Previously~
Vincent built a grave nonetheless. As the crows left the cave one by one, Vincent placed the cube on Navyhar's throne. He put the ring in his pocket.
Snap!
He returned back to Duskrane County. The morning sunrise greeted his grieved face.
—---------------------------------------------------
Location- Ashenfang Summit, Duskrane County
Date- 26th, Month of Zephyris, XXXX
Vincent stood on top of the sleeping volcano. His expression showed as if he lost a family member.
"Hahaha!" Vincent laughed, covering his teary eyes with his hands.
"That old man dares tell me he is proud of me!" tears streamed down. "So much for two months worth of friendship."
"Hey, kiddo!" a voice called out.
Henry walked towards him, he stepped in wearing stained overalls, heavy mud-caked boots, and a faded work shirt rolled to the elbows. A battered straw hat sat low on his head, and a worn shovel hung over his shoulder.
"Father, Why are you dressed like this?" Vincent covered his nose as the smell of monster droppings wafted the air.
"I just came from the 'Kirin' nest." Henry huffed.
Vincent waved his hand, and in a moment Henry's clothes were free from the smell and stains.
"Ahh.. " Vincent remembered Henry's punishment.
BONK!
Henry bonked his little head.
"Son of mine! Where were you last night?" He patted Vincent's head, "Your mother searched for you frantically. I had to practically force her to sleep with a spell."
Vincent narrowed his eyes-
"Did you sleep on the couch?"
Henry looked at the ground,
"Yes, it was a punishment from your mother-" Henry caught a glimpse of Vincent snickering.
BONK!
"Oww…!" Vincent rubbed his aching head.
"How dare you laugh at your father's suffering!" Henry shrieked.
THUMP!
Henry hugged Vincent-
"You know we love you, right-" Vincent nodded- "Good, now go to your mother this instant."
Vincent waved at Henry before vanishing in thin air.
STEP!
Vincent appeared at the window still. He glanced at Orianne, his mother.
She was in a deep sleep, surrounded by piles of paperwork- it was his mother's study where she managed her research and accounts of Duskrane County.
As soon as Vincent sat beside her, Orianne opened her eyes sleepily.
"Vin-?"
"Yes, mother." Vincent softly replied.
"Vincent! Where were you? Are you hurt? What happened?"
Orianne checked Vincent for any wounds- none but a sad expression on his face.
Orianne understood, it was a wound on the heart. A wound that can't be healed by elixirs or magic.
She hugged him without saying anything. When Vincent disappeared last night, a feeling emerged in Orianne's heart. Something within her heart screamed that Vincent needed his mother's embrace.
"It's okay, mother will not ask."
Vincent only hugged her, his grip tightened. He shed no tear, no cry. Only a moment of silence.
Slowly, Vincent loosened his grip, regaining his usual jolly self. He smiled.
"Mother of mine, Thank you!"
"Mother will always be with you, son of mine." Orianne let out a small laugh.
BANG!
The doors flung open.
"Cupcake!" "Cinnamon Roll!" Amelia and Sophia entered the room. They hugged Vincent.
"Where were you last night?" Sophie asked, concern on her face.
"Are you ok?" Amelia looked at him, searching for any bruises or cuts.
"Please don't worry auntie." Vincent broke away from the hug. "I'm okay."
He glanced at the ladies, who looked at him with concern.
"What will happen to me when I have strong people like my mother and aunts protecting me?" Vincent grinned.
"Am I weak?" a voice echoed.
Vincent turned to see Olivia, staring at him.
"No, you are the best. Grandma of mine." He smiled innocently.
Olivia sighed, placing a hand on her face.
"He's becoming more and more like Henry."
Vincent smiled.
"Take care of your mother, don't worry her." Olivia placed a hand on his head ruffling his hair.
The other women in the room smiled, Olivia's warm side appeared rarely.
Vincent exited Orianne's study. He entered his room.
CREAK!
He entered the room.
Vincent's room was tidy to the point of rigidity. The bed was perfectly made—corners tucked sharp like a soldier's—and the dark wooden desk held only the essentials: neatly stacked books, a quill, and a small oil lamp. A single wardrobe stood against the wall, polished and plain. Everything had its place. No clutter, no warmth—just discipline. Even the window's curtains hung stiff, unmoved by the breeze. It felt less like a child's room and more like an officer's quarters, quiet and cold… just like the boy who lived in it.
The only thing that marked it as a noble's chamber was the large bookshelf on the wall opposite his bed. But the top two rows weren't lined with classic literature or family tomes—they were filled with notebooks and journals. Handwritten. All Vincent's own.
The scent of parchment lingered in the air as he hovered a hand over the third row, lined with grimoires. Dozens of them—arcane, old, dangerous. He plucked one from the shelf with practiced ease.
Then, before sitting at his desk, his hand moved to the drawer—more out of habit than need. It slid open with a soft click. Inside lay four letters.
Inside the drawer lay four sealed letters, each pressed with a different sigil.
One bore the mark of a cracked porcelain mask—edges curled in a permanent, eerie smile.
Another shimmered with the imprint of a flexed arm wrapped in broken chains.
The third seal was soft and silver, shaped like a closed eye cradling a crescent moon.
The last was the strangest: a circle broken by a single vertical line, simple yet deeply unsettling.
Vincent didn't need to read the names. He already knew who had sent them.
His fingers hovered over the first seal—the mask. A flicker of irritation passed through his eyes.
Tivvaz. He hadn't forgiven the jester for the last time. Not fully.
He moved to the next: the chains. That one brought a faint twitch to the corner of his mouth—not quite a smile, but something close.
Tharnok. Predictable as ever. Likely filled with lectures about "discipline" and "iron will." Vincent would read it anyway. He always did.
The third felt cool under his fingers. The silver shimmered like moonlight on water.
Velurei. Her words always made him uneasy—not because they were cruel, but because they lingered. Like dreams you forgot but still feared.
Then there was the fourth.
He stared at the broken circle, expression unreadable. Slowly, he picked it up.
He didn't say the name. Didn't even think about it.
Just… held the letter. And listened.
Silence.
He summoned a magic circle, shoved the letters into its glow, and watched them vanish with a hiss of air and light.
Without another glance, Vincent turned on his heel and left his room.
Location: Mournshade Woods, Duskrane County
The trees here didn't grow—they twisted. Their trunks arched like ribs, and their branches curled inward as if the forest were folding in on itself. Grotesque faces were etched into the bark, frozen in eternal expressions of anguish, serenity, or mockery. No two were alike. No one knew who carved them.
As Vincent stepped past the treeline, the roots stirred—softly at first, then parting in slow, deliberate waves to clear a path. Shadows shifted as the forest came alive.
From the thickets emerged the Lurketails—low, panther-like beasts with long, eel-like tails that coiled as they watched him. Their eyes didn't glow, but their teeth did—pale and pearly, even when their mouths were closed.
A flock of Mirrorcrests rustled high above. Birdlike things with feathers of glass that caught the dim light and fractured it into strange patterns across the trees. They didn't sing. They clicked—rapid, uneven clicks like broken clock hands.
Something long and thin slithered across the branch ahead—a Vinewolf, moving like a shadow stitched from moss and thorns. It didn't have eyes, but it turned its head to follow him, as if sensing the pulse of his magic.
Even the insects were wrong here. Glowgnats drifted lazily through the air, each carrying a tiny flame under their transparent shells, like living embers. One landed on Vincent's shoulder, blinked once, and flew off.
None of them moved to attack.
They simply watched.
Because in Mournshade… everything remembers.
He stood before a towering tree, its gnarled branches and roots curling around him like fingers, as if the forest itself had come alive to greet him.
A face surfaced on the bark—formed from knots and lines that twisted until eyes opened and a mouth creaked into shape.
"We welcome the Master of the Mournshade Bestiary."
The voice echoed through the woods like wind through a cavern. In response, shadows stirred. Dozens of beasts emerged from the underbrush, their forms half-hidden by vines and leaves. Watching. Waiting.
Vincent raised his hand calmly.
"Open the Realm Index."
For a moment—silence.
Then—chaos.
The beasts shrieked and scattered, crashing into the trees. Roots recoiled like snakes, bushes slithered away, and even the wind held back.
The tree's face twisted, morphing into something mischievous, with an exaggerated pout and sharp grin.
"You look bad, Alfred," Vincent said, smirking.
"I'm sorry, Master. Please forgive my folly," the face whimpered, somehow both wooden and theatrical.
Vincent didn't reply. He pricked his finger with a flick.
A drop of blood fell onto the earth.
WHOOSH!
A massive magic triangle flared beneath him, ancient runes glowing in a pulse that echoed with power.
The tree's face darkened. The voice dropped an octave.
"Password."
Vincent leaned forward, whispering,
"X@#*?!"
The runes shifted.
"Where do you wish to go, Master?"
He stepped into the center of the triangle, cloak rustling in the wind.
"Aetherion Bastion — Realm of Divine Confrontation."
The forest bent backward, bowing.
And then, the world folded inward, warping to a different dimension. .
A colossal stone platform stretched endlessly under a fractured sky, where stars bled light and constellations twisted like wounded gods. In the air above it, thirteen rings floated in slow orbit—aimless, silent, and pulsing with ancient power. Each one shimmered faintly, as if remembering the divine it helped destroy.
This was no battlefield.
It was an altar.
The Heavenbreaker Rings drifted like celestial executioners, surrounding Vincent with the calm of a storm not yet called. Their presence bent the air, cracked the ground, and whispered names long erased from scripture.
Vincent stood at the center, arms behind his back, his shadow cast wide in the pale divine light.
This was his domain. His reckoning ground.
The place where gods fell—one by one.
Vincent put the rings in a magic square.Then, he produced the letters in his hand. He knew the contents, he tore the first one.
TEAR!
WARP!
Vincent tore the letter in half.
The sigil glowed for a heartbeat—then the world folded in on itself.
With a rush of light and shadow, he vanished.
Somewhere Else…
Laughter echoed.
Not the warm kind. Not the kind that ended.
A carnival stretched in all directions—abandoned, yet alive. The sky above spun in colors that didn't exist. Balloons hung from invisible strings, floating upside down. Mirrors whispered truths you didn't ask to hear.
And on a crooked throne of playing cards and bones…
Tivvaz grinned.
One eye wide. The other, missing.
He chuckled, tilting his head.
"Finally… the Mad God has entered the game."