Rain droplets slid down the surface of a branch, splattering onto the ground and punctuating the fragile silence.

  Terror’s hard gaze fixed on Van. His body tensed, face drained of color. ‘Van Ackerman,’ he muttered inwardly as he stepped backward and placed his hand on a tree trunk. ‘If he’s here already, then our plan to breach the barrier might as well be as good as failed.’ A drop of sweat slid down his cheek.

  However, amid the predatory silence, sudden laughter broke out.

  “Heh?” Terror turned sharply to Glock, who kept chuckling uncontrollably.

  “Wha?” Van asked, confused, as he tilted his head. “Something on my face?” He raised a finger and slid it across his cheek.

  “I’ve never laughed so hard,” Glock said as his chuckle gradually subsided. “To be frank, that entrance was a total ten out of ten,” he added, theatrically flashing a chef’s kiss. “But I’m not quite the right audience. I mean, why’d God wanna visit a sinner like me? To bless me? Or is it… otherwise?” He smirked and shrugged.

  “Well, whatever it is, it matters not—”

  “Gotta give it to you, man…” Van cut in coldly, eyes ridged with boredom.

  “Huh?” Glock flinched.

  “…you talk a lot,” Van finished coolly.

  Glock blinked. “Nothing beats your arrogance,” he marveled. “My favorite historian once said, ‘Fools call it pride, graves call it proof.’”

  “Hmm.” Van hummed and nodded. “Well, I wouldn’t say I haven’t heard better, but then, it’s a free world. Last words don’t have to make sense, do they?” he said bluntly.

  “Tsk,” Glock clicked his tongue, brows furrowing.

  Van’s eyes narrowed, a self-satisfied expression spreading across his face. “Shall we?” He gestured for them to begin.

  Glock raised his hands. “Oh, let’s not be too hasty,” he protested sharply. “Just a little more time, and it’ll be here,” he murmured, looking at the sky.

  “What?” Van mouthed, following Glock’s gaze.

  A distant whirling sound gradually grew louder until the mechanical structure emerged from the dense clouds. Its propellers generated a wind current that bent the blades of grass and swayed the tree branches.

  Glock grinned. “Just in time.”

  “Is that…?” Van exclaimed, eyes widening. Hovering in the sky was a helicopter, its lights bright and shining over the entire forest.

  “I’ve lived a very long life,” Glock began as his dark gaze lowered to Van’s. “And I’ve come to understand something, Van Ackerman.” He stretched his arms outward, forming a parody of a divine being as the wind tugged against his attire.

  “Humans will never truly lose hope until they realize there’s no more source of hope,” he explained as the chopper’s light flashed across his face.

  He jabbed his finger at Van. “You’re their last hope. And what’ll happen if they see their last hope snuffed out right in their presence?”

  Van’s mouth fell open. “Wait, you don’t mean…” He started, shock filling his tone.

  Glock’s lips curled into a wicked grin. “That’s right, Ackerman,” he nodded. “The broadcast has begun. Every single Eldrian should already be seeing this by now.”

  Van looked up again and caught sight of a cameraman standing at the door with his video camera aimed toward them.

  But something was different: the man had no head—only a twisting mass of worms sat on his neck.

  …

  The street bustled with hordes of people scurrying about and passing a blank screen mounted on a skyscraper’s wall.

  Suddenly, the blank screen blinked to life, showing the view of Blackthorn Forest from above, locked on Van Ackerman, Glock Harbinger, Sir Zoldrak’s body behind him, and Terror.

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  “Huh? What’s that?” A passerby stopped and stared at the screen. A man coming from behind bumped into him.

  “Oi, the fuck’s wrong with you?!” he rasped, face twisting. But he soon realized the man wasn’t interested in him—his eyes were fixed on something far away.

  The man turned and immediately spotted the footage. “What?!” he exclaimed.

  “Is that Glock Harbinger?” another voice croaked as she pointed at the screen. “And wait… there’s Van Ackerman next to him?” She shouted, her voice reaching everyone as they stopped in unison.

  “Van Ackerman?” “Did someone say Van Ackerman?” “Where?” “He’s right there!” “Is that Blackthorn Forest?” “Let me see him!” “I want to see Van Ackerman!” The people shouted as they rushed forward and rallied before the tower.

  “Van Ackerman… look at me!” a lady squealed.

  “We’re saved!” “Van Ackerman… he’s the only one who can stop Glock Harbinger!” “Heaven’s finally smiling upon us.”

  Van Ackerman’s mere presence on the screen had stopped the chaos. The city, busy with noise and cries seconds ago, suddenly fell silent, save for marvelled whispers and squeals.

  The same scene reached other parts of Eldrid—Azura, Sylva, and beyond—as everyone stood before their screens, hope flaring in their eyes.

  A little girl carried in her mother’s arms pointed at the screen. “Mummy, who’s that?” she asked.

  “I-It’s the man who’ll save us. It’s Van Ackerman!” her mother replied as tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Even THE OCTAGON fell quiet. Spectators of Eldrid’s most popular sporting event sat in silence like a congregation listening to a sermon, all watching the TV screen that aired the live footage from Blackthorn Forest.

  W.A.S. Surveillance Headquarters.

  The large dark room was filled with navigators, each seated before a monitor, eyes fixed on their screens as they scribbled and typed furiously.

  In the middle of the room stood Arthur Smith beside a wide monitor displaying the Blackthorn footage. His eyes swept through the room, scanning all the monitors simultaneously. His chest heaved heavily, but he quickly steadied himself by raising a finger to adjust his glasses. His gaze fell on a picture hung against the wall far behind him—the portrait of the late Sorcerer-General of Eldrid: Sir Zelazny Zoldrak.

  ‘Sir Zoldrak,’ Arthur thought, fist clenching as the memory returned.

  He had stood beside Sir Zoldrak, both facing Glock Harbinger.

  “Arthur,” Sir Zoldrak had called, eyes never leaving Glock, who stood some distance away.

  “Yes, sir!” Arthur had answered and stepped toward him.

  “You must leave right now. There’s a possibility that I’ll die in this battle,” Sir Zoldrak had said.

  “What?” Arthur had gasped.

  “There’s not enough time to explain, but move as fast as you can to the Surveillance HQ,” Sir Zoldrak had commanded. “In the event of my demise, Glock will retrieve the key to Vesta. However, I believe he will encounter someone who’ll stop him before he’s able to accomplish his goal. You’re to take over command immediately!”

  “Argh.” Arthur sighed as he returned to reality. He spun around. “Navigation team, keep watch on the tenzometer readings. Alert me if there’s an Anti-tenzen/tenzen Ratio (A.T.R.) spike!” he said, tone light but commanding.

  “Roger that!” the workers answered in unison.

  “Here we go,” Arthur whispered, cracking his knuckles. “Let’s see how this plays out.”

  …

  Blackthorn Forest.

  “How nice. I can literally hear the civilians’ squeals all the way from here.” Glock’s voice carried through the soft wind.

  Van shrugged. “People know a God when they see one, don’t you think?” he replied.

  Glock smiled and continued. “My goal is but one,” he declared, raising his forefinger. “By killing you right in the presence of every eye, I’ll make everyone realize they shouldn’t have trusted you.”

  “Pfft… hahaha!” Van burst into laughter. “Man, you shouldn’t set goals you can’t accomplish. Try to consider your limits once in a while,” he advised.

  “Hmm… what an overconfident fool,” Glock rasped. He turned his face toward the camera. “Why don’t I start by revealing who I really am?” he muttered.

  “Tch!” “Bastard!” “No one cares about who you are!” The watchers hissed, eyeing Glock with rage-filled gazes.

  “Hello, Eldrians…” Glock greeted and bowed courteously. “I am…” As he spoke, his facial skin began to decay and fall away from his face.

  “What’s happening?” “Is he transforming?” “H-his face is changing?” The crowd murmured.

  “Glock Harbinger Thorne.”

  “Eh?” Van blurted and locked eyes with the new face.

  “Glock Harbinger Thorne,” a man seated among the spectators in THE OCTAGON reechoed. He looked at his friend as the two slowly turned back to the screen, staring at the eighth Sorcerer-General’s face.

  “Glock Harbinger Thorne,” the name echoed again—this time from everyone watching the scene.

  The sound of rain faded into background noise in everyone’s ears, and silence locked in.

  Glock continued. “Take the first letter of each name, and that means G.H. Thorne,” he spelled it out.

  Panic etched into Van’s face. His hair fell forward as he released the beer can, letting it fall to the ground with the only reverberating sound amid the dreadful silence.

  Arthur stood still. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t breathe. He just stared.

  “I thought that’d help everyone calm down, and looks like I was right,” Glock’s voice rang clear in every ear, edged with amusement.

  He paused, then corrected himself sharply. "No. Let me rephrase. The man you see is the man you know. Who I truly am? No one knows. No one should. Even I’ve nearly forgotten. My sorcery's quite generous but not infinite; it only lets me hold two faces at once.”

  Glock spun once, slow and deliberate, circling the plain. “I won’t leave you dangling. You don’t deserve suspense. At least, for the part I'm about to reveal."

  He stopped, facing them all.

  “I’ve existed in Eldrid’s history since the beginning; six hundred years. Every era. Every major event. Every turning point in politics or war. I was there.”

  He let the silence hang a heartbeat.

  “Gideon Horloge IV.”