The scene opened to the ever-shifting night sky, its ethereal light casting silver shadows across the mountains and forest below. The wind carried a strange silence, broken only by the rustling leaves and the occasional cry of an owl.
From the gloom of the woods, Anastasia emerged. Her long brown cloak blended with the shadows, but her eyes—haunted and stormy—betrayed the battle raging inside her. Each step felt heavier than the last, weighed down by ghosts of a past she could no longer bury.
I'm sorry, Young Master, she thought, clutching her cloak tighter. But I can't come back... not until the chains of my past are fully and completely shattered. Not until I'm sure that past can't ever touch you.
She moved through the forest like a phantom, her steps soundless—an instinct honed from her childhood as a prodigy of death. It was in her bones: silence, calculation, control.
Then, she felt it.
A presence.
Dark. Familiar. Dreadful.
She did not pause, but her body shifted ever so slightly—ready. The path led her to an open clearing, where the lake mirrored the moon, and creatures of the wild wandered under the veil of stars. Birds scattered at her arrival.
On a boulder by the lake sat a figure, cloaked and still. They tossed pebbles into the water, each skipping stone sending ripples across the mirrored sky.
"You finally came," the figure said, not turning. His voice was smooth, almost amused. "Took your sweet time. I was beginning to wonder if you'd show up at all. If not, I would've paid a visit to that boy you follow around like a pet."
He flicked another pebble. "But I see you're still sharp. Loyal, even. Good to know you value his life that much."
Anastasia's voice cut through the night like a blade. "Who are you? Why did you lure me here? What do you want from me... from him?"
Her tone was calm, but beneath it seethed a rising storm.
The man chuckled. In a blink, he vanished—only to reappear directly before her. His presence pressed against her like smoke—ungraspable, yet suffocating.
His cloak and mask hid his identity, but his aura was unmistakable.
"Who am I?" he said softly, lifting his mask inch by inch. "Don't tell me... you've forgotten what you did to me? To my family?"
Anastasia narrowed her eyes. "I've done terrible things... to many. If you want specifics, you'll have to remind me."
Crack.
The man's grip on his mask tightened until it fractured.
"Of course," he spat, his voice trembling with rage. "Why would a street-born killer like you remember all the lives you shattered?"
He tore off the mask.
His face was half-burned, disfigured beyond recognition—except to one person.
Anastasia.
Her breath hitched.
"That... that face..."
He stepped closer, eyes alight with fury. "Oh yes. You remember now, don't you? I'm the boy whose family you were hired to slaughter. The boy you left to burn in that mansion—my home—alongside the corpses of everyone I ever loved."
He pointed to the scorched side of his face. "DO YOU REMEMBER THIS?!"
Anastasia's knees buckled.
The screams—long buried—came rushing back. Flames. Blood. Silence. Then more screams.
She collapsed, her body wracked by guilt and revulsion—not at him, but at herself. Her stomach churned. She vomited onto the grass.
The man only laughed, cruel and sharp. "Good. You should be disgusted. All of this—this—is your masterpiece!"
"My mother. My father. The guards. The maids. Even the kitchen staff... They were my world. My family. And you slaughtered them like animals!"
Shaking, Anastasia wiped her mouth with trembling fingers. Her voice was hoarse.
"I'm sorry. For all of it. I never wanted to kill you. I told my comrades to spare you... I begged them. I didn't have the strength to finish it. I couldn't... not after seeing your eyes."
He scoffed, stepping back. "And this is what mercy gave me."
He gestured to his face, to his pain.
"Your pity was a curse. You left me with the memory of fire, the stench of death, and this monstrous face. So tell me, Assassin... do you think sorry will make me whole again?"
The night held its breath.
And Anastasia, tears welling, said nothing.
Because even she knew—nothing ever would.
Walking forward with cold, deliberate steps, the man stared down at Anastasia, who still knelt in silent anguish.
"Why now?" he asked, voice cracking with rage and heartbreak. "Why do you get to feel guilt? Who gave you, a murderer, the right to mourn?"
His words were like knives.
"YOU SHOULD HAVE FELT THIS BEFORE YOU SLAUGHTERED MY FAMILY, YOU DAMN WHORE!"
In a sudden blur of movement, he kicked her across the face. The impact rang out across the lake, snapping her head sideways as blood trailed from her lip. She hit the ground hard but didn't scream—only gritted her teeth, her eyes trembling.
"You thought leaving a broken, orphaned child to burn alive in the rubble of his home was some twisted act of mercy?" he growled, scoffing. "What a pathetic lie. You were just a coward—too afraid to face what you'd done."
Anastasia coughed, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm... sorry."
"Too late!" he barked. "Sorry doesn't bring back the dead. Sorry doesn't erase the screams, or the smell of my mother's burning flesh. Sorry doesn't stop the nightmares."
He crouched beside her, hatred seething in every line of his body.
"You stole everything. So I'll return the favor. I'll drag you through agony—tear you limb from limb—and when you're on the edge of death, I'll let you watch me kill that boy you serve. Xavier, was it? Maybe I'll burn him too, so you can see what true despair looks like."
The forest fell silent.
And then...
Anastasia stood.
Wobbling, blood dripping from her mouth, she pushed herself up onto her feet—barely standing, but still standing.
Her voice was raw, pleading.
"Please... If you want revenge, take it. But take it from me. Spare him. He's done nothing. He's innocent. I beg you... don't touch him."
The man's face twisted, disgusted by the sight of her weakness. This wasn't the monster from his memories. This woman... she was broken. Human.
It infuriated him.
"You don't get to beg," he spat. "You don't get to change. You don't deserve to."
And then—a flash.
Steel.
Pain.
Anastasia gasped as a dagger pierced through her lower back, slicing clean through her spine and kidney. Blood splattered onto the forest floor.
Her eyes widened, breath stolen from her lungs as she collapsed to her knees again.
Behind her stood another assassin, hidden until now. The blade was pulled out with a wet noise, leaving her gasping in agony.
She coughed violently, blood dripping down her chin as her hands weakly tried to press against the wound.
The man from before—Haruki—began to laugh.
He tore off his cloak, flinging it aside like a shed skin.
"That look on your face," he said, eyes gleaming with manic joy. "I've waited my whole life to see it. You, on the ground. Weak. Afraid."
He stepped forward and planted his boot on her head, forcing her face into the dirt.
"The pain in your eyes—that's my reward. That's what I see every time I close my eyes."
He knelt beside her, whispering:
"I doubt you even remember their names... But remember mine. Not as the boy you spared. Not as the child you left behind."
His voice lowered into a venomous whisper.
"Remember me as Haruki Saito—the boy you condemned to burn... and the man who came back from hell to bury you in it."
An unnatural silence fell over the clearing.
Then, a shiver—barely perceptible—rippled through the air. A pressure. A warning.
Haruki's sadistic smirk faded slightly as he paused, a flicker of unease crossing his face. The other assassins around the edges of the forest tensed. Birds fled the trees. The skies themselves seemed to darken, and then—
A roar.
Not of any creature native to the earth, but of something ancient. Otherworldly. Terrifying.
The clouds were ripped apart as a colossal silver-scaled dragon descended, its wings cutting through the heavens like divine blades.
The Dragon King.
Alcmena.
Atop his back stood a lone figure, cloak whipping wildly in the storm winds stirred by the beast's wings.
Xavier.
His eyes locked onto the scene below—onto Anastasia, bloodied and broken, and the monster with his foot on her head.
"GET YOUR FEET OFF HER!" Xavier roared, his voice echoing across the forest.
He leapt from Alcmena's back, crashing into the earth like a meteor. The shockwave cracked the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust and splintered stone.
In one smooth motion, Xavier launched forward, blade raised in fury. Excalibur gleamed in the moonlight as he swung it downward, aiming to cut Haruki clean off Anastasia.
But Haruki, ever swift, sidestepped with eerie grace, leaving only air for the blade to strike. He retreated, watching with sharp, calculating eyes.
Alcmena landed behind Xavier, wings flaring. The force of his arrival sent shockwaves out, scattering the remaining enemies like dry leaves.
"What did you do to her... you bastard," Alcmena snarled, his voice deep, ancient, and furious. His golden eyes flared like twin suns.
Haruki chuckled. "Oh? Dragons can speak now? Fascinating. I suppose today really is full of surprises."
He smirked, eyes meeting Alcmena's in a clash of dominance. "I wonder what other wonders I'll get to break."
Anastasia stirred weakly, eyes fluttering open. Her vision was blurred, but through it she saw him—Xavier.
She raised a trembling arm. "Young Master... I'm sorry... I'm sorry I dragged you into my past..."
But Xavier knelt beside her quickly, voice firm yet gentle. "Don't say that, Miss Anastasia. We all carry burdens. Yours just came knocking sooner."
His eyes hardened. "And if your past comes for you again... then it comes for me too. We face it together."
He turned to Alcmena, speaking without words. The dragon's great eyes narrowed, hearing the plea within Xavier's heart.
Take her. Get her out of here. Save her.
Alcmena hesitated. This wasn't the time to divide strength. But looking down at Anastasia's near-lifeless form, he understood.
With a solemn nod, Alcmena scooped her up gently in his massive claws, cradling her as if she were glass.
A moment later, Alcmena burst into the sky, wings igniting the air behind him with a deafening boom. The wind tore through the trees, shaking heaven and earth.
And then it was silent again.
Just Xavier.
And Haruki.
Haruki licked his lips, tilting his head. "How noble. Sending your pet dragon away. You could've fled, too."
Xavier stood tall, Excalibur glowing faintly in his grasp. "I don't run. Not from monsters."
"Tch. Brave. Stupid." Haruki's expression twisted, growing colder. "You actually believe you can stand against me?"
"I do."
"Cocky brat." Haruki's smile vanished, replaced by a grim sneer. "Don't interfere with my vengeance."
Xavier's fingers tightened around the hilt of Excalibur. His body still ached from days of battle—each breath a reminder of wounds not yet healed—but his gaze never wavered.
And then, it began.
A flicker of light in his eyes.
His brown hair began to shimmer, gold bleeding into the strands. His aura exploded outwards—azure laced with violent reds, like divine wrath filtered through a dragon's fury. His irises shifted, taking on a draconic edge. Dark rings formed around his eyes, shadows of Alcmena's essence burning through his very soul.
Xavier had no strength to spare.
But he had resolve.
And tonight, that would be enough.