The Void Heart Devourer

Chapter 1: Blood Elegy in the Varkas Forest

The sky over the Forbidden Varkas Forest wasn’t weeping; it was raging. The roar of thunder echoed against the hiss of rain, which hammered the earth like thousands of ice needles. In the midst of the storm, four cloaked figures stood frozen like monuments of death, surrounding a young man kneeling in total resignation.

"Are you sure... we really have to end it here?"

The voice trembled, nearly swept away by the wind. A young elder stared at the boy in the center of the magic circle with a look that was hard to decipher—somewhere between pity and horror. Around the young man’s wrists were the SpiritSuppressing Chains. The ancient artifact glowed dimly, emitting a painful hum, as if insulted that it had to bind a body that didn't even possess a single drop of Aether energy.

Saint Realm chains for someone who couldn’t even cultivate. A cruel irony.

"Do not let doubt dull your blade," replied Grand Elder Laakso, his voice heavy and cold as a tombstone. His sharp eyes never wavered from the figure he was destroying tonight.

"But Grand Elder... he is Akseli Vainio. The last descendant of the fallen Vainio clan. The whole world knows he is nothing but 'trash' without an Aether Heart. Why must our great Laakso clan mobilize four grand elders just to execute a cripple?"

A suffocating silence followed. The only sound was the dripping of blood from Akseli’s temple, hitting the ground and mixing with the rainwater. His white garments, once a symbol of the Vainio clan’s purity, were now tattered and stained crimson with his own blood, clinging to his shivering frame.

Akseli slowly lifted his head. His black hair was drenched, covering eyes that should have been blazing with hatred, yet held only a haunting calm. He smiled faintly—a smile that made the elders' skin crawl.

"Because..." the Grand Elder finally spoke, "The Ancient Prophecy does not know the word 'cripple.' Within the blood of this trash, there is something that could swallow the sun."

"Prophecy? Is that the only reason we are slaughtering him?"

"Silence!" the Grand Elder snapped. His aura exploded with pressure, forcing the surrounding trees to bow in fear. "You are too young to understand the terrors of the ancestors."

Akseli chuckled softly. His voice was hoarse, yet rang out clearly in their ears. "You are all... far more pathetic than I imagined."

"What did you say?" one of the elders hissed.

"You are afraid," Akseli said, meeting their eyes one by one with a judgmental gaze. "The great Laakso clan, who claim to be the masters of Elarion, are trembling in front of a man who cannot even hold a sword properly. If the world finds out... history will record you as the most miserable cowards."

THUD!

A strike from a wooden staff caught Akseli’s jaw, throwing his frail body into the muddy ground. He coughed up thick, red liquid, but his laughter didn't cease. It sounded heartwrenching, filled with a weariness that had reached its breaking point.

On the verge of losing consciousness, Akseli remembered flashes of the faces that had betrayed him. His father, who discarded him with a look of disgust; the Vainio clan, who deemed him a curse; and Eveliina—his beautiful, icehearted fiancée.

"I am not destined to stand beside dust, Akseli. Find a suitable place to die so that you no longer shame my name."

Eveliina’s words when she broke their engagement in front of the nobility felt sharper than any sword. No one had defended him. The world wanted him dead, and tonight, he would grant that request.

"End this farce," the Grand Elder ordered coldly. "Execute him."

One of the elders drew his longsword. Golden Aether light enveloped the blade, slicing through the darkness of the night. He stepped forward, his hand wavering slightly as he saw Akseli staring at the sky, as if waiting for a star that would never appear.

"Forgive us, boy. This is for the sake of the world’s balance," the executor whispered.

Akseli closed his eyes. For the sake of the world? A beautiful excuse for a murder.

SLASH!

The cold blade pierced Akseli’s chest, straight through his heart. The young man jerked, his lungs struggling to draw in air now thick with the scent of rusted blood. Warmth left his body, replaced by a hollow void. His head slumped.

However, just as the elder moved to pull out his sword, he froze. His calm face turned deathly pale. His eyes widened, staring at something behind Akseli’s fading body.

"GGrand Elder..." his voice caught in his throat.

"What is it now?!"

"There... there is someone behind him! His eyes... his eyes are bloodred!"

"You've lost your mind! There is no one there!" the Grand Elder snapped. Yet, deep in his heart, he felt an invisible pressure squeezing his own chest.

"He’s looking at me! He’s smiling at me!" The elder stepped back, his sword slipping from his grip and hitting the ground with a clang. Pure terror radiated from the face of a highlevel warrior who should have known no fear.

"Pull out the sword and let's go! Our task is done!"

With trembling hands, the elder pulled the blade from Akseli’s chest. The boy’s body collapsed to the ground, lifeless. Without wasting a second, the four figures vanished into the forest darkness, fleeing from something they could not explain.

Silence reclaimed the Varkas Forest. However, beneath Akseli’s cooling body, the ground began to react. The drops of blood flowing from his heart did not soak into the earth; they were absorbed deep into the soil, as if something thirsty down there had been waiting for thousands of years.

In the deepest, darkest depths, a raspy, ancient voice—full of authority that could topple the heavens—echoed in the stillness of the spirits.

"...Finally..."

"...The perfect vessel... has arrived..."

Three days earlier...

The giant bells of the Holy City of Elarion rang to break the morning. The day of the Aether Heart Awakening had arrived. Thousands of youths stood with hopes as high as the sky, but for Akseli Vainio, that day was merely the countdown to his destruction.