The church of Saint Sharon Michael stood beneath a moonless sky, its ancient stones cold and silent, its stained glass windows dark as empty eyes. The world outside had surrendered to sleep hours ago.
The children in the orphanage had been tucked into their beds, their small bodies curled beneath thin blankets, their dreams filled with the simple hopes of those who had nothing and wanted everything.
The sisters had retreated to their quarters, their whispered prayers fading into the stillness. The priest, old and tired, had fallen asleep in his study, his Bible open on his desk, his spectacles resting on the open pages.
But one room remained awake.
The Saint Room.
A single candle burned on the wooden desk, its flame small and steady, casting long shadows that danced across the walls.
The room was small, humble, furnished only with a bed, a desk, and a kneeling bench where Sister Mary spent her hours in prayer. But tonight she was not praying. She sat at her desk, her hands folded before her, her face pale in the candlelight. The white cloth that usually bound her eyes lay beside her, discarded, and her green eyes, dark as forest shadows at the edges, bright as spring leaves at the center, were open.
Sleep had eluded her.
Erza.
It had to be a coincidence. Erza was not an uncommon name, and silver hair alone proved nothing. Yet the woman she had met possessed a presence Sister Mary knew too well. If she truly was the Queen of Atlantis, then Yuuta had somehow married a being who did not fear even the gods.
She laughed, a soft, hollow sound that seemed too loud in the silence of the room.
"Obviously," she whispered, the words meant to comfort herself. "Why would such a powerful being come to this world? Why would she marry my Yuuta? I am being foolish. I am worrying over nothing."
She pressed her palms against the desk and steadied her breathing. As a high being who had lived for centuries, she should not have been frightened by a name. Yet she could not dismiss what she had seen.
The magical sphere on her table began to glow.
It was small, no larger than her fist, made of crystal that seemed to hold its own light. It sat in a silver cradle, untouched for months, silent since the last time her queen had called. Now it pulsed gently, a rhythm that matched her heartbeat, a rhythm that meant someone was reaching for her across the vast darkness between worlds.
Sister Mary's breath caught. Her hands trembled. She had been expecting this call. Dreading it. Knowing that sooner or later, her queen would want news of her son.
She rose and placed her hands beside the glowing sphere, bowing her head as the connection formed.
"May the Queen live forever," she said.
The sphere brightened. Light filled the room, golden and warm, chasing the shadows into the corners. A figure appeared within the crystal, tall, regal, her hair the color of honey in sunlight, her eyes the color of amber and fire.
She wore a crown of silver leaves upon her brow, and her robes were white and green, the colors of the Sylvarion Kingdom, the colors of the Nature who had ruled the forests since before humans learned to walk.
She was the Queen of the Sylvarion Kingdom, ruler of the high beings who had sent Sister Mary to Earth—and the mother of the child Mary had raised.
"Velthiriel Sylvarion," the Queen said, her voice sharp with frustration and something that might have been fear. "You have not contacted me. Not once. Do you have any idea how worried I have been?"
Sister Mary bowed lower, her forehead nearly touching the desk. "I beg for forgiveness, my Queen. I have been busy with my work here at the church. The children need me and the sisters depend on me. I cannot simply."
"Your work?" The Queen's voice rose, cutting through Sister Mary's excuses like a blade. "You have one task, Velthiriel. One task. Watch over my son. Keep him safe. Report to me." She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer, sadder. "That is all I asked of you. And you could not even do that?"
Sister Mary raised her head. The Queen's face was visible now in the crystal, and she looked older than Sister Mary remembered. There were lines around her eyes that had not been there before, shadows beneath them that spoke of sleepless nights and endless worry.
"I am sorry, my Queen," Sister Mary said. "I did not mean to cause you distress."
The Queen waved her hand, a gesture of impatience. "Enough. Tell me of my son. How is he? Has he been eating properly? Has he gained weight? Has he been in any fights? Do I need to send an army? Do I need to." She stopped, her voice catching. "Do I need to come there myself?"
Sister Mary shook her head. "No, my Queen. Yuuta is well. He is healthy. He is." She paused, searching for the right word. "He is happy."
The Queen's face softened. The hard lines of royalty gave way to something gentler, something that looked almost like hope.
"Happy," she repeated. "My Beloved son is happy."
"Yes, my Queen. He has found." Sister Mary hesitated. She thought of Yuuta in his small apartment, cooking breakfast for his wife and daughter. She thought of the way he smiled when Elena called him Papa. She thought of the way he looked at Erza, even when she was threatening to kill him.
"He has found a reason to look forward to tomorrow."
The Queen was silent for a long moment. Her amber eyes glistened.
"A reason to live?" the Queen whispered. "Are you certain?"
"Yes, my Queen."
The Queen pressed her hand against her chest, as if she could feel her heart beating through her robes.
"I have been so worried, Velthiriel. I have been thinking... perhaps I should bring him back. To the Sylvarion Kingdom. Here, at least, he could live like a prince. He would want for nothing. He would be safe."
Sister Mary's voice was careful, measured.
"My Queen, have you forgotten what the goddess said? If he returns to the Nova world, his sealed memories will reopen. And if that happens..." She paused.
"The Great War will rise again."
The Queen's face hardened. "I have forgotten nothing. I remember every word the goddess spoke. Every warning. Every threat. But he is my son, Velthiriel. My blood but not my flesh but still How can I not worry about him?"
Sister Mary's voice was gentle.
"My Queen, he has begun to find happiness here. His childhood wounds have not vanished, but he is building a life of his own."
The Queen sighed. It was a long, weary sound, the sound of someone who had been carrying a burden for too long.
"I know," she said. "I know. But Sophia..." She closed her eyes.
"Sophia asks about him every day. She asks where her brother went. She asks when he is coming home. She asks if he remembers her. I cannot tell her the truth. I cannot tell her that we sent him away. What if she finds out?"
Sister Mary did not answer. There was nothing she could say. The truth was a wound that would not heal, and no words could make it better.
"We had to do it," the Queen said, more to herself than to Sister Mary.
"For the sake of the world."
"Yes, my Queen. For the sake of the world."
The Queen was silent for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was different, quieter, more vulnerable.
"Does he still ask about his parents?"
Sister Mary nodded. "Yes, my Queen. He still wants to know. He still hopes that someday, someone will tell him the truth."
"And what do you tell him?"
"I tell him that when he graduates, I will tell him everything."
The Queen's eyes widened. "You cannot do that, Velthiriel. You know it is forbidden. The Sylvarion Kingdom has decreed that his past must remain sealed. If you reveal the truth, you will be executed." She paused. "For the prince's safety."
Sister Mary's voice was steady.
"I know, my Queen. But there was a time when he was so alone and broken that he nearly ended his own life." She paused, her own voice catching.
"He needed a reason to keep going. I gave him one."
The Queen stared at her. Her lips parted, closed, parted again. No sound came out.
"I gave him hope," Sister Mary said. "I promised that when he graduated, he could learn about his parents. I told him they loved him and had not abandoned him." She looked down at her hands. "I could not tell him the whole truth. But that promise kept him alive."
The Queen turned away. Her image flickered in the crystal, and for a moment, Sister Mary thought she had ended the call. But then she turned back, and her face was wet with tears.
"What in the heavens is happening?" she whispered. "What have we done?"
Sister Mary did not answer. There was no answer.
The Queen took a deep breath. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. When she spoke again, her voice was steady, but the sorrow remained.
"I will contact you later, Velthiriel. Watch over my son. Protect him."
"Wait, my Queen," Sister Mary said. "There is something I need to ask you."
The Queen's eyes sharpened. "What is it?"
Sister Mary hesitated. Her hands were shaking. Her heart was pounding. She did not want to ask. She did not want to know. But she had to.
"What do you know of the Queen of Atlantis?" she asked. "Is she... is she there? In the Nova world?"
The Queen went still. Her face went pale. Her hands, resting on the arms of her throne, tightened until her knuckles were white.
"I have heard that the Queen of Atlantis is absent from her kingdom," she said slowly. "The nightmare creatures have begun to attack in her absence and Her people are frightened. Her borders are little weakening." She paused.
"But that monster..." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "She does not fear even the gods. She looked into their eyes and did not blink. She is not someone to be provoked, Velthiriel. It is better that we remain silent. That we stay out of her way."
Sister Mary's knees buckled. She caught herself on the edge of the desk, her hands shaking, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
"No," she whispered. "No, no, no."
The Queen leaned forward, her face filling the crystal. "What is it, Velthiriel? What happen?"
Sister Mary looked up. Her green eyes were wide, her face pale as death.
"She is here, my Queen. The Queen of Atlantis. She is on Earth. She is..." She swallowed. "She is married to Yuuta."
The Queen stared at her. Her mouth opened. No sound came out.
The crystal flickered.
The light dimmed.
And then the Queen was gone.
__________
Next Morning.
Morning sunlight filtered through the kitchen window, carrying the scent of toast and butter.
Yuuta stood at the stove, a pan in his hand, his movements automatic, flip, catch, flip, catch, the rhythm of a thousand mornings repeated until it became instinct. The toast was browning nicely, the butter sizzling at the edges, the kitchen filling with the warm, familiar smell of breakfast.
His thoughts kept returning to the practical cooking exam. He knew how to cook under pressure, but today Sister Mary, Erza, and Elena would be watching. For once, people were coming not because they had to evaluate him, but because they wanted to see him succeed.
It reminded him of the school festivals and parent meetings he had attended alone. Other children had families beside them, while he sat with an empty chair and pretended not to notice the curious glances. Sister Mary had cared for him, but she could not always be there, and the question of who his parents were had followed him through those years.
Now he had a family of his own—an unlikely one, admittedly, with a dragon queen who threatened him and a little girl who trusted him with her whole heart. He was happy they wanted to come. He was also terrified of what Erza might do in front of his instructors.
He was so distracted that he failed to notice the toast beginning to smoke.
THWACK.
Erza's fist connected with the back of his head.
"Ouch! Why did you hit me?...Your Highness."
Erza was standing behind him, her arms crossed, her face cold, her eyes fixed on the smoke rising from the pan. She did not look at him. She did not need to.
"The toast is burning," she said. "Are you planning to burn down the apartment with all of us inside?"
He looked at the pan. The toast was black, smoking, ruined. He grabbed it with the tongs, dropped it on the counter, turned off the stove. His ears reddened with embarrassment.
"I am sorry," he said. "I was just spacing out for a moment."
"Spacing out?" Erza's eyebrow arched. "What could possibly make you space out while cooking?"
He glanced at the ruined toast, then at her.
"It has been a while," he said, "since I felt happiness. My family is coming to watch me."
Only after speaking did he realize he had called Erza and Elena his family.
A faint blush reached Erza's cheeks. The word family unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
She opened her mouth to speak, to deny it, to push him away, to remind him that he was living in her mercy, that she was going to kill him, that he meant nothing to her. The words came out stumbling, tangled, wrong.
"You, what do you, who said, do not forget that you are living in my mercy! Do not ever forget that!"
Yuuta gave her a tired but genuine smile.
"Yes, my queen," he said. "I remember. How could I forget?"
Erza turned and left the kitchen before he could notice her blush deepening.
Yuuta watched her leave, then sighed at the ruined breakfast.
"I wonder," he said to himself, "will she ever cry for me? If I die by her hand... will she even care?" He paused. "No. She would not. She would forget me.She would move on. She would not even remember my name."
He picked up the pan and began to scrape the burned toast into the trash.
In the living room, Erza sat on the sofa, her back straight, her hands in her lap, her face turned toward the window where the morning light was beginning to warm the walls.
She caught herself biting a nail, a habit she had picked up from Yuuta. He had called her family so naturally, as though there were nothing strange about it. She disliked how much that simple word affected her.
She had spent centuries building walls around her heart, centuries convincing herself that she did not need anyone, that she was better off alone, that love was a weakness and weakness was death. And now this mortal, this foolish, ridiculous, impossible mortal, was standing in her kitchen, burning toast, and calling her his family.
She looked down.
A drawing was lying on the sofa beside her, left there from the night before, forgotten until now.
It was Elena's drawing, done in crayon, the colors bright and uneven, the lines unsteady but full of life.
She picked it up.
The drawing showed three figures standing in front of a castle.
The one in the middle was her, she could tell by the silver hair, the long dress, the crown she had drawn on her head.
On her left was Yuuta, his red eyes wide, his smile too big for his face.
On her right was Elena, her wings spread, her tail curled, her arms wrapped around her mother's waist. Behind them, a castle rose against a blue sky, and above it, in wobbly letters, Elena had written: HOME.
Erza stared at the drawing.
Her hand trembled.
Her eyes burned.
Her gaze settled on the word above the castle: HOME.
She remembered the meals Yuuta cooked, the dances they had practiced, and the night he searched for her lost ring until exhaustion nearly overcame him. Above all, she remembered how gently he treated Elena.
She thought about the promise she had made. The promise to kill him. The promise to make him pay for what he had done, for the years she had spent alone, for the daughter she had raised by herself.
The ring on her finger had chosen him, binding them in a way she still did not understand.
Do I really need to kill him? she thought. Just because he happened to sleep with me? Just because he made a mistake when he was young and foolish and did not know what he was doing?
I am the Blade of Atlantis. I do not forgive. I do not forget.
But when she looked at Elena's drawing again, her certainty wavered.
Will I ever bring myself to forgive him?
She did not know.
For the first time in centuries, the Queen of Atlantis did not know what she would do.
She sat on the sofa, holding her daughter's drawing, and watched the morning light grow brighter through the window.
Nocthollow — Sentinel Dock
The gang leaders gathered around a table in a guarded room at Sentinel Dock. Only hours earlier, the demon who commanded them had shown them a photograph of a red-eyed human and issued an unmistakable order: use the demonic aura stealer to extract his sin, then kill him and bring back his head.
The black-paper artifact lay at the center of the table. Its shifting symbols reminded them of the reward their master had promised a chance at a drop of the Demon King's blood, if they delivered enough sin.
For generations, demons had harvested the darkness born of human wrongdoing. The gang leaders had supplied that sin through contracts and sacrifices, but extracting it directly from a living target was new to them. The artifact was supposed to preserve whatever it took from Yuuta for delivery to their master.
Their greatest obstacle, however, was reaching him.
An older leader broke the silence. "We cannot approach his apartment. Our lesser demons refuse to go near it. They say some unknown power surrounds the place."
"Then we should stop wasting time there," another replied. "We've confirmed that he studies at John Bosco Culinary College in Luna City. He has a practical exam tomorrow."
The older man studied Yuuta's photograph. "The demon lord told us to extract his sin before killing him. Whatever we do, that order comes first."
A heavyset leader leaned forward. "We can arrange for a sniper to cover the area. If the boy resists, we'll have a way to stop him. But no one fires until the artifact has done its work."
"And if the protection around him follows him to the college?" someone asked.
"Then we retreat and report it. I won't be the fool who destroys the target before we collect what our master wants."
They fell silent, considering the risk. Hemanth had already been killed, and the photograph offered little explanation for how an apparently ordinary young man had defeated him. Even their master had seemed disturbed by Yuuta's red eyes.
"We move when he is away from home," the older leader decided. "Keep watch on the college. Find an opening, secure him, and use the Sin stealer. Only then do we finish the job."
The men exchanged uneasy glances before collecting the artifact. The promise of the Demon King's blood was tempting, but none of them had forgotten the warning hidden in their master's expression when he studied that photograph.
They left Sentinel Dock with their orders settled, unaware that the young man they were hunting was preparing for an exam and expecting his family to watch.
To be continued...