The black water beneath Albion's cheek was cold, dark, and thick with the smell of his own blood. He didn't try to force himself up this time. He knew his body's limits.
The cross-torso slash was still open, the flesh knitting together at an agonizingly sluggish pace. His magical energy was nearly dry, his passive regeneration was scraping the very bottom of his container, burning through the last embers of energy just to keep him alive.
He was trapped in an isolated realm. There was no ambient Ethernano to siphon. This was his final reserve. If he took another critical hit—or if his body failed to close this wound before his magic ran out—it would be all over for him.
Beside him, the titanic, dark form of the black leviathan rested its massive crocodilian head upon the floor. Its single pale-blue eye stared directly into Albion's face, reflecting the pale, sweat-streaked features of the boy bleeding into the abyss.
"Regia..." Albion rasped, his voice raw, small, and lacking its usual rhythm. "Is that you? I don't understand... Why are you here?"
The black dragon shifted slightly, the obsidian plates along its serpentine back clicking like armored scales. "I came here for you," Regia said, his deep, resonant voice echoing through the quiet water. "Though it isn't as if I had much choice."
The dragon's pale-blue eye turned slowly, surveying the ruined state of the Inner World. In the far distance, the infinite horizon was gone. Beyond a shrinking perimeter of dark water, there was only a pitch-black void, its once-boundless expanse severely diminished. Above them, the sky was spider-webbed with jagged, violent fractures.
Strands of strange, pale-purple lightning danced silently between the storm clouds, caught between two opposing suns—the white sun anchored behind Amon, and the midnight-black sun hovering over Albion.
"This realm is falling apart," Regia noted calmly. "Before long, it will cease to exist entirely. And I suspect that one—the white malevolent entity over there—is the cause."
A few hundred yards away through the dim light, Amon sat on the edge of the liquid floor, his head bowed, engaged in a quiet exchange with the serpentine white dragon, Yang.
Albion closed his eyes for a second, letting out a short, shallow breath that pulled painfully on his half-knitted chest muscles.
"Regia... what am I supposed to do?" He asked. His voice was no longer that of an analytical observer, it was stripped bare, direct, and tired. "How do I save someone who doesn't want to be saved?"
Regia remained silent, watching the boy.
"I don't get it," Albion continued, panting as he forced the words past his dry lips. "I keep trying. I gave it everything I had in this fight. I tried to talk to him. I tried to show him... but I'm not getting through. He genuinely believes compassion doesn't exist in this world. He thinks bonds, friends, and trust have zero value. He thinks his only purpose is to be a king over a graveyard. How am I supposed to change his mind? How do I save Amon?"
Albion's lips twitched upward into a crooked, self-deprecating smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"I wanted to bring him outside... to the guild. I know Juvia and Sheila would accept him. They accepted me. If I could just drag him out of this darkness, he wouldn't have to walk a path of ruination anymore."
Regia looked down at him for a long, quiet moment before speaking. "Honestly? It's impossible."
Albion's eyes widened slightly. "What…?"
"I am not saying the concept itself is impossible, but for you, right now, it is practically impossible," Regia said plainly. "You want him to change his beliefs simply because you personally find them wrong. You believe it is better to have allies and friends you can rely upon. But you cannot force someone to abandon their core beliefs to adopt your personal ideals. That is mere arrogance."
The dragon's single eye remained fixed on him, unblinking. "Expecting someone to instantly understand you—expecting someone to fundamentally change who they are—is unrealistic, Albion. In some cases, if you truly wish to save someone... the kindest act is not saving them at all."
Albion's brow furrowed, his jaw tightening. "I don't understand. What are you saying?"
"If you truly want to save Amon," Regia said softly, "you have to kill him. Put him to rest once and for all. Let all of that hatred, malice, and dark trauma disappear alongside him."
Albion ground his back teeth together, a sharp spike of anger cutting through his exhaustion. "I knew it... Why in the world am I asking a dragon to understand how a human feels?"
The statement caught Regia off guard, the dragon's pale pupil widening slightly in brief surprise.
Albion gritted his teeth and pressed his palms into the floor, attempting to force his upper body off the water. But the instant his torso lifted, a sickening spike of agony shot through his ribs and body. His strength gave out, and his front slammed back into the liquid with a wet, heavy splash.
The pain made his vision white out for a second. He could feel his internal magical power working at a crawl, painfully dragging the severed edges of his skin together bit by bit.
"What's wrong with you people?" Albion rasped, his voice dropping into a tight, frustrated murmur. "How can you talk about killing someone like it's that easy? How is killing someone the same as saving them? I know I'm being stubborn... but isn't being stubborn better than just giving up on someone?"
Tears of pain and raw frustration welled up in the corners of his eyes, spilling over his pale cheeks and mixing with the blood on the floor.
"I tried my best," Albion said, his voice dropping to a whisper."I gave it everything. What was I supposed to do? What did I do wrong?"
He looked up at the towering black leviathan, his fuchsia eyes glowing with a desperate, quiet anger.
"Why are you even here, Regia? How can you sit there and call me a king? Look at me. Amon is the true king here. You should be on his side, not mine. Nobody would blame you. Not you, not Yang, not Amon."
Albion let out a ragged breath.
"Ever since I gave you a name... I haven't connected with you at all. I never talked to you. I never acknowledged you. When I was out there in the real world, I didn't think about you or Yang a single time. The only time I ever thought about either of you was when I was leaving the library—back when I was obsessed with becoming strong. I only viewed you as tools to get stronger."
He looked directly into Regia's pale blue eyes.
"You should hate me. I have a bigger debt to pay than I can ever atone for. So why? Why aren't you on his side? Why aren't you attacking me right now? I never asked you for any of this. I never asked you to come here."
Albion stared at his own bloodied hands, his voice trembling as he faced the reality of his own limitations.
"Why... no matter how hard I try, no matter how much I shout, or how much I feel... why do I never have the strength to accomplish what I set out to do?"
In the quiet darkness, the memory of Amon's voice echoed clearly through his mind.
«What is wrong with you?! Who the hell could you possibly be talking about?! Someone capable of risking his life for others?! Someone capable of putting his mind and life on the line to accomplish what he sets out to do?! Someone capable of helping—of saving others?!»
«Who the hell do you think you are?! You think just because you awakened your magic that you suddenly have the privilege of saving people?! Don't make me laugh! That's the stupidest joke I've ever heard in my entire life! You can't save anyone! You can't save yourself! You can't make friends! All you do is fill everyone's life with ruin!»
As Albion lay there, trembling beneath the weight of those remembered words, Regia slowly lowered his massive head until his obsidian snout rested directly against the wet floor in front of the boy.
"The reason why I am on your side?" Regia said softly. "It is simple, really. It's because I love you, kid."
A warm, gentle expression touched the dragon's terrifying, crocodilian features, a look of unconditional affection.
Albion froze. His breath hitched, his eyes widening in shock, confusion, and disbelief. "What...?"
Regia didn't answer right away. He slowly turned his head, his pale-blue eye looking across the fractured floor toward the white sun, where the translucent porcelain dragon was coiled near the white-haired boy.
"And as for Yang..." Regia added quietly, "I imagine he feels something very similar for Amon."
Across the diminishing expanse, Amon sat curled on the dark floor. His white hair hung in dirty, blood-stained clumps over his face, his three eyes staring hollowly down at the dark water.
Beside him, the white, mist-like serpentine form of Yang rested silently. The dragon bowed its porcelain head, its light-permeable scales catching the pale glare of the white sun overhead.
"My king," Yang whispered, his voice smooth and hushed like falling snow.
Amon didn't look up. He turned his face slightly away, his breathing shallow. "Yang, tell me something. Do you think what I'm doing is right?"
"I have this faint, annoying doubt in my chest," he admitted, his voice flat, devoid of the wild screaming from earlier. "No matter what I do... no matter how hard I fight or how much blood I spill... it's still there. For a time... I genuinely just wanted to protect Albion. But that time is gone. Now, I just want to kill him. I see him as something that needs to be killed."
Amon stared at his own trembling, bruised knuckles.
"Whether Juvia dies, or that Sheila woman dies... it doesn't matter to me. Aside from Albion, I couldn't care less about anyone in that world. I want to live only for myself. I want to thrive only for myself. Compassion is unnecessary. I will bury my heart in the darkness of this world."
His vertical third eye flickered, locking onto the floor beneath him.
"If Albion was an unwanted child... then I am an unwanted existence. I was rejected by everything. Every part of this world is to blame for what happened in our past. My goal is simple: keep moving forward, no matter the cost, until I turn into something unrecognizable. Live for myself. Fight for myself. I exist to wipe out everything else."
Amon's three eyes turned slowly, locking onto the translucent white dragon. "Tell me, Yang... is this mess my fault?"
Yang didn't answer immediately. The white dragon slowly extended one slender, light-woven limb, gently resting its pale talon against the top of Amon's messy white hair.
"No," Yang said softly. "It is not your fault. This world... Everyone else is to blame, but not you. You did nothing wrong. Nobody can blame you for hating a world that gave you nothing but pain. You were born from hatred and negative emotion, it is only natural that you desire vengeance."
The white dragon's eyes softened completely as he looked down at the boy. "You are the king. Nobody has the right to tell you what to do. Nobody will ever control you again. You are in charge."
Yang leaned closer, his voice a gentle whisper.
"Tell me, Amon... What do you want to do now? Whatever choice you make, I will stand beside you until the moment I cease to exist in this world. That is the sole reason I was created by him."
As he spoke those final words, Yang's gaze drifted across the dark expanse, settling briefly on the bleeding figure of Albion lying in the distance.
Amon was silent for a long moment. His expression remained hard, but the violent tension in his shoulders slowly melted away under the touch of the dragon's talon.
"Yeah..." Amon murmured quietly. "You're right. I'm not the one at fault. I'm not the one to blame. I'm not the one who's wrong...it's this cruel, messed-up world."
He let out a quiet, hollow breath. "To be honest, Yang... you're probably the only one who will ever stand by my side. But even if you suddenly dropped dead right now... I wouldn't shed a single tear for you."
Yang nodded his porcelain head, a faint, peaceful smile touching his draconic face. "I am content with that. I truly am."
Amon didn't reply. But despite his cold words, he subtly, almost imperceptibly, leaned the side of his head deeper into the warmth of Yang's clawed hand.
Back under the black sun, Regia watched Albion's trembling form.
"Do not try to move," he commanded gently, his voice vibrating through the floor. "Allow your body to recover what little magic it can."
Albion lay still, his breath catching in his throat as he looked into the dragon's single pale-blue eye.
"It is time for me to tell you a story, Albion," Regia said softly, the skeletal plates along his back glowing with a low, white-hot ambient light. "A story of how all of us were made... how this Inner World came to be... and the true value of all life."
The black leviathan settled deeper into the dark floor, as the cracking sky above them held its breath.