Darkness enveloped the fairy forest like a velvet shroud. The canopy above shimmered faintly with specks of glowing pollen drifting lazily through the air, casting a dreamlike glow across the leaves and moss. The moon hovered full and pale in the sky, its silvery light filtered through the enchanted branches.
Paul lay alone beneath a canopy of ivy and soft luminescent moss, his body still aching from the harsh training Sylari had put him through. Every muscle throbbed in protest, and his fingers bore the small scars of a dozen trials—wounds healed by magic, but never truly forgotten. The fairy land had a way of testing not only his strength, but his very will to endure.
Sleep came slowly. His thoughts swirled with doubts and shadows. His hands, rough from gripping the blade too tightly, trembled as if haunted by ghosts he could no longer see.
That night, Paul dreamed.
But it was no ordinary dream.
He was back on Earth.
Smoke.
Screams.
The fire danced across the living room walls, wild and hungry. Flames devoured photographs of his wife and child. The heat blistered his skin as he reached desperately toward them—his daughter's small hand just out of reach, his wife's voice drowned beneath the roar of collapsing beams.
Then silence.
The flames froze.
And through them stepped a figure wrapped in darkness and moonlight. Luna.
She moved with an elegance both regal and terrifying. Her obsidian gown flowed like shadows, and her silver eyes burned with a knowledge far beyond the mortal realm.
"You still see it, don't you?" she whispered, her voice a song and a curse all at once. "The night they died."
Paul gritted his teeth, backing away. "Why are you here?"
"Because you called for me, even in your dreams," Luna replied, approaching slowly. The fire died away at her passing. The walls dissolved into a sea of stars, leaving only the two of them adrift in the void.
"I didn't call you."
"Your heart did," she said, tilting her head. "You ache with guilt. Pain. But most of all, you doubt."
Paul looked away. The dream-world shimmered around him, reshaping into flashes of battle—his fight with Ardyn, his fall in the cavern, the moment Sylari rescued him.
"You could've killed him, Paul," Luna whispered, circling behind him. "You held back."
"He was stronger."
"He was mortal," she corrected, her fingers brushing lightly over his shoulder. "And you are something more. I gave you power, Paul. Not tricks, not magic. A gift. My gift. And yet you've barely touched it."
Paul clenched his fists. "Because I don't trust it. I don't trust you."
She smiled, amused. "Yet you use what I gave you to walk in this world. You breathe because I let you. You swing that blade with arms reborn through my pact. Deny it all you like, but part of me lives in you now."
He turned to face her. "You said you'd bring them back. That was the deal."
"And I will," Luna said smoothly. "But only if you survive. Only if you win. And you won't win like this, dragging your feet through mortal training, pretending you can defeat a Sword Saint with willpower and fairy tricks."
The void shimmered again, and Ardyn's image formed before them—standing atop a crumbled tower, holding a fragment aloft as the world burned behind him.
"He's collecting them too," Luna said. "You know that. But his plan isn't salvation. It's control. His vision will erase the world you knew, the very memory of your daughter's laugh. Your wife's voice."
Paul stared into the burning cityscape.
"If you truly want to see them again… you need to stop pretending to be a hero."
Luna stepped closer, and her silver eyes locked with his. "Let me remind you of what you're capable of."
She reached out, placing her palm over his chest. A cold, familiar energy surged through him—an echo of the pact they had formed in the ruins so long ago. Darkness wrapped around his limbs like silk and steel. His scars glowed faintly violet. The air hummed with potential.
Paul's breath hitched. The sensation was both intoxicating and terrifying. He could feel it—power, raw and immense, enough to tear stone asunder and bend fire to his will.
"When the time comes," Luna whispered, her voice like a blade sliding across glass, "will you still deny me?"
He tried to speak, but the void swallowed his voice.
She leaned in.
"Remember who gave you purpose, Paul."
And with that, he awoke.
—
The morning air was cold against his sweat-drenched skin. Paul sat up slowly, clutching his chest. The pulse of power was gone—but a faint echo lingered beneath his ribs, like a caged heartbeat.
Across the glade, Kaela sat by the fire, humming softly as she stirred a pot of morning brew. She glanced up and gave him a questioning look.
"You look like you saw a ghost."
Paul forced a small smile. "Something like that."
He didn't mention the dream. Not yet.
As the morning progressed, Sylari joined them in the clearing. The fairy hovered midair, her silvery wings glowing faintly. Her expression shifted as soon as she looked at Paul.
"You dreamed," she said.
He nodded.
She floated closer. "Luna came to you."
Paul looked up in surprise. "You knew?"
"I can feel her presence when it brushes yours," Sylari said softly. "She marked you. Her power is a fire within you—but fire consumes as easily as it warms."
Kaela glanced between them, curious but silent.
Paul stood and stretched. "Let's get back to training."
Sylari watched him carefully for a moment before nodding. "Then we begin."
—
For hours, Paul trained relentlessly. Sylari pushed him harder than ever before. Today was different. Her exercises were not just physical—they were designed to test his will, to push the limits of his mind and spirit.
She summoned illusions of enemies more brutal than any he'd faced. Wraiths with poisoned blades, mirror images of Ardyn, shadows of Paul's own failures. Paul was forced to confront each with both blade and magic.
His swordsmanship had improved dramatically. He moved like water now, flowing between strikes with precision and lethal grace. His footwork no longer faltered. His counters were instinctive.
Sylari even began teaching him fairy-enhanced magic: quick-cast runes etched into the air with movement alone, elemental bursts fused with sword arcs, and a defense technique called "Spirit Guard" that surrounded him in an ethereal shield.
But the most dangerous training came when Sylari forced him to draw on Luna's power.
"Use it. Feel it. But do not lose yourself to it," she instructed.
He resisted at first. The dark magic felt too cold, too wild. But eventually, he opened himself to it—a trickle at first, then a stream.
It amplified everything. His strikes cracked stone. His speed doubled. But with it came the hunger—the seduction of destruction.
Sylari cut the training short each time the darkness grew too strong. "Balance, Paul. Power without control is chaos."
He collapsed to his knees at the end of the day, breath ragged, skin slick with sweat.
Kaela returned as the sun dipped low.
Her face was pale.
"What is it?" Paul asked, alarmed.
Kaela glanced at Sylari, then back to Paul.
"Ardyn appeared in the city square this morning. He announced that we're wanted for the attempted assassination of the king."
Paul's jaw clenched.
"He's spreading lies," Kaela continued. "There are posters, bounties. They're hunting us."
"Let him," Paul said quietly. "We've faced worse."
Kaela hesitated. "There's more. Ardyn's men tracked the next fragment. A ruin beneath the obsidian cliffs of Vaerith. They'll be there by tomorrow."
Sylari folded her arms. "Then we'll need to be faster."
The three of them gathered around the campfire. Kaela drew a crude map in the dirt.
"We can't beat them in a direct confrontation. Not yet. We need a plan."
"I can draw some of them away," Sylari offered. "Fairy illusions can mislead their scouts."
"I can sneak into their ranks again," Kaela said. "Sabotage. Maybe steal supplies."
Paul looked at them both. He could feel Luna's power beneath his skin, pulsing like a tide. He didn't trust it. But he knew he might need it.
He nodded slowly. "We go tomorrow. We get the fragment before Ardyn does. And then we stop him—no matter what."
They looked at one another, eyes reflecting firelight and resolve.
The path ahead was filled with shadows. But for the first time, Paul wasn't walking it alone.