The competent priest of the Grand Temple, the man whom those who slandered the woman as a heretic had pointed to as the mastermind. The unwelcome face Xenon had encountered in Breilin was none other than this silver-haired man. He was also the one who had informed Xenon of the woman’s destruction.

“I’ll call you if I need you.”

Noah carried Rudis into the tower.

Xenon’s eyes wavered as he watched the scene. It was all too familiar. It mirrored exactly what had happened long ago when he brought the woman to the temple. Back then, too, this man had received her. And then he lost her.

The silhouettes of Noah and Rudis disappeared into the darkness. Xenon gritted his teeth as he stared at the empty sky.

* * *

Rain was constant in the forests of Grimnoir. When torrential raindrops poured down, the world plunged into total darkness. The heavy rainfall resonated like divine warnings piercing through the forest, forcing all life on this land to remain silent within the downpour.

During rainfall, Grimnoir resembled the edge of the world. Even the most intense flames extinguished helplessly under the streams of rain, and the damp air made it difficult to breathe properly.

It was the same even when it wasn’t raining. Moisture rose between moss-covered trees, filling the forest with a dank aroma. Even the rare ray of light that managed to filter through the massive leaves was quickly devoured by the mist that Grimnoir exhaled, disappearing into a blue haze. Grimnoir was both Iska’s homeland and an inescapable prison.

The Tarkar grew up trampling through murky mud puddles, in sludge that wrapped around their shins with every step. In the forests of Grimnoir. In nightmare-like darkness. In the prison created by god.

The Tarkar were the first life created by Pathos. Simultaneously, they were the most hideous shadows the god had produced. Their hearts pulsed with cruelty, and hatred flowed through their veins as their essence. Their instinct to reproduce had twisted into greed, transforming into an endless hunger that filled the darkness of the forest. The Tarkar were Grimnoir itself, the darkness that ruled the forest.

Most terrible were their souls. Beings with cruel, cunning instincts that constantly sought to destroy one another. They were nightmares that even god couldn’t help but despise. Pathos confined them to Grimnoir, an endless hell. This place, untouched by light, was both their homeland and prison. There, they continued their existence by tearing each other apart and harboring hatred, seemingly proving god’s wrath.

The Tarkar did not age, nor could they face death. Born from divine anger, they were denied death. Their vitality was robust, seemingly mocking god’s will, but it was a curse rather than a blessing. They endlessly bit into each other’s flesh, mocked one another with hatred-filled gazes, and reproduced even amid destruction. They knew no morality, and certainly no compassion. Grimnoir was stained with their blood, and screams were the only songs they could sing.

Nothing could control them. Only before Baltar, the first Tarkar, would they momentarily retract their claws.

Iska’s father, Ragna, insisted they must escape Grimnoir. The Tarkar mocked him. Pathos had abandoned the Tarkar. Crossing beyond Grimnoir was forbidden by god. God hated the Tarkar, and the world outside Grimnoir was not permitted to them. But Ragna claimed he had heard a voice—the voice of Pathos, the god who had abandoned them.

The Tarkar said Ragna had gone mad. But deep in his heart, Iska wanted to believe his father’s words. He wanted to see the sun. A sky where light shone down, not endless darkness and rain.

Iska yearned for light even in darkness. He wanted to escape the endless whirlpool of blood and the persistent stench of rain. But he couldn’t express this desire to anyone. The hope in Iska’s heart was a taboo he couldn’t even acknowledge himself.

Then one day, Ragna disappeared, leaving behind words that he would bring back the sun to illuminate Grimnoir. Everyone was certain of his death. For a Tarkar to leave Grimnoir meant certain death.

Several years passed. No one mentioned Ragna’s name, and his existence faded from memory. But on a day of inevitable rain, Ragna returned, treading the muddy ground under the persistent downpour.

What actually caught Iska’s attention wasn’t his father but the woman standing beside him.

The woman seemed like a being that didn’t belong in Grimnoir. Her fragile, slender body, pale face, and snow-white hair that flowed down to her waist shone mysteriously even amidst the rain and mud. She stood in perfect contrast to the darkness that filled the forest, feeling like an unreal illusion. She stood silently beside Ragna, unconcerned with the suspicious and hostile gazes cast by all the Tarkar in the forest.

Iska swallowed hard. The woman was a being he had never encountered before. Just looking at her felt like he might go blind. Yet he couldn’t tear his gaze away. Rather, he wanted to look—more intensely than ever before.

Even Baltar, the first Tarkar, had to acknowledge her. The woman was a being who could bring the possibility of salvation to the Tarkar, beyond Pathos’s wrath. Baltar accepted her. The forest briefly dwelled in new hope.

Iska hovered around the woman. By her side, he learned human language and dreamed of the world beyond Grimnoir.

But peace didn’t last long. One day, a human came to Grimnoir. He was chosen by Pathos. Unlike the Tarkar, he was a man who carried Pathos’s light. He said he had come to take the woman. He looked very similar to her. He had neither ears protruding from his crown nor a bushy tail. His silvery hair, bright enough to make one shiver, was the same. Unlike the Tarkar, who were steeped in darkness.

Iska was afraid. Afraid that the woman would leave with him. Afraid that he would lose his sun.

Fortunately, the woman decided to stay in Grimnoir. But she couldn’t hide her sadness as she watched the man’s departing back.

After that day, Baltar was consumed by extreme anxiety, realizing that the woman might leave someday. Baltar hid her deep in a cave, believing the only solution was to keep her in darkness where no one could find her.

But even that wasn’t enough to quell Baltar’s anxiety. Baltar, the first Tarkar, decided to transform the woman into a Tarkar. He believed that if she became one of their kind, no one could take her away, and she would belong to their world forever. It was the extreme of fear and obsession.

The woman gradually lost her light, becoming increasingly stained by the dark shadows of the Tarkar’s curse. She was being consumed by the darkness of the Tarkar.

Iska realized that stealing the sun alone couldn’t save this hell. No matter how brilliant, no light could illuminate the darkness of the Tarkar.

He despaired. The sun couldn’t remain here. Grimnoir’s darkness was too deep and would surely devour the woman’s light completely.

Then one day, another human sneaked into Grimnoir. With trembling hands, Iska drugged everyone’s food, freed the captured human, and opened a path through the darkness.

That night, Iska’s sun left Grimnoir. Forever.

Standing in Grimnoir’s rain, Iska could only watch as the woman disappeared. She was his only light, his only hope. But she was a sun that would never be allowed to the Tarkar.

Baltar’s fury, upon learning the truth, swept through like a storm. Iska was banished—outside the forest of Grimnoir.

For a Tarkar, it was tantamount to a death sentence. Tarkar couldn’t exist outside the forest. Yet as Iska stood in Grimnoir’s rain, he hoped that he too might disappear into the light.

At that moment, the sky collapsed. Pathos’s light filled the forest, tearing apart the darkness that had enveloped Grimnoir. The golden light evaporated the rain and fog, and the earth screamed as it split open. The Tarkar screamed as they burned in the light they had so desperately longed for. It was divine judgment.