In the Northern Palace —
Kraye had returned with Lupera and her young daughter.
Lupera had settled into her human form, as the noble spirit beasts with advanced intellect often do—capable of complete transformation, but at the cost of most of their power.
She sat at the edge of the bed, gently adjusting the blanket over the now-sleeping child, eyes following the rhythm of her breath with restrained anxiety.
It wasn't the illness that troubled her… but the cost.
For in this place, all that is given is returned a thousandfold.
Moments passed in silence, until a light knock echoed from the door.
"My lady Lupera… may I come in?"
Kraye's voice was hesitant—still carrying her instinctive respect for rank.
Lupera looked toward the door and smiled softly.
"You may enter… anytime, anywhere."
Kraye stepped inside, followed by Lara, who pushed a table adorned with various dishes.
Kraye gestured toward the food with a slight bow.
"My apologies if I didn't meet your preferences… I did what I could."
Lupera rose from the bed, approached, and placed her hand gently on Kraye's shoulder.
"Enough with this distance between us.
In the end… we are friends. At least, you and I."
Lara bowed lightly and exited:
"My ladies."
The two sat in the adjoining chamber, silence weighing heavy between them.
Gazes intertwined, hearts guarded. The air remained thick—wordless and charged.
Lupera finally spoke, her tone lightly amused:
"I never imagined… that I'd strike a deal with a young man centuries my junior—
and even more surprising, that he would be the one to dictate its terms."
She shook her head and lifted her wine glass, taking a slow sip.
"It all felt like a joke.
Yet it was… astonishing.
Especially… those conditions."
And for a moment, she returned to that scene—
Where power quietly shifted back into the King's hands.
...
— Days earlier, in her cave —
The King held the small child in his arms, his fingers tracing her head with mechanical gentleness, like tuning a lifeless instrument.
He spoke without looking at Lupera:
"There are two conditions, in exchange for healing your daughter.
And don't mistake me for some saint… I don't act out of pity.
I simply never waste a potential investment."
Kraye stood behind him, silent and observant.
Since his birth, she knew he was isolated—unique.
But never had she imagined his maturity ran this deep.
What she didn't know…
was that the boy, months away from turning sixteen,
carried the soul of someone over four hundred years old.
Lupera listened carefully.
And though his tone brimmed with arrogance, she didn't lash out.
If life had taught her anything, it was this:
**Never confront a force whose limits you do not understand.**
And her instincts screamed—don't let pride clash with this boy… or whatever resided within him.
She sighed softly:
"Very well. What are the conditions?"
The King rose, looking toward the horizon, then pointed far into the distance:
"…I want access to the seal known as 'Abyss of Light'.
Judging by your age, appearance, and strength… I estimate you've lived over a thousand years.
And the seal is said to lie somewhere within these lands. Lead me to it."
She paused, eyes narrowing in stunned disbelief.
She had imagined many demands… but never this.
Stepping closer, her voice deepened with old warning:
"This is madness… human.
The one you seek—two Sovereigns once joined forces to kill him.
They failed. Not because they couldn't—but because he humiliated them,
shattered their pride, and flung it across the land like a curse."
She whispered:
"I saw that battle. Saw the madness… laughing, moving, and then sealed."
The King didn't respond.
He simply smiled—
a smile unreadable: thrill, mockery, or respect?
What was clear… he had already chosen.
"And the second condition?" she asked, as though inviting the storm.
...
His expression began to shift.
The same body, but the air around him turned judicial.
His voice came slow—like a sentence carved in stone:
"Spatial Awareness."
The words echoed with immeasurable weight.
And suddenly… she fell.
She knelt—without command.
As if the universe itself pushed her down.
As if unseen hands pressed on her shoulders.
She resisted, but her eyes met his—
And saw what no mortal should see.
He was not alone.
He was watched… guarded… judged.
**As though knights of fate themselves stood behind him.**
He spoke, void of anger… yet full of divine decree:
"Serve… and you shall be served.
Kneel… and you shall rise."
...
A loud voice snapped Lupera back to the present.
Lara, anxious:
**"The young master… has returned."**
Both Lupera and Kraye turned toward the door, which slowly opened.
The King entered.
His clothes were immaculate—as though untouched by ash or journey.
His hair was styled, like he were preparing for a ceremony.
His skin was clear, untouched by war… or death.
He spoke with quiet triumph:
**"I have returned."**
Kraye rushed to him, embracing him tightly, resting her head on his chest:
"Welcome home… my dear."
He returned the embrace, hand gently brushing her hair, and with a rare smile:
**"Yes… I have returned."**
...
— Hours earlier —
The King awakened slowly.
He was not lying on the ground.
He was resting… on a chest strong enough to hold a world,
yet soft enough to cradle a shattered heart.
His cheek pressed against a neck that pulsed with unnatural energy,
while long, silken hair draped over his body like a living shroud—
from his shoulders to his waist.
As though the night itself had chosen to hold him.
No noise. No debris. No movement.
The darkness was thick… but it wasn't suffocating.
It was… comforting.
**As if the entire cosmos had been distilled into an embrace that asked nothing, explained nothing… only held.**
He opened his eyes, meeting the quiet gaze of the one holding him.
No words were needed.
A faint smile curved the King's lips, and he whispered:
**"My efforts were not in vain.
You did it, just as I believed you would.
Or maybe… it's time I called you my elder brother, Azaryel."**
A pause.
Then, with calm excitement:
**"Total destruction…
Or pure delight…
Or maybe we'll call it: the complete revolution."**
Azaryel smiled—his teeth bright against the dark.
He tightened his arms around the King, leaned close, and whispered:
**"It is the elder brother's duty… to make the younger happy."**
He laid his head on the King's shoulder, voice soft and distant:
**"I never thought I'd love something like family…
But perhaps… it isn't so bad after all."**
...
The King, who had long rejected emotion—who denied his own humanity—
had unknowingly formed a bond stronger than blood, deeper than brotherhood.
A friendship absolute… born between two who had never known its meaning.
That cosmic moment was shattered by a thunderous impact above.
The King looked up. Azaryel was already watching.
"It seems… my guests have arrived," he said, childlike smile curling his lips.
He placed his hand on the King's head.
**"I shall link our souls. Accept mine, little one."**
Dark mana surged from his palm, flowing into the King's crown.
And then—another voice echoed, dripping with disdain:
**"A mere copy… dares meddle with the origin's soul?
But I'm intrigued. I'll let you continue this time.
This show is far too entertaining.
Show me more… King."**
The King felt countless unseen eyes upon him.
Among them—he recognized one: the Blue Sovereign, silent, observing… judging.
Yet even Azaryel's mana began to form an eye of its own—dark, seething—
a forceful gaze that whispered possession:
**"This one is mine."**
Silence fell again.
The King looked at Azaryel.
"Call me… as only we would know."
Azaryel chuckled.
**"King Isaac… what a name, fitting of your rebellious soul.
And now… I am part of your twisted little family."**
He raised a hand, summoning a colossal portal in the air.
**"The Northern Palace awaits you… my King."**
He paused, then waved again—restoring the King's garments, healing his body.
The King turned to the gate, smiling:
**"Don't kill anyone."**
And with that—
the portal vanished.
Meanwhile, far from the palace—
While the King stepped through the gates of the Northern Palace,
the glacial lake had become a crimson mire—tainted with souls.
Malzavir had never underestimated Azaryel's strength.
But he believed—naively—that after a thousand years of imprisonment,
he might finally slay him… and extinguish the hatred that soaked his soul.
What greeted him instead… was devastation.
**The entire Golden Dragon Legion…
Two demon lords…
None could bring Azaryel down—**
A being who had just stepped out of his cage.
Malzavir stared at him—limbs torn, blood cascading—yet still smiling.
"You're enjoying this… aren't you?" he growled.
Azaryel tilted his head, features almost childlike.
"Why did you stop? You were so close to killing me this time."
He turned toward.zirvanth
"That dragoness… she's powerful, yes.
But she's drowning in her ancestors' pride—
Too deep to break her own limits."
zirvanth trembled where she stood.
A sense of worthlessness wrapped her bones.
"I… I… I am… a dragon!" she cried out.
"Run, my lady!"
One of her soldiers, barely standing—wings and tail severed—grabbed her arm,
his broken body trembling with desperate loyalty.
**
Malzavir's voice roared:
"Nezira! You disgrace us!
How can a demon queen be this weak?!
Curse the one who gave you that title!"
Azaryel's voice rose, calm and cutting:
"You mourn them… don't you?"
He didn't look back.
His mana was still restoring his body.
He wasn't eternal.
But he wasn't done either.
**
Then… he turned away.
A massive magic circle erupted around the field—
A dome of silent light.
And in moments—
flesh restored, limbs regrown, spirits reassembled.
**The Golden Legion returned, whole again.
As if nothing had ever happened.**
And Azaryel vanished.
Just like that.
A flicker.
A blur.
His voice remained, echoing softly in the shattered air:
**"The King asked me not to kill anyone.
Such a spoiler of joy."**
Silence fell across the battlefield.
Not because the fighting had ended—
But because something far greater had left.
The melted ice stopped hissing.
The blood pooling over the frozen ground no longer pulsed with life—or death.
Everything froze.
Not from cold… but from fear.
No one moved.
No one breathed.
Even the wind… seemed to cower between the peaks.
Nezira still knelt.
But her trembling no longer came from terror—
It came from emptiness.
Malzavir stood motionless, his gaze no longer fixed on the heavens—
But on the ground beneath him.
As if asking the earth:
**"Is this what justice looks like?"**
And…zirvanth
She opened her mouth slowly.
But no words came.
She did not cry.
She did not scream.
She simply knew…
The fire she was born with—had gone out.
And for the first time in her life…
She wasn't sure if she was a dragon—
Or just the echo of one.
The silence lasted longer than time itself.
Then—
a breeze.
Cold.
Soft.
Almost like the sky exhaled.
Was it the hush before the fall?
Or the silence after judgment?
None could tell.
But all who stood in that place… understood one thing:
**This was no victory.
No defeat.
This… was a declaration.**