Galbrena

"The demon has fallen. The children may sing once more."

The Discord Slayer folded her burning wings and descended from the skies into the waiting crowd. The heat still rising from the gun at her hip betrayed that her hunt had just ended.

Tacet Discords—supernatural beings born from the chaotic remnants of human frequencies and energy—were the embodiment of malice and destruction in this world. Although science had long since classified them, in many places they were still referred to as demons or vengeful spirits, with names derived from old legends and ghost stories. And across the world, there were those who hunted them. For bounty, for research, or simply to test their own strength. To face such terrifying foes with both respect and defiance, these hunters bore a title passed down through the ages—Discord Slayer.

Most Discord Slayers proved their kills by extracting the monster's frequency through their Terminal, or by returning with its Tacet Core. But not her. She always came back empty-handed, offering only her word that the job was done. She would calmly recount each monster's weakness and the best way to slay it. But words alone earned no trust. And so, she raised her right hand and whispered its name… the Shrieking Legion, the Tacet Discord she harbored, emerged. The crowd had no choice but to believe. Fear thickened the air. Silence fell like a blade.

She heard their murmurs, their doubts, their suspicions. She felt their hostility, but never once tried to explain herself. Some whispered she was the product of a human–TD hybrid experiment, created for the sole purpose of killing. Others believed she was forged from altered TD frequencies, a being born of sin. Still more were convinced she had struck a pact with a demon and traded her emotions away. She always nodded in agreement to that. To her, it was a convenient shield, an excuse to silence the questions she didn't want to answer.

Most days, she would turn away from the stares. But sometimes, she allowed herself small indulgences. She would ignore the wary looks and take a seat at an open bar, quietly ordering a few glasses of a blueberry ice cream shake. Only the hunters who fought beside her knew the truth. Beneath her cold, distant mask burned an intense lust for the hunt. And when she faced her prey, she was merciless.

The Shrieking Legion was a beast-type Tacet Discord of the forest. Born of jealousy, it mimicked human voices to lure children close before stealing their voices. She had warned the squad not to engage it on its own ground. But her youthful appearance earned no trust. They ignored her and fell into its trap. The valley walls amplified the monster's shrieks into a storm of sound that nearly broke the entire squad. But she did not hesitate. With cold resolve, she ruptured her own eardrums, blood trailing behind her as she charged forward. In the next breath, flames surged around her. She pressed her gun to the monster's chest and pulled the trigger. In the smoking silence that followed, she left only her verdict:

"Your penance starts now."

The crowd witnessed the monster's reckoning. With her right hand, she seized its throat, and serpentine flames engulfed it completely. The Legion released a final, distorted wail before dissolving into a sliver of essence—absorbed by her as due payment. Her own bloodied, burnt body began to regenerate with unnerving speed. For a moment, it was hard to tell... who the real demon was.

But one truth was undeniable. She could have escaped alone. Instead, she stayed. And because she did, they lived.

She brushed the ashes from her shoulders, conjured a handful of popsicles as if from thin air, and offered them to the trembling survivors with a casual grin.

"Want one?"

To her, this deadly hunt was nothing more than a mundane errand on an ordinary day.

Once the sweetness of the ice cream cooled the fire still smoldering in her chest, she unfurled her wings and vanished into the skies.

No one knew where she came from, or where she was going. Children called her the "Ice Cream Demon" after watching her devour three towering cups of frozen delight. The more learned saw the baleful fire that clung to her and thought instead of the legendary Flame Demon. But if one dared to gather her fallen feathers, they would discover something else. Those razor feathers sharp enough to cut Tacet Discords in two carried a strange gentleness, and... a bitterness weathered with time. Perhaps it was only natural. Such freedom, such untamed spirit, could only be born of displacement.

She rarely spoke of her past. When pressed, her answers were brief, evasive.

To know her story, one would have to go back a long, long time ago. Back when her hair still shimmered pale gold and her eyes still blazed with radiant light. Back before the world ever called her… "Galbrena."

People always said Angel was born "in the embrace of light and flame." She came into the world at golden dawn, swathed in radiant fire.

Her parents' Resonance Abilities were modest. In Ragunna, her birth might have been hailed as a miracle. But in Septimont, divinity held no sway. Here, only strength commanded respect.

For a child, a powerful Resonance Ability early in life was not always a gift. It came with a constant risk of losing control. Young Angel clung to her parents' teachings, carefully regulating her emotions to ensure her flames never harmed others. At an age meant for laughter, she stood apart from the other children—reserved, distant, cold. Some called it arrogance. The timid avoided her, while the bold sought to provoke her, eager to test themselves against a peer so unlike themselves. Perhaps these children meant no harm. But to them, her nature, her talents, her very identity were simply too... different.

Her parents were exiles from Ragunna, traveling far before settling in Septimont. Her father stepped forward to fight when monsters attacked. Her mother, even with little to spare, gave food to those with less. At a time when prejudice still lingered between the two city-states, these acts of kindness earned them a place in the town.

Her mother raised her by the Codex: to be kind, compassionate, tolerant, and forgiving. Angel took such lessons to heart. But in Septimont, kindness alone never guaranteed respect. Shaped by two distinct cultures, Angel developed a creed of her own: Treat others with goodwill. Never start a fight. But if someone strikes you, strike back harder.

Fortunately, bruises were common among children in Septimont. Still, Angel avoided causing her parents trouble. Over time, she learned to enjoy solitude. She found sanctuary in a smithy run by her father's friend, Uncle Filo. Few children went there, but something instinctual in her was drawn to the blazing fire, the sparks that flew, and the clear, ringing clash of hammer against iron. It was there she met a red-haired girl. With her bold, straightforward nature, that girl had many friends. She offered Angel the laughter her childhood had long lacked. They would sit by the forge and talk deep into the night about their troubles and dreams. The girl, Augusta, cared most for the stories behind each weapon, while Angel was captivated by the mysterious ritual of "quenching." Uncle Filo once explained: "Even the finest blade is just raw metal, unless it is quenched and tempered."

Many things puzzled Angel, like why the winds of Septimont always carried the scent of rust. She thought it was simply the breath of the forges and bellows. Only later, as she grew older, did she learn what it truly carried. The wind came from the Plateaus: From fallen spearheads, broken swords, and... the freshly spilled blood of warriors.

Sixteen years ago, the High Tide swept across the Plateaus. In Fabianum, the hunts became endless. Angel watched her parents return exhausted, saw others come back bloodied and broken, and heard the constant refrain of "strength." It was then that a vow took root in her heart.

From that day on, she trained with relentless resolve. She sought out adults for combat lessons, shadowed rangers to learn the hunt, and sparred with anyone willing. Like a parched beast at a watering hole, she drank deeply from every source. All for one goal: the Initiate's Proving Grounds. The victor would receive elite Gladiator training, and with it, a faster path to becoming a true hunter.

Effort bore fruit. In the arena, Angel cut through dozens of rivals until she faced the favored contender: Arkyria, famed for once fending off the Dark Tide's creations alone. Arkyria's will, tempered in life-and-death trials, forced Angel to retreat again and again. She could not let this chance to slip away... So, for the first time, she unleashed her Resonance Ability.

Light erupted from Angel like fire. Blazing, but not scorching. Dazzling, but not blinding. In that instant, the tide turned. Victory was hers. She stepped forward to check on her fallen rival, only to be met by bitter words: "Why you? Why were you gifted with such power?"

It was the question Angel had carried since childhood: Why me?

There were others who worked harder, with more talent. Why didn't they receive this gift?

If they had the same power, would they be spared pain?

If she could master this power, could she help them? What if...

Her thoughts were interrupted by the cries of Griffrexes overhead. They soared toward the Plateaus—where every hunt began.

Yes. At the very least, she had proven she could control her power. Soon, she too would ride a Griffrex into battle, striking down evil Tidespawn to defend more people. That was her vow. Her "hunt" was about to begin.

Everything was supposed to go that way. Everything did go that way. Yet fate, whether through a cruel twist of words or some long-planned deceit, finally revealed its face: What it gives, it takes. What is kind, it teaches to do harm. What is fearless, it breaks—until it kneels and never rises again.

But Angel had never set foot in Tetragon Temple. She never sought to understand fate. She didn't want to. She only knew this: if someone struck her, she would strike back harder. Whether it was man, divinity, or... fate itself.

She would never forget the first time she "devoured" a Tacet Discord. Her body's rejection tore through her, an agony that seared her insides, as if her very soul would be reduced to ash. But more unbearable than the pain was the weakness it revealed.

She knew what had granted her a second chance at life, and she remembered the vow she had once sworn. But when she stood before the "true forms of evil," she understood just how powerless she truly was.

So she surrendered her frequency, striking a pact with the demon that dwelled within her. That day, she set foot on a path with no return.

Yet to her, this was the "hunt" she was always destined to begin: the hunting ceremony she never attended, the Sacred Flames the Priestess should have lit... Now ignited instead by the infernal blaze of "Galbrena."

And so, the girl bearing fire wandered between civilization and wilderness, listening to whispers and sifting through legends. She wandered desolate ruins littered with corpses and bones, seeking only to hunt the monsters born of mankind's emotions.

She once fought up on a sheer cliff and plummeted with her foe into the depths—though she had not yet learned to fly.

She once battled beneath the surface of a dark lake, for her enemy feared the water—though she herself could barely swim.

She had slain countless monsters, and had nearly been slain by countless more.

Chimera once believed that those granted a second life would cling to it, doing anything to survive, until their will buckled under the weight and they fell into his trap. Never had Chimera imagined that he would be undone by the very bloodlust he sought. Again and again, the girl challenged foes far stronger than herself, wagering her life each time, until she became a living prison of flesh and blood that bound him.

This second life had come at a cost. To live it in cowardice would make it meaningless. She did not fight merely to tame the demon inside her. She fought to wrest more power from fate itself.

Yet Chimera's words were not without truth: kindness without power is the cruelest tragedy. To save, one must also learn to harm. She recalled her mother's words, "If a tree's roots cannot pierce into hell, then its branches will never reach heaven." But she had never yearned for heaven. If hell awaited her, then she would descend deeper, dragging demons down with her, forcing them to kneel before infernal fire, or consigning them to eternal ruin… Even if that inferno consumed her as well.

Still, she sometimes wondered if she had already become the demon people whispered about. Could her current body... even be considered "human"? Could she truly wield darkness for good, without being devoured by it?

For while she gave her kindness freely… she had done things only demons would.

Once, she traveled to a remote southern town to hunt the Nameless Dreadshade. It was said that its influence had driven the townsfolk mad, making them obsessed with a "frequency exchange" technique. They butchered travelers to harvest their frequencies in pursuit of immortality. When the Dreadshade was slain, instruments shattered and the so-called immortals withered away, shrieking in insanity until their final breaths. Still unrepentant, still scheming, still thinking of how to sacrifice others for their own survival...

In that moment she realized it was not the Dreadshade that had twisted them. Their own deranged desires had summoned it forth. And so, with one great blaze, she reduced that town of living hell to ashes, purging the evil at its source.

That hunt taught her two truths: the demons of this world are not only Tacet Discords, and every demon is born from the human heart.

Perhaps the fact that she still asked these questions meant she was still human. Or perhaps, the world had already delivered its answer.

She had seen men claw and kill for the smallest profit, and others sacrifice their lives for the faintest flicker of hope. She had seen cities crumble to greed, and white blossoms bloom in the mud and rubble left behind. Human nature was a fragile and captivating paradox. Kindness and cruelty. Baseness and greatness. Always intertwined. The world was never just black or white. And it was within that endless gray that she found herself most at home.

The young Discord Slayer grew accustomed to the way others treated her and to her place between worlds. Where once her fiery wings had left her bruised and bloodied, she now learned to soar with grace.

By day, she circled the borderlands like a hawk in search of prey, watching the world in silence. By night, she rested alone on barren branches, guarding the ancient stars, just as they guarded her.

She still remembered her vow. Once, she feared the shadows and the power they held. Later, she learned to wield that fear. And now, she had chosen to become fear itself. A being so terrifying... even demons trembled before her.

Sunset. Sands. Smoke. This hunting ground was no more brutal than those before it.

The girl of yesterday had long hardened into a woman covered in scars. From beneath her tattered clothing radiated a killing intent so fierce that even Tacet Discords instinctively fled at her approach.

And yet, even she seemed insignificant before the iron bulk of Dullahan, the headless knight who razed the land. Its arrival came without warning. Steel clashed. In that instant, Galbrena understood why she had failed to sense it. Its frequency was overwhelming, so powerful that even the Dark Tide refused to touch it. She had long since unbound Chimera, letting him loose to revel in bloodshed... But even his ferocity could only slow the knight's warhorse.

Run? The thought crossed her mind more than once. But just a few hundred meters behind her, a mother and son were fleeing for their lives. Each moment she stood her ground was another moment bought for their survival. They would carry the warning onward, to the tribe in the distance, and perhaps summon reinforcements to halt Dullahan's advance before it reached the gates of civilization. For that reason, the choice was clear. This was not about victory. It was about standing, no matter the cost.

She did not fear death, but she refused to fall here. Harpyia's razor wings had already been broken. Now, her only remaining weapon was "Galbrena's" dying hellfire. And on this barren battlefield, there was no hatred left to stoke her flames.

"…You've always known how to keep that fire burning."

A childlike voice stirred in her mind.

"If Galbrena was born to feed on hatred…

Then hate yourself.

Hate your weakness. Hate your helplessness. Hate your hesitation…

If the Flame Demon's blaze isn't enough, then burn yourself.

If the Beholder claims Dullahan's armor cannot be broken, then trust your own 'eyes.'"

She did not know to whom the voice belonged. But its words rang true, urging her to trust her instincts, just as she always had.

Hatred and flame welled at her fingertips. Faint, but sharp enough to cut through her wounds and set her blood and body alight.

Dullahan's greatsword came crashing down once more. But this time, she didn't meet it head-on. She dove straight into the hollow where its head should have been, hurling herself into its empty armor. Scorching fire swallowed her whole. But as she had guessed, this was its weakness: its inner flame was feeble compared to hers. Two fires clashed and roared inside the suit of iron. That towering body shuddered… Until, at last, silence fell.

The next time she opened her eyes, she was in the arms of that mother and child.

Alive? Galbrena was grateful. She lit her fingertips once more, ready to burn herself—relieved that she could still use the same trick. They stopped her quickly, reminding her that the headless knight was already gone. Later, she would hear that when reinforcements arrived, all they saw was a golden dawn blazing on the horizon. And Galbrena, collapsed alone in the sands.

It wasn't until others pointed it out that she noticed her body had changed. In that pure, internal clash of fire, she had already won. Dullahan's frequency had fused into her blood and bones. The headless knight's regenerative power had healed her nearly destroyed body, erasing even her oldest scars. The Immortal Flame Demon, once only a name, now lived in truth. But Galbrena felt no warmth in this new life. All she knew was that she could use the same trick again and again, without end.

Her garments, already in tatters, had been burned away. Some tried to gather the scattered white feathers from the ground, hoping to weave her new clothes from them. But she only touched the black feathers on her shoulder and said, "This will do."

Perhaps Dullahan, too, had feared that radiant dawn. As for who brought it forth, she did not know. A trick of nature, perhaps? And the white feathers? Left behind by passing birds. They had nothing to do with her. Besides, black suited her far better.

Not long after she set off again, Chimera stirred. "What was that voice I heard?" she asked.

"That," he answered, "Was the oldest and strongest demon within you."

"Even older than you?"

"Of course. She's been part of your flesh and soul from the beginning. If not for her, I would've devoured you long ago. It was she who helped you defeat 'Galbrena.'"

"I don't remember ever absorbing such a Tacet Discord."

"Not a Tacet Discord… You truly don't know her name?"

"No."

"…Your ignorance never ceases to amaze me. How have you survived this long?"

"Spare me your chatter. Tell me."

"…Angel. Her name… is Angel."

She had once turned the gun upon herself, but this was not her dream.

She had slain countless Tidespawn in the boundless dark. At last, spent and staggering, she collapsed atop the black waters. Once more, she found herself in the net spun by fate.

"No… I can't fall here. Too much remains undone. I made a promise to {Male=him;Female=her}… I must not fall here."

When her eyes opened again, Fabianum lay before her. Her rivals, her friends, her family... they all smiled warmly as they walked toward her.

But was this another illusion conjured by the Threnodian? Did Leviathan believe she feared happiness? Or rather, an undeserved happiness? For how could one possessing such dark power ever be seen, accepted, and loved?

Once, she might have wrestled with that question. Now, she no longer needed an answer. She only needed to remember her aim. She rose, ignited her flames, loaded the barrel, and leveled her gun at the "old friend" before her.

"Hahaha! Little girl, looks like you've honed yourself into something sharp indeed."

If this were a dream, Uncle Filo's laughter rang far too true. Yet when she saw the marks of the Dark Tide's corruption on them, she understood at last: those who had once given her all their frequencies, who by all rights should have become Leviathan's kindred, were still resisting Its embrace. For decades, they had refused Its so-called "gift." And for that, Leviathan had cast them into the deepest reaches of the Dark Tide, condemning them to torment without end.

She fell silent. Along her journey, she had faltered. She had hesitated. Maybe, if she had only pushed harder, she might have mastered this power sooner. Might have come back earlier, might have saved more lives. Maybe...

"Hunter, you've already done enough."

"Live with pride, head held high. Free and unbound. That has always been our wish."

"You will forever be our pride."

They all answered with radiant smiles. And her mother gave voice to the question she had long carried in silence. One she had never dared, nor ever been given the chance, to ask.

"But my child, you know this is not home."

"Your journey must continue. Someone is still waiting for you."

"Remember when we fought? Give Leviathan a taste of that! Do it for all of us! Avenge us with joy!"

"Farewell, Angel. This time… may truly be forever."

"Don't forget, we will always be with you."

At the end, her father struck a pose, lifting his hands in a clumsy, exaggerated "V" for victory. "Foolish old man..." she laughed bitterly in her heart. But she knew the meaning it carried. No need for hugs. No looking back. It was both comfort and farewell.

Their figures blurred into specks of light, pointing her toward a fleeting direction... That was why they had come. They had no strength left to give, but once again, they saved her.

How laughable Leviathan's trick turned out to be. It sought to drag her down into the endless darkness of the Dark Tide, yet instead, It helped her finish a farewell she had long been denied.

Fabianum faded before her eyes, crumbling and vanishing. But she was no longer that little girl. Her past held beauty, but she would not drown in it. Her heart held softness, but she would forge herself sharper still.

And so, without hesitation, she turned and walked into the boundless dark.

Once more, Chimera stood before her.

She never expected this savage Tacet Discord to understand humanity, nor to be her friend. She only wished that, once her path was clear, he would cease causing her trouble. And for that, there was only one solution: she had to tame him.

She braced for battle. Yet this time, Chimera did not strike. He only watched her in silence as she approached, burning quietly in her flames—Angel's flames. Her flames.

At last, so many questions found their answers.

"Can't handle such a small flame?"

"An abysmal jest! Try not to die here. This is not where our hunt shall end."

"We have survived worse before, haven't we?"

There was no demon that could not be hunted. The Threnodian was only the strongest of them. And besides, she wasn't alone in this fight.

Chimera spoke no more and stepped aside. Behind him, countless Tacet Discords she had once devoured revealed their forms. She had fought them to the death, again and again across endless dreams, seizing their power by force. But now…

She walked past them without fear. A blazing road unfurled at her feet. And on either side, creatures that once struck terror into countless souls now bowed in reverence, as if escorting their master to battle. Were they bowing before a demon greater than themselves? Or before something else, something even demons feared?

It no longer mattered. Her power had long surpassed theirs. She required no recognition. Only obedience.

And she would wield this cursed power to hunt down greater sins—just as she had sworn in childhood, a vow unbroken unto death.

For herself. For those who could never return. To ensure the tragedy of Fabianum... and that of her own suffering would not be repeated.

Her hunt would never end.