Prologue [2]

"Ahhhh!"

A hacking cough ripped through me, a dry rasp that clawed at my throat. My eyelids fluttered open, but vision remained a blurry mess.

Everything swam before me, indistinct shapes and shifting colors.

Then, a voice cut through the haze, a distant echo that slowly gained clarity. "From this day forward," it boomed, "Lumiea shall no longer bear the name Arenford!" The declaration reverberated within my skull, pulling me from the swirling vortex of unconsciousness.

With a supreme effort, I focused my gaze upward. The vast canvas of the sky greeted me, a maelstrom of clouds splashed with vibrant hues of sunrise.

Shifting my view, I saw a pair of leather boots approaching. My gaze climbed, meeting the figure attached to them.

A scowl, so ugly it contorted his entire face, greeted me. My breath hitched.

Is this... fear I feel?

It's really been so long since I've felt such a primal emotion.

Wait... Where am I?

Is this where "She" is? If so, who are these people crowding around me?

I attempted to move, but my body felt like lead, heavy and utterly unresponsive. Panic surged through me.

What is this?

Why can't I control my own limbs?

My gaze burned with impotent fury as it locked onto the young man before me. Dark hair, almost black, framed his face, and his neon green eyes held a cruel glint.

A thin layer of metal armor adorned his body, but it was the gleaming sword pressed against my throat that sent shivers down my spine.

Who is he?

And... why does he seems so familiar?

Defiance surged through me. I attempted to rise, only to be met with a brutal kick to the face. The impact sent me sprawling, the world spinning around me.

"Finally!" the young man cackled, raining down further blows. "Stripped of everything, you're nothing but a slave now!" Each word was laced with venom, each kick fueled by an unknown hatred.

Suddenly, the onslaught stopped.

This is definitely not a dream, that much is certain.

But where is this, and what is happening?

With a groan, I managed to roll onto my back. My gaze landed on a figure seemingly intervening on my behalf.

"What is this, Christina?" the black-haired boy demanded, his voice tight with annoyance.

"I think that's enough, Aren," came the reply, a voice laced with uncertainty.

Aren? Christina?

These names can't be… they simply can't.

A wave of nausea washed over me, threatening to consume me.

Gripping onto the remnants of my consciousness, I forced myself upright again.

My eyes darted to the corner, landing on a lone sword propped against a crate. Probably my weapon until a few moments ago.

But, I can only remember one place with the mention of Christina and Aren, a thought I desperately hoped isn't't rearing its ugly head.

"Remember what he did to you, Christina," the younger boy sneered. "Do you really think he deserves your sympathy?"

He brushed past the girl, his smirk widening as he towered over me.

My body remained a prisoner, refusing to obey my desperate commands. His foot connected with my face, the crushing pain momentarily stealing my breath.

Dazed, I looked around. Faces stared back at me, a mix of fear and morbid curiosity etched upon them.

But it wasn't until a brutal blow slammed into my stomach, and my gaze finally landed on the figure seated upon a throne-like chair in the distance, that understanding slammed into me like a tidal wave.

I see.

I am Lumiea.

The bearer of the fifth demon, Azareth.