The runes in the sky had faded, but the air still felt bruised.
Aira could feel it in her lungs—a heaviness that clung like smoke, whispering something ancient. Leonard stood a few steps ahead, his gaze fixed on the horizon. Quniand floated behind them, scribbling notes on a scroll that wrote itself.
They were heading east, toward what was once Aira's village. The path was quiet—too quiet. Even the birds seemed wary of the forest that stretched before them.
Aira finally broke the silence. "It's this way. Past the old ridge. If she's still there…" Her voice trailed off.
Leonard glanced over. "She's alive."
Aira blinked. "You don't know that."
"I do," he said simply, as if he were stating the color of the sky. "The mana thread tied to her is faint but unbroken."
Quniand, floating upside down, piped up, "Translation: he peeked into your soul and found your emotional Wi-Fi still connected."
Aira snorted despite the knot in her chest. "You're terrible."
Quniand grinned. "Terribly accurate."
They walked for hours, the forest slowly giving way to burned fields. Aira's breath hitched when she saw the first signs of her home—a collapsed roof, blackened walls, and the faint shimmer of holy residue that still hung like mist.
Leonard stopped and touched the air, his fingers tracing glowing lines only he could see.
"Divine seal residue," he muttered. "Not pure, though. It's… warped."
Quniand frowned, peering over his shoulder. "Ah. That's not a blessing. That's a brand."
Aira stepped closer. "What do you mean?"
Leonard's expression hardened. "Someone used divine energy to mark mortals as property. This isn't celestial work—it's corruption."
Her stomach twisted. "My mother…"
"Could be among them," he said quietly. "And whoever did this—wasn't supposed to exist anymore."
Quniand groaned. "Oh, splendid. Forbidden divine experimentation. My favorite bedtime story."
Leonard started forward again, faster now. The air around him shimmered faintly, like heat waves. Aira hurried to keep up.
They found the trail leading toward the old chapel at the heart of the village—the same one where Aira had once prayed for her mother's recovery. Now, it pulsed with faint red light, divine glyphs crawling over its walls like veins.
Quniand whispered, "That's not holy architecture. That's divine containment. Someone turned the chapel into a cage."
Leonard stepped up to the heavy doors and pressed his palm against them. The wood hissed and black smoke curled from the touch.
"Corrupted sanctum," he murmured. "Angel-grade power."
Aira's voice trembled. "Can you open it?"
He looked at her, then smiled faintly. "Doors are polite suggestions."
With a flick of his hand, the runes shattered like glass. The doors flew open, revealing a cavernous hall lit by floating orbs of pale light. At the center—kneeling, chained by glowing marks—was her mother.
Aira's heart stopped.
"Mom!"
She ran forward, but Leonard caught her wrist. "Wait."
From the shadows, figures emerged—holy knights, their armor twisted, halos cracked like porcelain. Their eyes glowed faint gold, but something about them felt wrong, hollow.
Leonard's voice dropped. "Fallen Seraph constructs. Once divine soldiers. Now… puppets."
The knights moved as one, weapons drawn. Quniand muttered, "Well, this escalated faster than a divine tax audit."
Aira's pulse thundered. "Leonard—"
"I'll handle them. You free your mother."
"But—"
He turned his head just enough for her to see the faintest hint of a smirk. "You trust me?"
Her throat tightened. "Yeah. I do."
He stepped forward, and the air cracked.
The first knight swung a blade of burning light, but Leonard caught it between two fingers. A spark of silver energy rippled through the room, and the knight was flung backward like a rag doll.
"Still using holy constructs," he muttered, almost bored. "Predictable."
Another charged, and he moved—no wasted motion, no flare of power, just a blur of precision. Every strike he made left trails of light that didn't fade, hanging in the air like fractured constellations.
Aira sprinted past him, ducking between flashes of divine energy. She reached her mother, hands shaking as she touched the glowing seal on her chest.
"Mom, it's me. I'm here."
Her mother stirred faintly, eyes half-open. "Aira… you shouldn't have come…"
"Yeah, well," Aira said, forcing a shaky laugh, "bad decisions run in the family."
Quniand floated beside her, muttering incantations. "The mark's tied to a divine tether. Break it wrong, and you'll vaporize her soul. No pressure."
Aira glared. "You're really bad at encouragement."
He grinned. "Motivation through terror—it works for students."
Leonard's voice boomed from across the hall. "Quniand, the core sigil!"
Quniand scanned the ceiling. "Ah! There!" He pointed to a glowing symbol etched above the altar. "Destroy that, and the link collapses!"
Leonard lifted a hand, energy gathering at his fingertips—but a blinding flash cut through the hall before he could strike.
A massive figure descended from the ceiling, wings torn and burning. Its halo flickered between gold and crimson, its voice layered with divine resonance.
"Leonard of the Fallen Sun," it thundered. "By decree of the Celestial Council, you stand accused of divine treason!"
Leonard's smile was cold. "They sent you? An Archangel wearing a corpse?"
Aira shielded her eyes as divine wind whipped through the room. Quniand shouted, "Oh, great! He's not just corrupted—he's possessed! Fantastic odds!"
The Archangel's sword ignited, a blade of molten white light. "You cannot interfere in mortal matters, Godslayer."
Leonard stepped forward, shadows curling around his feet. "And yet here you are. Interfering."
The Archangel roared and charged.
The impact shook the hall. Every swing of divine power collided with a counterstroke of absolute precision. Leonard's movements were restrained, deliberate—his seal still holding most of his true strength. But each clash sent ripples through the floor, cracking stone and warping light.
Aira crouched beside her mother, shielding her from the shockwaves. "Come on, come on—" she whispered, fingers tracing the sigil. "Think, Aira, think…"
Then, faintly, her mother's hand touched hers. "The artifact… use it…"
Aira's eyes widened. The Relic of Saint Varn—the crystal orb she'd stolen. It was still strapped to her side. She pulled it out, the soft light pulsing in her palm.
Quniand's eyes lit up. "Perfect! Feed it your mana—carefully!"
"Carefully how?!"
"Preferably not like last time!"
Ignoring him, Aira focused. She remembered Leonard's earlier lessons, his voice calm as he'd explained how to channel energy without shattering her core. She let her breath slow, her heartbeat sync with the orb's pulse.
The light spread through her fingers, forming a bridge of energy that latched onto the sigil on her mother's chest. It screamed—not audibly, but through the mind—like a divine thing being ripped apart.
Then the chains broke.
Aira gasped as her mother fell into her arms, breathing ragged but alive. Relief flooded her so hard she almost sobbed.
"Mom, I've got you. You're safe."
Behind her, a thunderous explosion tore through the hall. The Archangel was pinned against the wall, Leonard's hand wrapped around its throat.
"You've forgotten what fear is," Leonard said softly. "Let me remind you."
With a flick, the Archangel's corrupted halo shattered, light bursting outward in a blinding wave. When the glow faded, only ash remained.
Leonard exhaled, slow and steady, then turned toward them. His coat was torn, his hair slightly disheveled—but his expression was calm, almost… human.
Aira stared, speechless. "You—how—"
He shrugged. "He was weaker than he looked."
Quniand scribbled furiously on his scroll. "Note to self: Archangel-class entities—average lifespan against Leonard, twelve seconds."
Aira laughed, part hysterical, part relieved. "You're insane."
Leonard looked at her, lips twitching. "You say that like it's new information."
They left the chapel as dawn began to rise. The first rays of sunlight cut through the mist, painting gold over ruins and ash. Aira's mother slept soundly, carried easily in Leonard's arms.
Quniand floated beside them, humming tunelessly. "You know, for a rescue mission involving divine corruption, a possessed Archangel, and approximately six near-death experiences, I'd say that went rather well."
Aira glanced at him. "You measure success strangely."
"Survival is success," he said cheerfully. "Anything above that is luxury."
Leonard chuckled under his breath—a sound Aira hadn't heard before. She looked up at him, surprised.
"What?"
He glanced down, expression softer than usual. "You're stronger than you think."
She blinked. "Is that a compliment?"
"Observation."
"Feels like one."
He didn't answer, but his faint smile was answer enough.
They walked until the forest grew quieter, the world finally breathing again. For the first time since the skies had bled red, it felt like morning.
Aira looked back at the distant ruins of her home. "What happens now?"
Leonard shifted his gaze to the horizon. "Now? We find who twisted divine power into corruption. Someone out there is trying to rewrite the rules."
Quniand twirled his pen. "And when Leonard says 'find,' he means 'punch until they confess.'"
Leonard's mouth curved. "Efficient."
Aira laughed, shaking her head. "You two are impossible."
"Correct," Quniand said proudly.
Leonard glanced at her again, eyes calm but warm. "Rest while you can, Aira. The gods aren't done watching."
She looked at him for a long moment, then smiled. "Then let them watch. We've got work to do."
And as the sun rose higher, three silhouettes walked through the broken dawn—one godslayer, one scholar, one mortal with fire in her heart—toward the next storm waiting beyond the horizon.
End of Chapter 6