CHAPTER 42
Shadows clung to the ruined archways like oil. The dim flicker of lanterns the men carried did little to chase away the oppressive dark. Whispers slithered along the walls-unnatural. Hungry.
Azi moved ahead without pause.
His eyes were sharp, glowing faintly with the power simmering beneath his calm. He twisted his wrist, drawing his blade without a word. A second later, three Voidwalkers lunged from the ceiling.
A blur of steel met them.
He sliced them easily without any struggles.
'Feifei...'
Their twisted forms dropped, cleanly severed, melting into smoke before they even touched the ground.
His soldiers, however, weren't faring so well.
Cries rang out. Blades clashed but were met with claws, shadows, and phantom magic. The Voidwalkers were too fast-shifting between real and void, phasing in and out of reach.
Azi turned briefly, gaze sharp as he saw one of his men pinned to the wall by inky tendrils, choking.
He was about to step in-
But someone else was faster.
A sudden gust of mana swept through the corridor like a wave. Then, with a sound like tearing air, a blue-haired figure dropped from the upper ledge in a streak of silver.
A flash of crimson eyes lit the gloom. His long coat flowed like smoke behind him, runes dancing along its hem. A glimmering blade extended from his hand-strange and ancient, as if forged of star-metal.
With swift, fluid movements, he slashed upward-a burning glyph following his blade and the Voidwalker screeched before disintegrating.
Two more lunged.
He pivoted, drawing a line in the air with his sword. It gleamed, then exploded into a burst of magical fire, incinerating the creatures in one breath.
The men blinked, breathless, stunned.
The figure turned slowly, red eyes gleaming in the darkness as he glanced at the remaining Voidwalkers.
His feet slid with impossible grace, as if every step had purpose beyond combat. He turned his blade sideways, flicked his wrist-a spin, a downward slash, an upward flare of light.
The Voidwalker screeched, then exploded in a spiral of flaming sigils, vanishing like mist.
Azi froze, eyes locked on the blue-haired warrior-Deimon.
The man didn't hesitate. He continued forward, slipping between Azi's struggling soldiers with unearthly calm. His blade glided-cutting through shadow with elegance, like he was performing to a rhythm only he could hear. Mana gathered around him in vivid arcs-controlled, deadly, beautiful.
Like fire given form and trained to obey.
Azi's breath caught. He watched, unmoving, as one more Voidwalker dared to lunge-and was met with a flash of red eyes and a flick of the wrist.
Gone.
The man exhaled quietly and turned his head, finally acknowledging the stunned squad behind him. His fiery red eyes met Azi's.
There was a brief silence. A recognition of power speaking to power.
His crimson gaze swept the group like a blade.
He turned away, steps silent, vanishing into the flickering haze without another word.
Azi stood still. He didn't even call out.
He was too absorbed-entranced by what he just saw.
That wasn't normal swordsmanship. It was mastery. Every strike held meaning. Every movement, refined. It was.. "beautiful."
'Who are you?' Azi thought, eyes narrowing slightly.
The cold wind howled through the upper cliffs as Azi stood alone at the edge of the base. The stars were drowned behind thick, storm-colored clouds. His coat whipped at his legs, his eyes scanning the dark valley below.
Nothing.
No sign of her.
No whispers.
No trace of her magic.
Not even her laugh.
The frustration clenched in his chest like a vice. His knuckles were white around his gloves.
..............
A soft breeze whispered through the window, carrying the faint scent of herbs and polished wood. Light filtered through the thin curtains, casting delicate patterns across the stone floor and embroidered rug.
Sorayael's lashes fluttered open, revealing golden eyes that caught the morning light like gilded glass. She blinked slowly, taking in the unfamiliar room-a modest chamber with stone-carved walls, warm candlelight, and an old crest etched above the door.
*knock* *knock*
Before she could even fully sit up-
*SLAM!*
The door swung open with theatrical flair.
Sorayael blinked at them. Once. Twice.
Deimon was already on his knees, offering the tray like a holy relic.
Sorayael stared at the two of them, propped herself up on one elbow, and finally muttered, "..Are you two always like this?"
They both looked at each other, then at her, and dropped to one knee at the same time with synchronized seriousness.
Sorayael blinked again.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes squinting. "I feel like I woke up inside a cult."
Deimon looked scandalized. "A cult?! This is reverence! Respect! Devotion!"
"I preferred cult," she mumbled.
Reinhold cleared his throat. "Please excuse his theatrics. He's... overly enthusiastic."
Deimon grinned unapologetically, still kneeling on the floor like a worshipper awaiting divine command.
Sorayael finally sat upright, brushing her silver hair behind her ear. Her golden eyes softened slightly. Despite their oddities, there was a strange warmth to their presence. Not just obedience.. but loyalty. Like they truly meant it.
Reinhold straightened, his gaze sharp and unwavering. "We once served Velthira though not us particularly but our anscetors. And now.. we decided to serve you."
Deimon chimed in, still smiling, "And we're really good at it too. I'll even make you pancakes!"
Sorayael stared at the two of them again. One cold and composed, the other reckless and oddly affectionate.
She couldn't help it.
She laughed-soft, a little breathless, disbelieving.
Sorayael sat upright now, her hands folded on her lap, her golden eyes watching the two kneeling figures. The glow of the candle beside her danced on the wall, its flame small but steady-like the breath of memory.
Her voice came quiet, measured.
The air shifted slightly.
Deimon winced and glanced sideways at Reinhold, as if silently passing the responsibility.
Reinhold met her gaze and stood, though still respectfully bowed at the waist. "We miscalculated," he said plainly. "Forgive us, my liege. Deimon only sought to test your strength, unaware that... you and Velthira are not two separate souls, but one."
'Huh?'
A silence settled.
Deimon cleared his throat awkwardly. "I... I didn't mean to offend, my liege. I-I thought if she reacted strongly, I'd be able to tell whether she was really-"
Deimon shut his mouth and gulped in nervous.
Sorayael sighed, then turned her gaze to Reinhold. "And you. Who are you exactly?"
There was a pause, and then-
He straightened. Not arrogantly, but with the solemn pride of one bound by ancient honor.
He walked slowly to the window, as if the past were painted in the glass.
Reinhold turned, eyes solemn, voice lowering.
"No matter the age, no matter the world... I shall guard you, even if I must die again and again. Even if my form shatters into dust, my vow shall echo across time."
Sorayael tilted her head slightly. "What kind of price?"
Reinhold's eyes narrowed just for a moment-his voice clipped with restraint.
His voice never raised. But Sorayael could feel the weight behind each word-steel wrapped in velvet.
A moment passed.
Then Sorayael, quietly asked "...You left your kingdom for me?"
Reinhold met her gaze without faltering. "You are the kingdom."
Even Deimon looked touched, eyes blinking wide like he wasn't expecting Reinhold to actually say something poetic.
Sorayael narrowed her eyes, lips twitching. "You cuffed me."
She chuckled softly, then leaned back against the pillow.
For once, she felt grounded. Not because of the place, but because of the people.
Two strangers. One descended from a star, the other.. a reckless fool.
Both now hers.
And deep within her chest, Velthira's soul stirred gently, watching silently through golden eyes.