Motion turned into a still life painting.
Zelpho's eyes widened as he realized he was trapped in time.
The winds he once commanded hung frozen mid-gale.
His gaze locked on Syrus, who approached with calm, deliberate steps.
Syrus unsheathed his blade—its edge gleaming with cold light.
"You think you could challenge a Royal Guard Captain?" he said confidently, his voice carrying undeniable authority.
"You underestimate what it means to stand against the Arch Kingdom."
Time itself shuddered.
The air crystallized. Zelpho's storm lost all its fury.
Helion, barely conscious, watched with wide eyes.
What's… his power? It's incredible…
Syrus moved through the still battlefield like a ghost through memory.
In an instant, he appeared behind Zelpho.
"You lost the moment you threatened the Arch Kingdom," he said softly.
slash—silent and precise—cut through the still air.
Time snapped back.
The storm erupted outward, bursting in every direction, before collapsing into silence.
Zelpho stumbled, clutching his side.
Mana spilled from his wound, dissolving into the air—fading like smoke.
He staggered. Unbalanced.
"How…? When…?" he hissed, breath ragged. "You damn Royals…"
Syrus turned slightly—offering no gloat, only truth.
"You came to destroy the Arch Kingdom. But all you'll find is justice and order."
He raised his sword.
"May this be your parting gift."
Zelpho clenched his eyes, bracing for the end.
Helion's vision blurred. His body trembled from exhaustion.
And then—
A memory surfaced.
Loken's voice, soft and steady, echoed in his heart:
"Spirits are gentle beings. They are the balance of this world."
Young Helion had asked,
"Then why is their power used for our means?"
Loken had smiled—warm, wise.
"Because they choose to share it. Not for greed or vengeance—but for justice. That's what the spirits intend us to protect."
Before Syrus could strike, a voice—quiet but firm—cut through the silence.
"…Stop."
Syrus turned.
Helion had crawled halfway upright, blood on his lips but resolve in his eyes.
"He's beaten," Helion said. "That's enough… please."
Another memory flickered.
Loken again—his voice calm, unshaken:
"Helion… you once asked why we use a spirit's power.
Not for pride. Not for wrath. We wield it for justice. For balance.
That's the path we walk."
The firelight glowed in Loken's eyes that night.
"Anyone can swing a blade. But mercy—that's a choice the strong must make."
Syrus looked at Helion.
Then slowly, he sheathed his sword.
"Mercy is rare among the King's Blade," he said. "But perhaps this time… judgment will be served another way."
He turned to Zelpho.
"I would've ended you here," he said. "You caused destruction. You killed an innocent man. I don't forgive you for what you've done."
Zelpho dropped to his knees.
His eyes—once full of fury—were now hollow.
"That old man… he believed in this boy?" he muttered. "I see it now… he's different from the rest."
His mana fizzled into the air.
A single tear traced down his cheek—then vanished.
Syrus stepped to Helion and extended a hand, helping him up.
"You showed courage," Syrus said. "But you must learn your limits.
If I hadn't been nearby… you wouldn't have survived."
Helion wobbled. "Thank you… for saving me," he breathed.
"But I have to see Loken. Maybe there's still time…"
He took a few steps forward, but his body gave out.
Syrus caught him before he hit the ground—steady and practiced, like someone who'd done it many times before.
"You pushed too far," he said quietly. "Even courage has its cost."
Later, Syrus carried Helion to the ruined shelter and laid him gently on the soft earth. Then he turned to the wreckage, eyes searching
Under broken beams and stone, he found the old man.
Loken's form was still. Lifeless.
"Dammit," Syrus whispered.
Behind him, Helion gasped awake.
He sat up, moving his arm, confused.
"I… I feel better… how?"
Syrus smiled faintly.
"I gave you the Holy Root. It replenishes mana. But it won't heal your wounds."
He studied Helion for a long moment. "The injuries you took… should've left you bedridden. Yet here you are."
"Don't mistake recovery for readiness," he added.
Helion stumbled to Loken's side.
Dropped to his knees.
He clutched the old man's body, hugging him tightly.
Tears streamed down his face.
"I'm sorry, Loken… I'm so sorry…
If I had been here, maybe I could've protected you…
Maybe I should've died and you should've lived.
You gave me everything… and now you're gone."
Syrus placed a hand on his shoulder—firm but understanding.
"You did all you could. And you lived. Loken didn't die for nothing.
He prepared you. Mercy, restraint… they weren't just words to him.
They were his legacy. And you carried them today."
Syrus rose, turning toward the horizon.
"My squadron awaits. I must return to the Royal Castle."
He looked back.
"What's your name?"
"Helion," he said.
"And where will you go now?"
Helion looked at the ruins of his home.
"I was supposed to meet a friend of Loken's in the village.
But… I think I'll stay. I'll rebuild this place. It was our home."
Syrus nodded, cape catching the breeze.
"Then… until we meet again."
He walked a few steps—then paused.
"Oh—almost forgot," he said over his shoulder. "In two weeks, the Royal Guard Draft begins. If you think you're ready… show up. I'd like to see how far your courage takes you."
Helion looked up, something reigniting in his chest.
"Where do I go?"
Syrus smirked.
"Just find your way to the Royal Castle. If you've got the heart—they'll know."
He took another step.
"The draft is competitive. The strongest across the Arch Kingdom will be there.
Out of hundreds… only a few are chosen."
He gave a nod.
"I look forward to seeing what you become."
He paused again—eyes narrowing playfully. "Wait… do you even have a spirit bond yet?"
The air stilled.
Luminox flashed through Helion's mind—light, warmth, guidance.
But the truth was… he didn't know.
"I… I don't know," Helion admitted.
Syrus studied him. Then smiled.
"You'll need one. But I'm already late."
He leapt into the air, cape fluttering.
Two fingers to his brow. "I'll see you again, Helion."
And with a flash, he vanished into the trees
Helion stood in the silence that followed Syrus' departure. The forest was still—quiet, as if holding its breath.
He turned toward the ruined shelter, eyes settling on the grave he'd begun building for Loken. Stones, carefully stacked despite the pain in his limbs.
As he placed the final stone, the wind shifted.
Leaves rustled softly.
A presence stirred behind him.
Helion turned alert, but no longer afraid.
From the edge of the trees emerged a wolf-like creature. Its fur was pale white, streaked with silver. Its eyes—deep, steady, and strangely familiar—watched him in silence.
It didn't threaten.
It simply observed.
Step by step, it moved closer—slowly, cautiously—until it stood just a few feet away.
They locked eyes. No words were exchanged.
Just a quiet understanding. A bond—unspoken, but real.
The creature sat.
Helion lowered himself to one knee, reaching out gently.
"You're not just a wolf… are you?"
The creature blinked—once. Calm. Acknowledging.
Helion's lips curved into a faint smile. A single tear traced down his cheek.
"…Loken," he whispered. "That's what I'll call you."
The wolf didn't move—but its presence felt warmer now. Steady. Reassuring.
Helion sat beside it, both of them facing the horizon.
The sun had begun to fall.
Helion leaned into the wolf's side. Its fur was warm against his cheek—steady, comforting.
"Thank you, Loken," he whispered. "I knew you'd never really leave."
His eyes shut.
Sleep took him quickly.
But peace didn't follow.
That pulse again—low, strange—throbbed deep in his chest.
No… not now.
He felt it—the shift. Like before.
The world around him blurred, the ground slipping away.
He was being pulled again. Out of his body.
"It's happening… just like last time."
He drifted—through strands of light and shadow. Through that strange space between versions of himself.
One came into view.
The warrior.
The same one he'd seen before.
Battle-worn. Fire burned along the blade in his hands—alive, defiant.
But his world… it was crumbling.
The sky cracked open, darkness pouring in like a flood. Towers collapsed. The land shook.
And above it all, a massive shape—twisting, crawling, black as void—descended. A shadow-elemental, devouring everything in its path.
The warrior Helion stood alone.
And somehow, he looked right at me—watching from the in-between.
"I knew you'd come back," the warrior said, voice hoarse. "This is where I fall."
He looked down at the sword blazing in his hands.
"When the bond breaks… when the spirit slips away… this is what's left."
The shadow screamed—a sound like the world being torn apart.
"If you don't complete yours," the warrior said, stepping forward, "your end will be just like mine."
And with one last breath, he charged into the dark.
Then—he was gone.
The vision shattered.
Helion gasped awake, lungs burning.
He was back.