1: Windfall Island

  Alina had been restless all night. Maybe it was the cooler than usual breeze slipping through the cracks, or maybe it was the quiet anxiety that followed her day to day like a shadow. She didn’t really know. Like most nights, she didn’t bother figuring it out.

  Moonlight spilled across her room, catching on her folded robes and the leather vest hanging from a chair. She stared at them for a moment. Was this going to be another one of those nights?

  She sighed, then bolted upright.

  She dressed within moments, slipping into her robes and vest with practiced, silent movements. She grabbed her wooden bow, slung the quiver over her shoulder, and padded toward the window.

  Noise was not an option. Her parents would lose their minds if they caught her sneaking out again. Escaping the room itself was easy. The real challenge was the drop from the second floor.

  She eased through the window, measured the distance, then jumped. A short fall, a clean roll, and she was on her feet.

  Safe, she thought, smiling to herself.

  The night was beautiful. A full moon hung high, its light washing over the grass as it swayed in the breeze. She breathed easier out here. Anything was better than being cooped up inside. A few distant lamps flickered far off in town, but otherwise the world belonged to moonlight and wind.

  She walked with no actual destination, her thoughts dissolving into the quiet. Eventually the ocean emerged before her, dark and endless. She made her way to a rocky outcrop that jutted over the water and stopped there, eyes fixed on the horizon.

  What is out there? Her father’s voice echoed in her mind. Stay on the island. Marry. Have children. Stay.

  Her jaw tightened, and she bit her lip.

  Something glimmered in the distance.

  She narrowed her eyes, focusing as hard as she could. The moonlight helped, just enough. The shape slowly took form.

  A small wooden boat.

  It moved steadily toward a narrow beach tucked between the cliffs, quiet and deliberate, as if it didn’t want to be seen.

  It felt like forever since his journey had begun, but Asta refused to give in. Somewhere along the way, courtesy of an angry shark, he had lost his paddle. Since then, all he could do was claw at the water with his hands, drifting through what felt like an endless ocean.

  The night had grown colder, each stroke heavier than the last. Then, at long last, he saw it.

  Land.

  Hope surged through him, fresh and sudden. He paddled harder, arms burning, eyes locked on the dark shape ahead.

  “Almost there,” he whispered, the sandy beach drawing closer with every desperate movement.

  In the darkness, it was difficult to tell shadow from stone. Still, a faint path revealed itself, winding through jagged rock and climbing upward into the cliffs.

  The boat scraped against something solid.

  Asta nearly laughed as he stumbled out, clothes torn and damp, his only possession a near empty sack slung over his shoulder. The white sand beneath his feet felt unreal. He closed his eyes and breathed, relief washing over him in a single, quiet moment.

  At least I’m not dying out there, he thought, taking a few steps forward.

  A sharp swish cut through the air, followed by a piercing whistle.

  An arrow buried itself in the sand just feet away.

  Asta froze.

  “Stop right there,” said a young woman from atop the rocky outcropping. She held a wooden bow drawn tight, another arrow already nocked. “The next one will not miss.”

  Slowly, Asta raised both hands. “I mean no harm.”

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “My name is Asta,” he said. “I’m just a wayfarer, making my way around the world.”

  “A wayfarer,” she repeated. “And what is a wayfarer doing this far south, on this island of all places?”

  “An island?” He blinked, then let out a breathy laugh. “Oh. Damn. I must have drifted way off course.” He scratched the back of his head, frustration written all over his face.

  “Where were you headed?” she asked, curiosity slipping through her guarded tone.

  “Alboria. At least, that was the plan. There was a storm earlier. Lost my sails, and somehow my paddles too. After that, I just… let the ocean decide for me. Any chance you can tell me where I ended up?”

  She lowered her bow slightly. “You’ve reached Windfall Island. The far southern edge of the kingdom.”

  Asta sighed. “That explains a lot. I have absolutely no idea where I am.”

  When he looked up again, the woman was gone.

  A moment later, she appeared beside him, having descended the rocks with a series of practiced, effortless jumps.

  “My name is Alina,” she said.

  “Are you some kind of guardian?” Asta asked, glancing around.

  “No. I was just enjoying the sea when I spotted you.” Her grip tightened on the bow. “That said, I’m not someone to test. Try anything, and I’ll put an arrow between your eyes.”

  “Now hold on,” Asta said quickly. “No need for violence. I truly mean no harm. I don’t even have a weapon. Look.”

  He opened his sack and turned it upside down. A shriveled apple rolled out, followed by a few crumbs of bread.

  “That’s it,” he said with a shrug. “A semi-rotten apple, some crumbs, and my dignity, which didn’t survive the swim.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. “Then where in the hells did you come from? There’s nothing south of here.”

  “Well,” Asta said, rubbing his neck, “that’s a long story.”

  “Figures.” Her eyes narrowed. “So what’s your purpose, mysterious wayfarer?”

  He hesitated, then grimaced. “This is going to sound insane, but I’m here to save the world.”

  “What?”

  “Look,” he said quickly, “I’ve been wandering for gods know how long. Do you have anywhere I can sleep? Somewhere to eat? I don’t have coin, but I can work. Clean. Do whatever’s needed. I beg you.”

  He bowed his head slightly, desperation finally breaking through.

  Alina sighed, long and tired. “It’s past two in the morning. Everything’s closed. But there’s a stable up the hill where you can rest for the night.” She gestured inland. “My family runs a store nearby. We’ll get you food in the morning.”

  Asta’s shoulders sagged with relief.

  “Please and thank you,” he said.

  The climb up the cliff wasn’t nearly as daunting as it had looked from the beach below. The path twisted and curved along the rock face, but the ascent itself was steady and forgiving. Before Asta fully realized it, they had reached the top.

  True to her word, a stable awaited them. Several horses shifted softly inside, and a two-level wooden building stood nearby, dark and still beneath the moonlight.

  “I’d invite you home,” said Alina, “but my parents would kill me if I brought a random man into the house.”

  Asta chuckled softly. “That’s fair. I’ll make myself comfortable here and wait for morning.”

  He stepped inside, tossed his sack into a corner, and leaned back against the wall. His legs gave out almost immediately, and he slid down until he was sitting on the floor.

  “This is way better than the boat,” he said, letting out a tired breath. “Believe me.”

  With that, he lowered his head and closed his eyes. Sleep claimed him almost instantly, as if his body had been waiting for permission.

  Alina rocked back and forth on her bed.

  An outsider reaching Windfall Island was rare enough. Someone arriving from the sea was almost unheard of. She tried to think of a single time it had happened before and came up empty. The thought made her stomach churn. Her parents were going to be furious when they found out she had given shelter to a complete stranger.

  “The bitching will be eternal,” she muttered.

  Sunlight crept through the window. Where the time had gone, she did not know. All she knew was that sleep had not been nearly enough.

  She pushed herself up and dressed quickly, slipping back into her robes but leaving the bow behind. When she stepped into the hallway, she moved as quietly as she could. Too late.

  Her eyes locked with Missy's .

  The yellow cat stared at her, unblinking, as if judging every life choice she had ever made. Alina lifted a hand and gestured for silence.

  Missy responded by meowing at the top of his tiny lungs.

  “Alina? You’re up early,” her father called from the kitchen.

  She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Yes, Dad. I have to….” Her mind scrambled for an excuse. “…take care of the horses! We’ve got that big shipment coming today.”

  “The horses?” he said. “Oh, don’t worry about that. Mr. Eren took the ones we will need last night.” His tone brightened. “Come sit. I’ll make you some scrambled eggs. We’ve got a busy day ahead, especially with the Great Prayer at church tonight.”

  “Yes, Dad, about that…” She hesitated, the words catching in her throat.

  “What?” he said sharply. “You don’t want to attend church?”

  “No, it’s not that,” she said quickly, forcing a tense smile. “I just… I need to tell you something.”

  “What is it, dear? If this is about you sneaking around at night, I already know,” her father said with a knowing smile. “Just don’t tell your mother.”

  “No, it’s not that.” Alina took a breath. “I couldn’t sleep last night, so I went to check the coast. I saw a boat coming in from the sea. There was a young man on board. He needed help, and… he’s sleeping outside right now.”

  Her father froze.

  “What?” he said. “You brought an outsider onto the island?”

  “He needed help, Dad.”

  “And from the south?” His voice sharpened. “There’s nothing in the south. Where is this man?”

  “He’s sleeping in our stable,” she said. “Outside.”

  Her father didn’t reply.

  He turned on his heel and strode for the door; the chair scraping loudly against the floor as he pushed past it. Alina barely had time to follow before he was already outside, moving with long, purposeful steps toward the stable, his expression tight and unreadable.

  Asta stretched as he woke from a few stolen hours of sleep. The haystack had turned out to be far more comfortable than the small boat he had drifted in, which, all things considered, felt like a miracle.

  “Not bad,” he murmured.

  The sun crested the horizon, painting the silhouettes of massive windmills along the hilltop in pale gold. He inhaled deeply, then stiffened.

  A door nearby slammed open.

  Heavy footsteps followed.

  A middle-aged man charged toward him, broad-shouldered, dressed in loose work clothes, his short beard unkempt and flecked with gray. Alina hurried behind him, her hands raised as she spoke in urgent, hushed tones, clearly trying to calm him down.

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  “Who are you?” the man barked.

  “Oh boy,” Asta muttered. He raised a hand in a small wave. “Name’s Asta, sir.”

  “Asta,” the man repeated, stopping right in front of him. “And where exactly are you from, Asta? Who sent you here?”

  “Asta, this is my father,” Alina said quickly, her face burning red. “Edward Legrande.”

  “Well, Mr. Legrande,” Asta said, unsure if he’d butchered the pronunciation but pressing on anyway, “I come from—”

  A ringing bell cut him off.

  Down the road, a horse-drawn carriage rolled toward the house.

  Edward’s gaze snapped away. “Is that… the priest?”

  The carriage slowed to a stop, and its doors swung open.

  “Priest Marlon! Welcome!” Edward called out.

  A woman stepped out from the house, hastily smoothing her clothes and fixing her hair as she made her way toward the stable.

  The priest emerged from the carriage wearing black robes, a fedora of the same color perched atop his head. His eyes immediately locked onto the stable. Onto Asta. Onto Alina.

  His gaze narrowed, sharp and intent, and a grave expression settled across his face.

  “Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Legrande,” said the priest. “I came to see how preparations were going for today’s grand event, but it appears you have a visitor.”

  “Please, Priest Marlon, excuse our Alina,” Edward said quickly. “You know how devoted she is to the church’s teachings, always helping those in need. She spotted this man drifting at sea last night. I was just beginning to question him and his intentions.”

  For a moment, Asta’s eyes met the priest’s.

  Something about them felt… wrong.

  He had seen eyes like those before, sharp and searching, the kind that brought misfortune simply by lingering too long. The feeling crawled up his spine.

  Alina stepped forward, placing herself subtly at his side.

  “Don’t be nervous,” she whispered. “The priest is strict, but he’s an understanding man. Speak to him.”

  “The straggler,” the priest said aloud.

  “Yes, Father,” Alina replied. She knelt and kissed the ring on his right hand. “I was making my rounds last night, ensuring the coast was secure, when I saw this man approaching in a damaged boat. He was unarmed and showed no aggression upon landing. I helped him, as our teachings instruct.”

  The priest turned his attention back to Asta. “Tell me, straggler, how does one end up sailing from the south?”

  “I was guided there,” Asta said.

  “Guided?” The priest’s tone sharpened. “There is no land to our south. No ports. No sandbars. Nothing for thousands of miles. You found yourself in the Void Ocean, yet arrived alive. Explain.”

  Asta hesitated. His gaze flicked to Alina, then back. “I got lost while fishing near the Southern Kingdom. A storm destroyed my sails. Days passed. Eventually, the ocean carried me here. I believe the god Nereus took pity on me.”

  “Nereus,” the priest repeated. “So you are a believer in the Triumvirate?”

  “Yes, Father. My mother followed the Three Gods before she returned to Caelus. She taught me their ways.”

  “Then you must know Father Theus. And Gryndofir.”

  “Yes,” Asta said smoothly. “Both are wise guides.”

  For a heartbeat, Marlon’s eyes sharpened like a blade.

  Then his expression softened into a smile. “A miracle, then. We must celebrate. Tonight, at the church, we will hold a special blessing for this family, in honor of their kindness.” He turned to Asta. “You are invited as well. Your name?”

  “Asta.”

  “Yes. Asta. Be there just after sunset. We will conduct the Great Prayer.”

  With that, the priest turned and returned to his carriage, waving pleasantly as it rolled away.

  “We are truly being blessed,” Alina’s mother said, clasping her hands.

  Edward nodded enthusiastically. “We don’t know you well, lad, but if the Three Gods brought you here, then you are welcome.” He clapped his hands together. “Alina, fetch the supplies for tonight and show him around the island. We’ll open the good wine. Tonight, we celebrate.”

  He paused, glancing at Asta. “And forgive my earlier suspicion. One can’t be too careful in these heretical times.”

  The couple departed in high spirits, murmuring prayers and blessings as they went.

  Alina turned to Asta, arms crossed. “So. Is it true? Do you really follow the Three Gods?”

  “No,” Asta said lightly. “But it sounds like you have the day off. And you get to show me the island.”

  “Don’t make light of my beliefs,” she said, turning around immediately.

  The island wasn’t large, but it was lush. Green stretched in every direction, wheat and tall grass swaying beneath a gentle breeze that brushed against Asta’s skin. It felt peaceful in a way that almost seemed deliberate.

  The town itself was small. A handful of wooden buildings pressed together, weathered but sturdy. As he walked through its narrow paths, Asta couldn’t help but notice how everyone kept their heads down, busy with work, voices low, movements efficient. No one lingered. No one lingered on him either, which felt intentional.

  Alina walked ahead of him, silent.

  Hours passed without a word between them. She pointed at landmarks now and then, a field here, a store there, but that was the extent of it. Eventually, the road narrowed into a single stone path that climbed a hill. At the top stood a church, its tower rising above the rest of the island. A statue marked its entrance, three circles woven into one another.

  Asta slowed.

  “This is the church,” he said, more to himself than anything else.

  “It is,” Alina replied flatly. “Excellent observation.”

  He winced. “Alright. Why are you so angry at me? I was trying to get you out of trouble. I saw the circles last night, figured out you followed the Triumvirate, and made the best play I could.”

  She stopped walking.

  “You couldn’t have picked anything else?” she snapped. “You had to mess with people’s beliefs?”

  Asta halted. “I didn’t mock them. And for what it’s worth, I actually know your gods.”

  She turned slowly; her face drained of color. “Know them how? As in faith, or know know?”

  He shrugged. “Let’s say I’ve had a few… spiritual experiences.”

  Her eyes flared. “And yet you keep dodging questions. The save the world nonsense, the half-answers. Trust matters to me, Asta. Every time I ask why you’re here, you refuse to give a proper answer.”

  She inhaled sharply, steadying herself.

  “You don’t get it,” she said, her voice cracking. “You’re the first real thread I’ve had to the outside world in years. I know nothing about it. I’m trapped here.” Her fists clenched. “For a moment, I thought you’d tell me something. Anything.”

  Tears welled in her eyes.

  “What do you mean, trapped?” Asta asked.

  She looked away, shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m getting so worked up.”

  “No,” he whispered. “I mean it. What do you mean you’re trapped?”

  She stepped off the path and lowered herself onto a rock, sliding down until she sat in the grass.

  “I wasn’t born on this island,” she said. A tear slipped free. “My parents found me here, right in front of the church. I was adopted.” She bit her lip, fighting the rest back. “Since then, I’ve never been able to leave.”

  Asta listened, silent.

  “There’s nothing to the south. Nothing for thousands of miles. The nearest port is north, days away by boat, and there isn’t even a boat here. Supplies come in, but no one ever leaves. Once you’re on Windfall, that’s it.” Her shoulders slumped. “I thought you, of all people, might know something.”

  “I didn’t realize,” Asta said softly.

  “How could you?” She let out a hollow laugh. “We’re barely a dot on the map. You arrived yesterday.”

  “So… no one ever comes from outside?”

  “Once,” she said. “When I was a kid. A man on a supply ship. He told me about cities in the north, towers of ivory, mountain ranges that touched the sky. The mayor shut him up before he could say more.”

  Asta exhaled slowly. “Alina… I want to tell you about the world out there. But the truth is, I don’t really know it either.”

  She looked up sharply. “What?”

  “I escaped from a prison,” he said. “Someone helped me. Then I was sent here. I’ve been in this realm for maybe a day or two.”

  “Realm?”

  He hesitated, then nodded. “There are many realms. This one is the Original Realm. The Mortal Realm. There’s the Spirit Realm alongside it, the Light Realm above, and the Hades Realm below.” He met her gaze. “I come from the Spirit Realm. I was born there. Centuries ago.”

  Her jaw dropped.

  “You’re joking.”

  “I wish I were.”

  For a second, he expected fear. Or anger.

  Instead, she sprang to her feet.

  “That’s incredible!”

  Asta blinked. “I honestly thought you’d run screaming.”

  She laughed, breathless. “It’s insane, yes, but it means the world is even bigger than I imagined. Do people know about this?”

  “I don’t,” he admitted. “I spent my life in the Spirit Realm.”

  “Oh, we’re absolutely circling back to the centuries part,” she said, grinning despite herself. “But first, we need clothes. The celebration’s about to start.”

  He glanced down at his tattered outfit. “I don’t exactly have a wardrobe.”

  “I’ll get you something from my dad. Might need adjustments, but it’ll work.” She paused. “After tonight, you tell me everything. Deal?”

  “Deal,” Asta said. “On one condition. You don’t tell anyone about this. It stays between us.”

  She nodded. “Come on. Let’s get you looking presentable.”

  He had borrowed a change of clothes from Alina’s father, though they hung on him far more loosely than intended. The trousers were a dark gray, cinched at the waist with a simple cord, while the shirt was an off-white linen piece with a distinctly old-fashioned cut. Its fabric was thick but breathable, the kind meant for long days under the sun. A row of small buttons ran down the front, stopping halfway at the chest, and the wide cuffs at the wrists were folded back once, as if they had never quite been tailored for anyone his size. The collar stood slightly higher than modern fashion would allow, stiff enough to hold its shape without choking him.

  He had combed his dark gray hair as best he could, though it still fell unevenly around his ears. A proper haircut was long overdue, but he doubted anyone would care. His hair was going to be the least of the priest’s concerns.

  He arrived at the church alongside Alina and her family, all of them dressed in their finest. Alina wore a deep blue dress that caught the light with every step, her hair curled neatly around her shoulders. Asta realized he had been staring a moment too long and quickly cleared his throat, tugging at the front of his borrowed shirt as if that might distract him from it.

  A large pyre burned just outside the church, its flames casting long, wavering shadows across the clearing. Under the full moon, the fire painted the wooden structure in warm light, making the humble building feel larger, almost sacred. Despite its simplicity, people packed the church. Villagers poured in from every direction until the space felt tight and restless.

  Asta counted roughly ninety people.

  “You’d better be ready to tell me everything,” Alina whispered beside him.

  He nodded with a faint smile, though his mind was far away.

  Before long, Priest Marlon stepped onto the pulpit and raised a hand. The crowd quieted instantly.

  “Brothers and sisters,” he called out, “welcome to this blessed night. Once again, we gather to honor the gifts our Lords have bestowed upon us. The Great Prayer is upon us. Rejoice!”

  Cheers erupted. The sound rolled through the clearing like a wave. Asta felt it in his chest: the shared fervor, the unfiltered devotion. Music followed soon after, simple instruments setting a steady rhythm. People swayed and danced, eyes closed, lips moving in silent prayer. Sermon after sermon came and went.

  Asta stopped listening.

  He knew the words. He knew the structure. And worse, he knew it was all a lie.

  “Now then,” Priest Marlon said at last, snapping the Bible shut. His gaze swept the crowd before settling on Asta. “We are honored tonight by the presence of a special guest. A soul saved from the sea, guided to us by the will of our Lords.”

  Murmurs rippled outward.

  “Rise, Asta.”

  Asta stood.

  “Come forward, my child.”

  As he stepped into the open, whispers followed him. He glanced back once and caught Alina smiling at him, hopeful and proud.

  The weight of it pressed hard against his chest. In moments, he was going to tear that smile apart.

  “Child,” the priest continued, “you stand before the most faithful servants of the Triumvirate. Here on Windfall Island, we dedicate our lives to their will. They grant us peace. Peace from ourselves, and peace from the chaos of the outside world.” His voice grew richer, almost reverent. “We exist to follow their teachings until the end of our brief, mortal lives.”

  Asta felt his jaw tighten.

  “I believe you were brought here for a reason,” Marlon said. “To join us. And to prove it, I shall allow the gods themselves to speak through me.”

  Asta raised an eyebrow.

  Behind him, the crowd stirred, some clapping softly, others murmuring in eager anticipation.

  “Asta, my child,” the priest intoned, his voice dropping into a slower, deliberate cadence. He extended both hands.

  Fire bloomed from his palms.

  Flames curled around his fingers, crawling up his forearms without burning flesh. Gasps echoed through the crowd.

  “Be welcome,” Marlon said. “And be blessed. Accept the rite. Join the loyal followers of the Triumvirate.” His burning hands lifted higher. “Accept the fire of the gods.”

  Asta stared at the flames, his expression unreadable.

  “Who are you supposed to be?” Asta asked calmly. “Kael?”

  Marlon blinked. “What?”

  “The fire. The voice. The theatrics,” Asta said, gesturing toward the flames. “Are you pretending to be a god now? The Triumvirate doesn’t even have a god of fire.”

  Confusion crossed Marlon’s face, pursued by something colder.

  “You are not a true believer,” Marlon said, his voice slipping back to normal.

  “Not even close,” Asta replied.

  A sharp gasp rippled through the crowd. A few men stood, fists clenched, eyes burning with outrage.

  “Asta!” Alina cried, leaping to her feet. “What are you doing?”

  “He’s lying to you,” Asta said, his gaze never leaving Marlon. “He’s a charlatan. The worst kind.”

  Marlon’s flames flickered.

  “He’s kept you here, boxed in by water and fear, feeding you a story about salvation while he benefits from your obedience.” Asta’s voice rose, steady but forceful. “There are gods out there, yes. I know that as a fact. But this man does not speak for them.”

  He turned, sweeping a hand toward the crowd. “A genuine faith does not cage its followers. It does not cut them off from the world and call it peace. Look at yourselves. Trapped by the sea. Taught to fear what lies beyond it.”

  Then his eyes found Alina.

  “There are mountains out there,” he whispered. “I haven’t seen them from where I come from, but I’ve seen pictures of them elsewhere. They touch the sky. Cities rise around them. Machines carry people into the air itself.” His voice steadied. “The world is vast. Beautiful. Terrifying. And it is real.”

  He took a breath.

  “You will not be damned for wanting more. You will not suffer eternal punishment for leaving this place, for choosing to live instead of waiting.”

  Asta straightened.

  “So don’t let him decide your lives for you. Step beyond the lie. Go see the world.”

  “You damned heathen!” Marlon screamed, hurling a ball of fire straight at Asta.

  The flames wrapped around him. They fizzled, breaking apart into harmless sparks that died in the air.

  “What?” Marlon whispered.

  “Your theatrics don’t work on me,” Asta said calmly. “Liar.”

  “A demon!” Marlon shrieked.

  He began flinging fire wildly. One fireball slammed into a wooden support beam, igniting it instantly. Flames climbed fast, spreading along the structure. Panic erupted. People screamed and surged toward the exits, shoving and tripping as they tried to escape the church.

  “Why won’t you burn!” Marlon howled.

  He clasped his hands together and unleashed a continuous stream of fire.

  Asta raised a single arm.

  The flames crashed against an invisible barrier, splintering outward as tongues of fire lashed uselessly around the spirit shield extending from his hand. The attack was crude. Wasteful. An amateur’s grasp of a Fire Soule Spirit. Marlon was burning through his strength far too quickly.

  Asta glanced over his shoulder.

  Alina was already moving with the crowd, doing everything she could to get away from the spreading fire.

  Good.

  That was all that mattered.

  The stream faltered, then died. Marlon staggered, his arms dropping to his sides as exhaustion overtook him.

  “Who…” he panted, eyes wide. “Who are you?”

  Asta smiled.

  “Oh,” he said, stepping forward, “now you’re asking the right question.”

  The surrounding air shifted.

  Power gathered, dense and unmistakable. Pure spiritual force drawn from the world itself, bending toward him as if answering a call. Heat rolled outward as his presence deepened, sharpened.

  “I exist for people like you,” Asta said.

  Flames coiled around his right fist; no illusion this time. No borrowed trick.

  “My name is Astaroth,” he continued, his voice steady. “And I am a Nephilim.”

  “A Nephilim? You are making a mistake! You will doom us all with your foolishness!” yelled Marlon.

  Asta didn’t care. He struck.

  The punch landed cleanly against Marlon’s temple. Fire exploded outward on impact. The priest’s breath caught, his body collapsing lifelessly to the floor.

  Silence followed, broken only by the crackle of flames.

  Asta knelt and placed a hand over Marlon’s chest. The world peeled open to his senses. He saw the energy clearly now, the glowing lattice that surrounded all living things. At its center, inside the priest’s chest, burned a brighter knot of light.

  He reached in.

  With a single pull, the energy slipped free, coalescing into a perfect orb, its core burning orange.

  A Fire Soule Spirit. As expected.

  Asta closed his fist around it. Light streamed from the orb and flowed into his chest, merging with his own power. The sphere dissolved, its essence absorbed. Weak. But useful.

  He rose to his feet as the flames continued to rage around him, one more spirit added to his arsenal, and only one thought on his mind. Would she even want to see him now?

  The front entrance was out of the question. Too many eyes. Too much anger. He had no desire to fight half the town just to leave. The boat should still wait on the beach. If he was careful, he could slip out through the back, avoid the crowd, and reach it unseen.

  He did exactly that, moving in short, careful bursts, slipping from shadow to shadow beneath the cover of night. He waited when he had to, pressed into doorways, crouched behind crates, breathing only when it was safe.

  It didn’t take long before the shore came into view.

  As expected, it was guarded.

  Three townsfolk stood near the boat, lanterns low, eyes scanning the beach. Regular people. Tired. Afraid. Asta had known it would come to this.

  He closed his eyes.

  Just enough, he told himself.

  He let a measured wave of spiritual pressure bleed outward. Nothing violent. Nothing cruel. The men stiffened, then collapsed into the sand, unconscious but unharmed.

  Better this than blood.

  Asta hurried forward and leapt into the boat.

  “Where are you going?”

  He froze. That voice. He turned slowly.

  Alina stood at the edge of the beach, robes pulled tight around her, bow drawn and aimed straight at him. Her expression was rigid, wounded, furious.

  “Getting out of here,” he said.

  “You lied to me,” she shot back. “You fed me stories about the world just to tear down my faith. You shattered everything I believed in.” Her fingers tightened on the string. “I trusted you.”

  “I didn’t lie,” Asta said, keeping his voice steady. “I told you I didn’t believe in your religion. I told you where I came from. I was going to tell you everything.” He met her eyes. “But that man, and others like him, hurt good people. People like you. Like your family. They rule through fear, hiding behind the names of gods.”

  Her jaw clenched.

  “You know it’s wrong,” he continued quietly. “You’ve always known.”

  “Don’t you dare tell me what’s in my heart,” she said.

  “I felt it earlier,” Asta said quietly. “When we talked this afternoon. You don’t even know where you come from, and yet you’re expected to live your entire life trapped here. I don’t believe that’s what you want. Not really.”

  “Why did you do that?” she asked, tears spilling freely now.

  “Because he would have controlled you for the rest of your life,” Asta said. “And I refuse to believe that’s the life you want.”

  He extended his hand toward her. “Come with me.”

  Alina stared at it. Her fingers remained locked on the bowstring, the arrow trembling as the tension shook through her arms.

  “I’m so scared,” she whispered.

  “I can’t promise you a comfortable adventure. Hell, I can’t even promise I know where we’re going next,” he said. “But I can promise I’ll keep you safe, and that we’ll discover this world together.”

  “I want to see mountains, rivers, forests, cities… and eat all sorts of things,” she hissed. “Is that okay?”

  He nodded.

  Alina loosened her grip on the bow, the tension finally leaving her arms. She drew in a few steadying breaths, then said, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  Before doubt could catch up with her, she jumped into the boat beside him.

  “Wait,” Asta said. “Don’t you want to say goodbye to your parents or something?”

  “I already did,” she replied. “Before I came here.” Her eyes were bright, alive with adrenaline. “Let’s go. Before I regret it.”

  Asta smiled.

  “Then let’s go on the adventure of a lifetime.”