Phainon’s breathing grew uneven as he stared at his friend’s lifeless body, sprawled across the blood-streaked pavement. His chest rose and fell in short, shallow gasps, each breath burning like fire. He wanted to move—wanted to run to him, shake him, beg him to open his eyes. But his legs refused to obey. They were frozen, locked in place by grief, fear... and the overwhelming presence of the man in the dark cloak.

The killer stood still, not even bothering to flee. His face was hidden beneath the hood, but Phainon could feel his gaze, cold and heavy like iron chains around his throat. The silence between them was deafening.

He clenched his fists. But he couldn’t fight. Not now. Not like this. So he turned. Step by step, he forced himself to walk away, each footfall heavier than the last. “I’m sorry, Mydei...” he whispered, barely more than breath, as if speaking louder might shatter what little strength he had left. Then he disappeared down the smoke-veiled street, searching for any sign of life amidst the chaos.

But the city was silent. The streets, once full of laughter, chatter, and life, were now nothing more than scorched stone and scattered remains. Ash floated down like snow. Windows were shattered, doors torn from hinges, bodies lying motionless where they had fallen. The air was thick with smoke and the metallic stench of blood.

His heart pounded as he reached the old building—the one place he had thought was safe. The place where he had hidden her, swearing to protect her no matter what. But that hope crumbled the moment he saw it. The building was gone. Reduced to a smoking ruin, it had collapsed inward on itself, like a graveyard of memories. Flames licked greedily at what was left of the support beams, casting flickering shadows across the wreckage. The very walls that had once sheltered her were now nothing more than dust and cinders.

“No...” he choked, stumbling forward. He ran toward the rubble, uncaring of the heat that seared his skin or the debris that tore at his clothes. His voice cracked as he screamed her name. “WHERE ARE YOU?!”

Desperation drowned out everything else. The crackling of fire, the groaning of falling stone, even the pain in his chest—none of it mattered. He called her name again, and again, voice raw with fear. And then—something glinted in the ash. He froze. Heart hammering. There, half-buried beneath scorched stone and soot, was her ring. The delicate silver band, engraved with a small, familiar symbol... the one he had given her the day he asked her to be his wife.

“No... no no no...” He dropped to his knees and fumbled for it with trembling hands. The metal was still warm from the fire. He closed his fist around it, knuckles white, and held it against his chest as if it could somehow bring her back.

Tears streamed down his soot-streaked cheeks. “Why did you leave me too?” His voice cracked like brittle glass. “I... I can’t do this without you...” He bowed his head, shoulders shaking with sobs, the ring clutched tightly in his palm. He didn’t care anymore. Not about the fire. Not about the soldiers or the monsters or the man in the cloak. Let them come. Let them find him. Let them kill him too. Because without her, there was nothing left worth saving.