Riessa stood amid the ruins. Her red dress, interwoven with black that still sparkled in the last vestiges of night, had slipped from one shoulder, revealing skin pale and smooth as polished jade. Multiple layers of black cloth inscribed with yellow script cinched her waist. A black katana rested against her hip.
Two wooden tokens spun in the air before her, each carved with a single word: Shadow and Star. They struck the ground together. A whisper slid into her ear like cold water.
"Oh Star… Oh Star… I am coming for you."
She trembled once, then let out a long breath.
"It's delivered," she murmured. "She can track me directly now. No point staying."
The darkness was thinning. Dawn would arrive within the time it took an incense stick to burn. The land around her was beyond repair—broken walls, scorched earth, bodies left where shockwaves or blades had taken them. She did not linger.
As she ran, she noticed the circular puppet mark burned faintly into the back of her hand. Confusion flickered across her face.
"What did that strange puppeteer do to me?" The memory returned unbidden: the woman's feverish muttering that her body was "one of a kind for puppet inscription." A shiver ran through her. "If that strange old man hadn't interfered, I would already be a tool. Who was he?"
Her dress fluttered like fresh blood in the wind. Long hair drifted behind her. Her face—oval, jade-smooth, almost childlike in its clarity—tightened with shock as the full scale of the devastation settled over her. Common people had died in the shockwaves. Others had been cut down while the powerful fought among themselves. A statue of a woman holding a bow still stood; survivors knelt around it even as more collapsed from the residual force.
High above, the King swung an ethereal blade that stretched like an endless rope. In answer, hundreds of spears fell, rippling space the way falling flowers disturb the surface of a lake. Not one reached the ground. A vast dome held them at bay.
"Even if I used Autumn Flower Bloom, it couldn't stop those spears for a single breath," Riessa whispered. "I've never seen anything like this in the Nameless lands…"
Her mind lurched hard.
The spears. She had seen them before.
An image slammed into her with the force of a physical blow: a small boy, a small girl, and herself, hands tightly linked, while the same spears pierced the thousands of people surrounding them.
A raw, broken cry tore from her throat. She clutched her head with both hands.
"Who were they? Was that my childhood? Master said I forgot everything because of a condition…"
Her heart hammered as if a crisis had suddenly settled its full weight on her chest. The boy's face flickered in her memory—somehow familiar, somehow like that troublesome Veer. And the other girl? Who had she been?
She ran on like a ghost, mind still half-trapped in the memory, until three figures stepped into her path. Their presence was not overwhelming, yet there were three of them.
The man in the center wore golden armor and carried a golden sword. At his right stood a man whose entire body was covered in black feathers. At his left stood a woman wrapped from neck to toe in bandages, only her face left bare.
"Who are you?" Riessa demanded, stopping.
The golden knight chuckled. "Just an ordinary golden knight. Arvus Coldnight. These two are fighters under the great Pontiff of Obsidian White."
"I don't care about any pontiff," Riessa said coldly. "Get out of my way. I need to move."
"Sorry, ma'am. You carry the presence of a deeply loathed enemy of ours."
Her eyes constricted. "You mean the puppet master."
Arvus nodded.
"She trapped me. I escaped. Let me pass and I'll clear the path."
"I cannot."
He drove his sword into the ground. A wide circle of black flame erupted outward, sealing the four of them inside a sphere of living darkness.
Riessa's katana touched the barrier. The blade itself scorched and smoked. Surprise flashed across her face, followed by cold, rising fury.
Arvus blurred forward. The feathered man rose into the air and sent hundreds of sharp feathers screaming toward her. The bandaged woman spread her hands; binding threads shot out like living nets.
Riessa laughed once—low, sharp, almost amused.
"Then all of you can go to hell."
She moved like water given killing intent. The bandaged woman fell first; the black katana slid cleanly through her heart before the threads could close. The feathered man and Arvus could not match her speed. Shadow energy began to coil visibly around Riessa's limbs as she halted, eyes dark and flat.
"You should not have stopped me. Everyone is testing my patience today."
Arvus staggered backward, recognition dawning in his face.
"You… you're the Shadow of the Nameless Temple."
He retreated farther. The feathered man followed.
Arvus spoke in a strangely calm voice as Riessa walked toward him.
"I may not defeat you… but she can."
From his own shadow a small figure rose. Petite, exquisitely beautiful, dressed in dense black regal embroidery that seemed to drink the remaining light. A veil covered the lower half of her face. She bowed with perfect, almost courtly grace.
The air around Riessa changed. Pressure settled over her skin like cold silk.
"Who are you?" Riessa asked, voice carefully measured.
"This humble one is called Welsria. Welsria Breaver."
"Breaver…" Riessa's eyes narrowed. "Breavan royalty, then."
"Why are you with them?"
"I am merely following the will of my master."
The veiled girl tilted her head slightly. She was more like a doll than a human.
"Are you ready?"
Riessa did not answer with words. Shadow energy erupted from her body as she whispered:
"Formless Shadow Dance."
Her figure dissolved into living darkness. Multiple shadows bloomed around Welsria at once, each one carrying the killing intent of the original.
Welsria's voice was soft, almost gentle.
"Devoid."
The word fell like a blade.
Riessa's transformation shattered mid-motion. Her shadows collapsed. Her body reformed only to drop heavily to one knee in front of the smaller girl, as if the ground itself had rejected her.
Shock flashed across Riessa's face. She tried to rise and found she could not.
Welsria regarded her without triumph or mockery.
"Your heart is in turmoil. Your mind is in shambles. There are too many gaps in the moves you just executed."
Riessa said nothing. The childhood memory still clawed at the edges of her thoughts, leaving her open in ways she had not been only minutes earlier.
"Tie her up," Welsria said quietly.
Arvus bowed and produced golden ropes from within his armor, binding Riessa's wrists and arms with practiced, efficient skill. She did not resist.
She had wanted to find Veer. Instead, the sudden fracture in her memory had left her exposed, and Welsria had simply stepped through the opening.
Riessa exhaled slowly, the sound almost a sigh, as the golden ropes bit into her flesh.
"If I use Autumn Flower Bloom," she thought, reining in her spiraling mind, "I might injure her, but can I kill her?"
She was not sure.
"I can't strike without understanding what that 'Devoid' technique did. At a glance, it severed my access to energy. Yet I can still feel the path to execute it again. So what did the spell—or ritual—actually do?"
She fixed her gaze on Welsria, her dark eyes narrowing imperceptibly.
"I am running out of time. Damn it."
---
Elsewhere, Veer stopped so abruptly that Sythris's expression twisted with frustration. He started to tumble; she caught him before he hit the ground. The timing of his collapse was strange—the same moment Riessa's mind had been struck.
"Not again," Sythris muttered. "How many times is he going to clutch his head and collapse on me?"
"Sythris—go ahead. Look for Eleana."
She cupped his face, felt him go completely limp, and swore under her breath. Exhaustion dragged at every muscle, yet she hoisted his unconscious body onto her back without hesitation.
"I'm really tired… but I'll get him outside this huge dome first. Then I'll be back for Eryssa and the others."
She had taken only a few steps when a golden spear punched upward, almost piercing the barrier in a blaze of light, then crashed down hard.
"This… is that Rio?"
Memories surged unbidden: the day Rio had nearly erased Eleana's entire household, stopped only by a stranger marked with a star and carrying a sword uncomfortably similar to Veer's. Her jaw tightened. She changed direction and ran toward the impact site without hesitation.
---
Veer floated in absolute darkness.
"Where am I? Where is Sythris? I told her I was fine again—"
He tried to move and found he could not. Pain lanced through his skull even inside the dream. Why did it hurt if this was only a dream?
Hundreds of images poured through him faster than he could grasp.
A massive man carried a small boy who looked exactly like him. A little girl ran beside them, laughing with pure delight. Together they watched stars, walked through endless flower fields, sailed beneath floating islands. They rode flood dragons. Fairies and sirens sang around them.
They wandered through countless worlds. One day as they were riding a beautiful red feathered bird, the man asked, "Veer, what is your dream?"
The little boy answered without hesitation. "Obviously it's to touch the stars… to go beyond them."
The man laughed. "And you, my little princess?"
"Me? I will follow brother as he plucks the stars for me."
"Stars aren't fruit." The small boy laughed."We have mangoes .I can pick them if you want."
The little girl showed her tongue at Veer as she kicked her small toes against the bird she rode. "Dad, why is Riessa not with us?"
"Do you want her with you?" the man asked.
She nodded.
"All right. We'll bring her on the next trip."
The man's eyes grew serious as he looked up at the stars.
The memories shattered.
A voice, warm and final, echoed as the sleeping Veer inside the dream stirred:
"Goodbye, lad. Take care of yourself for your old man. When you learn and remember everything… don't be too hard on that senior brother of yours."
The man's form shattered into countless fragments of light. His last smile was peaceful and proud.
"I'm happy to see you grown."
Tears slipped from the eyes of both the dreaming Veer and the unconscious body Sythris carried through the ruined streets.
The Veer inside the dream woke up. As Veer started to dissociate his hand was caught by another figure. It was a white figure. It was Veer but his hair was long and white.
He shook his head, "he can't face it."
---
Lythria found her father and clung to him without a word. Behind them, Sylwen's nose bled freely as she forced a spatial door into existence, every line of her body trembling with the effort.
"I can't bridge the spatial break to Mythria," she said through clenched teeth. "Something is actively preventing it."
Rylagh's eyes were hard. "No wonder. It's the same entity that has been manipulating me all this time." He raised his voice to the empty air. "Coward! Show yourself!"
Vryger stepped forward, voice raw with frustration and fear. "My lord, you are exhausted. Look above—the dome, the continuous barrage of spears, the gigantic sword fights. They are disrupting every spatial path."
Laria spoke carefully, almost awkwardly. "Why do you say someone is manipulating you? If the lord says it is so, then that is what is happening."
Vryger turned to her. He placed his bow across his back and stepped closer until he met her eyes.
"Tell me, Laria. Do you believe it yourself?"
He looked around at the gathered cohort—Laria, Aowyn, the young ones who had come for training—and his voice rose.
"What the hell are we still doing here? Why are the future of our land entangled in this mortal nonsense?"
He moved directly in front of Rylagh. The lord's face had grown markedly worse.
"Why involve yourself with a grey knight of a dying kingdom? What are your plans? If you can truly battle saints, then stop those two fighting overhead before our two precious treasures are completely wasted."
A resounding slap cracked across Vryger's face—not from Rylagh, but from Sylwen.
Silence fell. Every head lowered.
"Enough," Rylagh said quietly. "Myrieth, come here."
Myrieth stepped forward. Rylagh drew both daughters into his arms and pressed a kiss to each of their foreheads.
"Father…"
"Father…"
He held them a moment longer, then gently removed their hands from his arms.
"Vryger is right. I am responsible for much of what has befallen Mythria."
His voice was calm.
"Move."
He placed his palm against the fractured spatial door Sylwen had created and began to chant in a low, ancient tongue. The air itself seemed to recognize the words; everyone present felt the weight of an old ritual unfolding.
The ground of Drudar heaved. For one impossible heartbeat every conflict above—the dome, the flower-like spears, the colossal blades—fell completely silent.
A desperate, soul-rending scream tore across the entire kingdom.
Rylagh prayed.
Hundreds of spirits blossomed into existence around him, dancing with sudden, wild joy. They spun and leapt and reached toward the sky as his body began to tremble violently.
"Father—!"
Two voices cried out at once, raw and shattered.
Rylagh's chest tore open.
From the crimson rift rose a translucent giant. Twelve massive arms unwound from its spine, a silver moon crest glowing cold against its brow. Its eyes remained closed in an eternal, terrible calm. As the entity ascended, its six lower hands pressed downward with ethereal weight, causing the bedrock of Drudar to quake and groan. Around its waist, the lingering spirits swarmed in ecstatic frenzy, dancing and clinging to its light as if welcoming a long-lost god home.
Sylwen trembled, her knees giving out first. Behind her, the rest of the cohort hit the dirt in terrifying unity.
Lythria and Myrieth screamed for their father, the horrifying truth dawning on them all at once.
"He's manifesting it..."
"He's burning his own soul to force the way open!"
Sylwen's face drained of all color. "Lord, please—stop!" Her voice cracked, desperate and wild. "What will we answer to the Queen?!"
Rylagh heard nothing. He had no intention of stopping. A bloody, soul-rending scream tore from his throat as his physical form split further apart, yet the looming giant above him remained eerily silent.
Slowly, the celestial behemoth raised six of its upper arms toward the heavens. Its remaining six arms turned, driving straight toward the King's ethereal space-rending blade.
A deafening BOOM echoed through the sky, shockwaves rippling across the horizon.
For the first time since the battle began, the King's unstoppable sword ground to a complete halt—held firm within the bare, translucent palms of the six arms.