Dawn had not yet fully broken when Jainal returned to the ruins of KarselVillage.
The child he had rescued still slept soundly in a makeshift shelter—built from rubble and the warm lining of his cloak. But outside, the silence lingered, and the stench of death still clung to the air.
Now was the time for answers.
With his steel mask activated, Jainal relied on its magic sensors to trace remnants of battle unseen by ordinary eyes. The morning air still carried fragments of magic—residual energy that hadn't yet dispersed. He followed the current like a hunter tracking the scent of blood.
---
Near the center of the village, he found a scorched ring burned into the earth—unnatural, too precise for wild fire.
> "Narrow radius, extreme heat, compressed energy signature...
This isn't basic magic. It's an AMP-3 magitek burst round."
Jainal knelt, touching the faintly warm ground.
He pulled a small knife from his waist and pried out a thin metal shard embedded beneath the surface—a broken magitek plate, etched with a faded factory code.
> "Heavy-grade military weapon.
No ordinary soldier could've carried this."
He stored the shard in a magic-resistant pouch and scanned the surroundings.
Several strange details drew his attention: puncture holes in the walls, erratic footprints, and—most notably—a single smear of blood… purple in color.
Not human.
---
Jainal descended a small slope behind the village, toward the stream marking the edge of the territory.
There, half-buried in mud and stone, were the remnants of a vehicle. Not an ordinary cart—but what was left of a light magitek military carrier. Its frame was partially melted.
> "They were transporting something… or someone."
He narrowed the focus of his magic sensors.
Faint traces of binding magic remained—used to restrain something with wild, unstable energy.
Perhaps a monster.
Perhaps an experiment.
But one thing was certain: Karsel wasn't collateral damage.
It was erased—to cover something up.
---
When Jainal returned to the child's shelter, the sky had begun to brighten.
Birdsong pierced the morning, but to him, the world still felt lifeless.
He opened his leather-bound journal and carefully recorded his findings.
> "Karsel wasn't a victim.
Karsel was a stage.
And we, unfortunately, are the witnesses."
The wind stirred softly, carrying with it the scent of ash—
and secrets newly unearthed.