"So you're really going to build everything yourself?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. If it falls on me later, at least I know who to blame."

She laughed again—this time longer.

---

Morning in Zitry Kingdom.

Sunlight spilled through the tall crystal window, gilding the white room in a soft golden glow.

Pungence stood before the mirror, buttoning the cuffs of his immaculate white dress shirt. He slid into matching white trousers and white leather shoes that gleamed like polished ivory. From the coat hanger beside the mirror, he took his long, dark blue coat—the fabric thick, regal, commanding. Across the back, embroidered in silver thread, were the words:

NONE

IS

ABOVE

THE

LAW.

He gazed into the mirror once more, adjusting the coat on his shoulders with precise fingers. Then he turned and walked to the window. The light touched his face—sharp, composed, unreadable.

Behind him, the pristine white walls shimmered faintly with golden inlays. A massive bed, decorated with ornate gold trimming, stood at the centre of the room. On the wall, a floating device hummed softly—a Seer. Its screen showed the feed of a live broadcast.

An Aurellian woman in a hot air balloon leaned over the basket's edge, her hair swept by the wind as she spoke to the crystal-cam.

> "Several countries have completely vanished, leaving behind only a dead, barren land. The world has never witnessed destruction on this scale. Mages and scientists are debating the cause… asteroid impact? Unknown weapon? We don't know."

The feed panned downward. A seemingly bottomless crater stretched out beyond the horizon—miles of devastation, still smouldering.

The reporter gasped, voice trembling.

> "Look at this… we can't even see how deep it goes…"

Pungence picked up the remote and turned the Seer off. The screen flickered black. He tossed the remote lightly onto the bed, then made his way toward the door.

He stepped into the corridor, his footsteps muffled by the soft marbled flooring. As he descended the white-and-gold staircase, Andrea stood waiting at the bottom, arms folded, expression sharp.

"You're going off again," she said.

Pungence stopped just before her. "Did you see the news?" His tone was calm, but his eyes were cold steel. "Several countries... gone. Just like that."

He walked past her, heading to the front door.

"I'm headed there."

Andrea's voice followed him. "And the children?"

He paused at the threshold, hand on the handle.

"They're in good hands," he replied. "I've made arrangements for them. You'll find everything in the red-bound book on the table."

Andrea narrowed her eyes. "You know I never liked this job of yours."

Pungence looked down at her with a half-smile. "I always come back."

He opened the door.

Andrea followed him outside. The cool morning breeze swept across the white stone porch.

"You're not using the Waver?" she asked.

Pungence shook his head. "It's too slow."

He stepped out onto the courtyard, paused, then glanced back over his shoulder.

"I'll be back soon."

Then—with a sudden crack of wind and pressure—he launched into the sky, the air beneath his feet bursting as he leapt, then again as he kicked the air mid-flight. In a blink, he was gone, streaking across the morning sky.

Andrea stood there, watching the clouds settle.

"…Always so dramatic," she muttered.

---

To Be Continued...