Nyxborn-The Forgotten Etherium

Renar moved on instinct.

Steel flashed.

He barely twisted in time to avoid the first strike—a diagonal cut meant to kill.

The hunter was fast. Faster than any ordinary soldier, faster than even the warriors trained in Etherium.

Renar caught a glimpse of the blade—black steel, inscribed with runes that flickered with a faint, unnatural glow.

Not just a weapon. A reclaimer's blade.

Designed not to wound—but to erase.

The hunter didn't hesitate. He pressed forward, relentless, each strike fluid and precise.

Renar parried, dodged, pivoted—but something was wrong.

Each time their weapons met, a sharp pain spiked through his chest—deep inside, where his Etherium Core lay.

The sword wasn't just cutting into flesh.

It was severing something deeper.

Renar's mind raced. Who was this man?

His movements—his technique—Renar had seen them before.

Not in battle.

Not as an enemy.

As an ally.

The realization hit like ice in his veins.

"I know you."

The hunter didn't react.

"I fought beside you."

Still, nothing.

Renar gritted his teeth. He didn't want to believe it. But the way he moved, the way he fought—it was too familiar.

Too personal.

"You were my comrade."

For the first time, the hunter hesitated.

Just for a fraction of a second.

But it was enough.

Renar struck.

He didn't aim to kill. He didn't even aim to wound.

He aimed for the mask.

His blade **clashed against steel—**and the mask cracked.

A sharp breath.

The hunter staggered back. His hood slipped, revealing dark hair, a scar along his jaw—

And a name Renar shouldn't have remembered surged back into his mind.

"Vael."

Silence.

For the first time, the hunter hesitated.

For the first time, his eyes widened.

And for the first time—Renar saw fear in them.

Not fear of battle.

Not fear of death.

Fear of remembering.