The Aftermath of the Runic Ark's Collapse
The castle tower was engulfed in flames, a blazing aftermath of the Rune Ark's collapse. It had crumbled in the wake of Montecristo and Alistar's forced incursion, driven by the message left behind by Fiora. Liliam stood frozen, wide-eyed, watching the chaos unfold.
With trembling hands and Sonia at her side, she conjured a massive column of water that spiraled around the tower. As it met the inferno, the water hissed and evaporated in a cloud of steam, smothering the fire at last.
Without hesitation, Liliam dashed toward the shattered remnants of the Rune Ark. Her breath caught as she beheld its ruin—and then, lowering her gaze, she saw Fiora.
Bloodied and burned, Fiora lay motionless at her feet. Liliam fell to her knees, gathering her in her arms. The burns were severe. The blast Bardo had hurled at Montecristo… had struck her too.
"Bring the Sentinels here, now!" she cried, her voice strained and trembling. Her body shook as panic gripped her—her sister's life hanging by a thread. Desperately, she tried to rouse Fiora, her hands trembling against scorched skin.
Slowly, her gaze lifted, sweeping across the scorched hall. There, standing amidst the ruin, were the kings of the realms—the very ones they had once called enemies.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice a mix of confusion and fury.
"Liliam! …If I die, tell Fiora I'll visit her in her dreams," Aurora called out, her voice distant, fading like a whisper on the edge of a dying flame.
Liliam looked at her with hatred and contempt—but something in Aurora's expression caught her attention. Blood was trickling from her nose, her ears, and the corners of her mouth.
"Aurora?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Aurora's strength gave out, and she collapsed violently to the floor.
The Downmore siblings rushed to her side. Argus caught her in his arms and quickly wiped the blood from her face.
"She's overloaded her vital links! She's unconscious!" he said, his voice tight with urgency.
"We need help!" Dracus called out, turning to Liliam.
Sonia and the others watched in tense silence, their expressions grim—laced with deep mistrust.
A group of royal guards, sensing the tension, drew their swords and leveled them at the gathered kings.
"Put away your swords…" Fiora whispered with great effort. "They are my guests. Treat them with kindness…" she finished, her voice faint but resolute.
Liliam turned to her sister, and tears of joy welled up in her eyes. Fiora was alive. Relief washed over her—but the fragile moment shattered beneath the desperate cries of Kiett and Claire.
"Please! Help my uncle!" Claire screamed, cradling Montecristo's broken body in her arms.
He was gravely wounded, blood pooling beneath him, his breathing shallow and strained. Claire's voice cracked with despair, while Kiett, fighting back sobs, shouted, "Where are the Sentinels?!"
Margott knelt beside them, pouring all her strength into one of her finest healing spells. But the light of her magic flickered—it wasn't enough.
"We're here!" shouted Callaghan, storming in. "Cosette, help Montecristo—now!" he commanded, urgency burning in his voice.
Cosette obeyed without hesitation. Dropping to her knees, she began to heal Montecristo's burns with steady, focused hands.
"Please, Cosette… don't let him die!" Claire pleaded, pressing a desperate kiss to Joel's hand.
Kiett and Margott watched in silence as, little by little, Montecristo's charred skin began to mend—as though time itself were turning back, erasing the fire's cruel touch.
Claire's eyes widened in awe. It was as if life had vanished from them for a fleeting moment, only to return with the radiance of sunlight, rekindling their light.
Beads of sweat began to form on Cosette's brow—the toll of her magic evident—as she poured every ounce of strength into saving Joel.
Kiett was in awe. His vision of becoming a Sentinel warrior had never felt more meaningful than in that moment—witnessing death itself retreat, yielding to life through Cosette's mystical incantation.
Montecristo began to groan in pain, the sound raw and broken, as if he were being dragged back from the beyond—his soul torn piece by piece from the claws of death.
Claire smiled, radiant and tearful. Kiett watched her, and in that fragile instant, he made a silent vow: he would never let that smile fade again.
Margott wrapped her arms tightly around Kiett, brushing the tears from his cheeks and gently running her fingers through his hair—a gesture filled with love and tenderness, born of the deep desire to soothe the boy she loved.
"Everything will be alright," she whispered.
The Sigrid siblings looked on, their gazes solemn. Claire responded with a faint but grateful smile, and Kiett embraced Margott, holding onto the warmth they all so desperately needed.
Callaghan and Tanner worked side by side, healing both Fiora and Aurora with steady hands. The wounds closed slowly, inch by inch, as Sonia knelt beside her mother, clutching her warm hand with trembling fingers.
"I'm alright, my daughter… don't cry anymore," the Queen murmured, her voice faint but reassuring, as she gave Sonia's hand a gentle, firm squeeze.
Aurora, however, remained unconscious despite Tanner's best efforts. It unsettled him—his vitality spell should have stirred her awake.
"I've done all I can," he said, concern deepening in his voice. "But she's drained nearly all of her mana link. She's burned through too much."
The other kings began to stir, their senses returning, and one of them called out, "Where's Mustaffa?"
A gruff voice snapped back from across the room, "Over here, you fools!"
"I'm not dying that easily!" he barked, defiant as ever.
A chorus of joyful shouts erupted as the kings rushed toward him. Aria was already at his side, tending his wounds with quiet care, wrapping what remained of his arm with steady, practiced hands.
Ezequiel watched Mustaffa closely. Though he tried to hide it, the fear still clung to him—his body trembling, pupils dilated, and most telling of all, the silent trail of tears on his cheeks. But they weren't only tears of pain. Ezequiel recognized something else within them: gratitude.
According to their faith, to their deepest beliefs, one must always give thanks—especially in the name of Throme.
"We've lost everything," Ezequiel said at last.
Yet his face betrayed no sorrow. Instead, a faint, almost defiant smile curved his lips, softening his solemn expression.
"So… what do we do now?" he asked, the question hanging in the air like smoke over ruins.
Liliam, Sonia, and Callaghan helped Fiora to her feet, supporting her gently as she regained her balance.
"Your Majesties…" Fiora began, her voice steady despite her weariness, "for now, I believe it would be best if you remained in Averford."
She glanced at each of them, her tone firm yet warm. "We'll think more clearly once we've all recovered—when our minds are no longer so unsettled. And Aurora… she's in a fragile state, from what I can see."
The Downmore siblings, Ezequiel, and Mustaffa hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances.
"You are in no danger here," Fiora assured them. "Averford seeks no enmity with any of you. What we desire is peace… and unity."
"Give them soft beds," she added, her voice rising with resolve, "and plenty of warm food."
As they began to guide the queen toward her chambers to rest, Fiora's gaze drifted to Cosette and Kiett. They were tending to Woodrow, whose eyes barely remained open, flickering like the last embers of a dying flame.
Just beside them, Claire held Montecristo in a desperate embrace, as if she hadn't seen him in decades—as if a daughter were clinging to her father, unwilling to let go as he prepared to leave for a distant, uncertain journey.
"Sonia! Take Montecristo and his nieces and nephews to one of the rooms in the Fourth Tower—now!" Fiora commanded. "And make sure no one denies entry to the Sigrid siblings!"
Without hesitation, Sonia called for the guards to assist with Montecristo, her voice firm and urgent.
The remaining sovereigns, though still wary, accepted what clearly sounded more like an order than an invitation from Fiora to remain in Averford.
Ezequiel gently lifted Aurora into his arms, her body still limp, while the Downmore brothers moved to support Mustaffa, guiding him slowly toward the castle's gate.
On the other side of the portal, Bardo and Vivian stood in silence, surveying the remains of what had once been the great Kingdom of Aldelviewreld. The snow, once pristine and white, was now stained in deep crimson—an endless field of blood.
Vivian bit back a scream, trembling with rage at their failure.
"We've lost the first battle… He will not be pleased," she muttered, her voice barely more than a breath.
Bardo heard her, but gave no response. He simply walked forward, his boots crunching over the frozen carnage, stepping past severed limbs, mangled corpses, and the twisted remains of his fallen Scarlets—bodies that shimmered briefly before evaporating into nothingness, leaving behind no trace of their existence.
He stopped where, just moments ago, the Eighth Gate had shone with brilliance—now only silence and ruin remained.
Vivian watched as Bardo advanced slowly, almost solemnly, as if greeting the wind and asking it what sights it had witnessed while descending from the northern skies.
Bardo reached the great mountain—now half-devoured by Aurora's void. What remained was a towering heap of broken stone, an avalanche of debris… but no trace that the Eighth Gate had ever stood there.
"So much planning… vanished in an instant. This isn't what I expected," Bardo muttered, his voice laced with quiet fury, the anger turned inward, gnawing at his pride.
But his bitter reflection was cut short by a sudden shout from Vivian.
"Something's in the sky!" she cried, her voice sharp, urgent—drawing his eyes upward.
Bardo lifted his gaze—and what he saw blinded him. Majestic wings, radiant as the very sun, descended from the heavens, casting golden light across the ruined landscape. The brilliance forced him to shield his eyes. The celestial being landed atop the pile of shattered rock, and Vivian sprinted to reach Bardo's side.
Upon the creature—a breathtaking hippogriff whose wings shimmered like the most radiant dawn ever witnessed—sat a cloaked figure. A woman, her face hidden beneath a hood and an elegant mask, rode with effortless grace.
"Who the hell are you?" spat Vivian, her voice sharp and incredulous.
"You again, woman," Bardo growled, recognizing her at once—the rider of the hippogriff.
But the woman remained composed, untouched by the tension in the air, as she gracefully dismounted from the back of the magnificent beast.
The woman surveyed the scene, her gaze drifting over the blood-soaked earth steeped in the stench of death.
"Bardo… where is he?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the silence like steel.
"You play far too often with your luck, Lisseth," Bardo replied coldly, eyes narrowing.
Without hesitation, the woman raised her left hand, revealing a striking bracelet adorned with three diadems—each one so exquisitely crafted, their brilliance was nearly blinding.
"I won't allow any more slaughter," Lisseth declared, her voice fierce and unwavering. "This ends with you. Here and now."
"You come to lecture me about slaughter?" Bardo snarled, his voice rising with disdain. "You are chance made flesh… the embodiment of coincidence—born from bloodshed itself!"
"This is only the beginning of a new world! Neither you nor anyone else will stop our odyssey!" Vivian shouted, her voice echoing with defiance.
Lisseth raised her left hand toward the heavens. Her bracelet slid down her wrist, shifting and reshaping itself into a magnificent, radiant bow of light—its brilliance so intense it momentarily blinded both Bardo and Vivian.
"Should I be afraid now, Lisseth?" Vivian taunted, underestimating the sheer power of the weapon the woman now held.
"Vivian! Don't move!" Bardo snapped, his voice edged with sudden urgency.
Lisseth stared them down with razor-sharp focus, her eyes locked onto the subtle tremble in Bardo's breath. She saw it—the tension, the fear beneath the surface.
"Where is he?" she demanded again, her tone like thunder held back by will alone. "I won't ask you a second time, Bardo."
Bardo assessed the situation, and in the raw, radiant power emanating from Lisseth, he saw the truth—any direct confrontation would end disastrously for them.
"Now is not the time," he said, his voice measured, buying precious seconds. "You and I… we're pawns in this game, Lisseth. You know it as well as I do."
"Spare me your hollow words, Bardo!" she snapped. "You hide your atrocities behind the will of Lyle-Hude, as if that justifies anything!"
Vivian subtly shifted, concealing her right hand behind her cloak, quietly preparing to strike.
"You're pathetic!" Lisseth shouted. "Today marks yet another of your failures. This is your last chance, Bardo—where is he?"
She drew her bow taut, the string shimmering with celestial energy, the arrow aimed unflinchingly at his head.
Bardo chose his next words with extreme care. One wrong move, one word too soon—and Lisseth would loose her arrow without hesitation. Her gaze didn't waver. Her grip only tightened.
The hippogriff sensed the danger instantly. With a powerful leap, it grasped Lisseth by the shoulders and soared into the air.
But just as her feet left the ground, a massive Scarlet burst forth from beneath the snow, its claw slashing through the air—severing one of her legs in a single, brutal strike.
Lisseth released her arrow of light mid-flight. It shot straight into the creature's skull, and the moment it struck, a blinding explosion erupted—melting a wide radius of snow in a flash of searing brilliance.
Her leg regenerated almost instantly, flesh and bone knitting together as if time itself bowed to her will.
"Where are they?! Damn it!" Lisseth cried, scanning the battlefield, her fury echoing through the frozen silence. But Bardo and Vivian were gone—vanished without a trace.
"Bardo! …Damn you!"
TO BE CONTINUED…