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Laughter.
A cold voice cut through the air like a sharpened blade.
"This is bad," Fenra thought, rising with difficulty, blood streaming from her wounds.
"She isn't just powerful. She's intelligent. She reads movements as if she could see the future. And these flames... they barely let me get close."
The memory of her origin came to her like a scar that still burned.
The Senhir family — the most generic among the Sif. Numerous, mediocre. Almost no one with any real talent.
Fenra was an exception. A genetic error. A miracle.
But even that miracle had limits, born from mediocre roots.
"My energy reserve is pitiful. I could even use my spatial distortion technique more than once... if I hadn't used everything that remained to survive Kaze's attack.
The energy had been consumed by the defensive enchantment of my coat and the fortification of my own body."
"In other words... I won't be able to use my technique against her."
Jouki's footsteps interrupted her thoughts. They echoed coldly among the wreckage.
The villainess smiled, her voice dripping with sadism.
— Impossible. You didn't defeat Kaze like this, all weak and pathetic — she mocked, laughing with disdain.
— I had expectations for you. Come on, put in some effort. Impress me. Pretty please...
The false, childish tone contrasted with the sadistic gleam in her eyes. It was a poisoned provocation.
Fenra closed her eyes.
---------------Everyone is fighting... so, even if I die here, I have to try.--------------
— Alright... let's see how far I can go.
She lunged.
Jouki's flames rose like a living wall, but Fenra answered with a volley of bombs snatched swiftly from her pocket.
The explosion shook the rubble. Through the smoke, Fenra emerged behind her enemy.
Her blade cut through the air, seeking Jouki's head—
—but Jouki dodged with a cruel elegance.
— So bloodthirsty, darling? — Jouki said, evading with a smile.
But she didn't notice the chains.
Without warning, the spiritual chains seized her leg. Fenra pulled with brutal force, hurling Jouki against a heap of debris.
— This is going to be a pain... — Fenra murmured, scratching her head, breathless.
Dust plumed. Jouki emerged from it, imposing, smiling with pleasure.
— You'll need more than that.
— I know — Fenra replied, steadfast.
— Excellent — Jouki smiled, her eyes ablaze.
— Then... let us continue our dance.
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The silence following the explosion was so dense it seemed the world had forgotten to breathe.
Stella fell.
Her body tore through the walls like a living spear, shattering columns, rupturing windows, wounding the memory of time itself. When she finally stopped, she lay among dry leaves and crumbled stone.
The courtyard of the Zenon mansion.
The very place where she had once run after Tenklyn... where she had learned to walk... where she had once heard her mother's muffled laughter echoing among the sunflowers.
Now, blood stained the stones.
She lost consciousness.
Minutes... perhaps hours later.
A warm breeze whispered through the gnarled trees. And with it, a voice.
— Stella...?
She stirred. Moaned. The pain was absurd.
— Brother...? — she whispered, her eyes heavy, her heart shattered.
But it was only a recording. A fragment of energy stored by Tenklyn.
Something he had created with his last breath.
Her brother. Who had waited for her in that mansion.
The voice floated on the air as if the courtyard itself wished to keep it alive:
The recording began as a whisper amid the silence.
Energy flickered around the courtyard, as if the very air wept with Stella.
Tenklyn's voice emerged, serene, distant, like a memory struggling against time:
— Stella…
— If you are hearing this, then things did not go as I had hoped.
— I wanted to be there, by your side.
— I wanted to be strong enough to protect you... as I promised our mother.
— But the truth is, I failed you long before that.
— I distanced myself. I fell silent.
— I pretended that being aloof was the right way to prepare you for a cruel world…
— …when, in truth, I was just afraid. Afraid that you would suffer as I had suffered.
— You were too young to remember, but… when mother fell ill and renounced her post as monarch, everything crumbled. Internal wars, politics… it all fell upon us. It was cruel and..., I saw you sleeping in my lap and I swore I would never let anything break you.
— So, I turned to stone.
— I turned to ice.
— And I left you alone in a storm.
I handed you over to the hands of others, I set aside a responsibility that was mine alone.
The voice trembled subtly.
— But you grew up, Stella.
— You grew so fast… so fierce.
— So full of a fire I didn't even understand.
— I saw the storm gathering in your eyes… but it wasn't fear. It was courage.
— A courage that made me see that perhaps… I was wrong.
— You didn't need to be protected.
— You only needed to be believed.
A brief silence. Almost respectful.
— And Stella… you are the brightest flame I have ever known.
Tenklyn's breath grew fainter, as if time was running out even for his spiritual message.
— Do not fight to be like me.
— Fight to be yourself.
— Even when wounded.
— Even when alone.
— Even when afraid.
— Because you are Stella Zenon.
— My sister.
— The heir to a world that does not yet know your strength.
— When the world suffocates you…
— When the darkness seems too much…
— Remember what I am telling you now:
— I love you.
— And when that love is all that remains…
— …burn the world with it.
The energy vanished like smoke touched by the wind.
And everything fell silent once more.
But the silence did not last long.
She wept. Without strength. Without dignity. Like a child, dirty, bloodied, her chest screaming for solace.
She lay there for a moment, staring at the sky darkening in her vision, as if Tenklyn were beyond the clouds, watching her.
Then, something glowed.
In the mansion's window, a warm, yellow, spiritual flicker.
Stella dragged herself forward. Staggered. Entered.
The Zenon mansion was in ruins, but the memories were too alive to collapse with the stones. The broken staircase. The portraits of their mother with flowers in her hair. The old piano in the front room... where she had learned her first notes.
Every step hurt like a blade driven into her soul.
Until she reached the room where the energy glowed.
In the center, upon an altar of ancient wood, a blue mantle covered something.
She removed it.
A sword.
Ancient. Beautiful. Impeccably preserved, despite the passage of time.
On the scabbard, ancestral runes. They breathed power.
Beside it, a note, written by hand:
— For my dear sister.
— On one of my journeys, I found this sword buried in a crypt forgotten by all — save for me.
— The runes do not lie. This sword belonged to the first Sif. The one who founded the three bloodlines.
— I felt it was waiting for someone.
— And now I know who it was. I think...
— But if I were to bet, the Sif of Light of this generation. I think... No, I am certain.
— "I know it is you, Stella."
— "The future flame of hope."
The sword pulsed.
It was not merely metal and magic.
It was a flame.
And Stella... was the wick.
She grasped it.
And the sword ignited.
To be continued..