Since the King's return… and Azariel's release,
it was as if a lock of many layers had begun to undo within him—
layer by layer.
A strange scent clung to him.
Not the scent of death, nor of life…
but of freedom.
Days passed since his escape from the endless void,
and the palace managed to veil his return.
But truth shines behind the thin silk of nobility:
"No matter how high your rank, you will bend to blood.
And no matter how you claim dominion,
your name as a Noxfaire will devour you."
Kraye knew Caldaras had found out.
But, as always, he ignored it.
He offered help—then silence.
He had broken laws before.
And if he had accepted this…
who would dare refuse?
Even the palace testified to his exile—
Few servants.
Guards of low rank.
No voices.
No defiance.
⸻
The King isolated himself in his chamber.
A single command:
"No one enters. For any reason."
He sat still, meditating…
trying to rid his bones of the lake's chill.
But time had no mercy.
In silence… he felt something stir.
A shadow without body,
watching. Breathing.
He opened his eyes—
and the world had changed.
"Where… am I?"
Flames danced.
Homes burned.
Bodies charred beyond identity.
Statues shattered.
Swords thrown to the ground—
as if abandoned by the ones who once gripped them.
Yet among the ruin…
one thing remained untouched.
A towering statue—
a knight in solemn armor,
gripping a sword plunged deep into the earth,
standing like a pillar between heaven and despair.
The King approached.
The air… suffocating.
The scent of scorched blood burned in his lungs.
He stared at the statue.
It was familiar—
disturbingly so.
He whispered:
"You look… sad.
What pain have you carried, old friend?"
And the reply came—
from everywhere.
Wounded, tired, drowning in sorrow:
"Share my pain, O King."
Then—
agony.
His body ignited.
Hellfire beneath his skin.
Memories surged like a storm:
A wife.
A son.
A sister.
Chaos.
Betrayal.
Death.
"These aren't my memories!
Get out of my head!"
He screamed, fists pounding his skull
until blood spilled from his scalp.
Yet still—he didn't close his eyes.
And what he saw
stilled his breath.
The knight—
kneeling,
arms wrapped around a burned corpse,
weeping like one who lost his soul.
⸻
The King crawled, trembling.
No rage.
No curses.
Only tears—
searing, betrayed.
"I… I let her die, O slave of honor…
I reached the edge of nobility—
and lost both honor… and love."
The words fell from him
as if they did not belong to him.
The knight looked up, smiling through tears:
"It's already too late… my King."
He raised his hand.
Touched the King's forehead.
"I'll see you again… King."
⸻
The King awoke—gasping.
Sweat drowned his skin.
Fatigue tore through his limbs.
He rose.
Staggered to the mirror.
His eyes… still weeping.
But something else was there.
A mark.
Etched into his right arm—
a dark ring,
as if burned into his flesh.
He stared.
Then whispered a name he had never heard:
"Kydina…?"
He didn't know her.
Had never seen her.
Yet grief…
overwhelming and ancient…
crushed his chest.
"Who are you?"
But the voice… didn't come from him.
It came from his reflection.
Which grinned.
A smirk full of mockery—of knowledge.
And then—
crash.
The mirror shattered beneath his fist.
"Blue Sovereign!
You watch in silence that roars!"
"Who am I… and who are you?!"
His words cracked the sky.
Winds howled.
The earth itself trembled.
Servants screamed.
The sky darkened.
Lightning clawed the palace.
⸻
Moments before…
In the garden, Kraye sat with Lupera.
Their conversation had become a quiet habit.
But today, Lupera asked:
"You never question your child.
Never explain.
You simply… believe in him.
How can you trust him that deeply?"
Kraye lowered her gaze.
"Every time I look at him…
I feel he's in pain.
Every breath,
every word…
every step."
She looked up and smiled gently.
"Even if he hides it…
I feel it.
And so I try… to make it lighter."
⸻
Lupera froze.
Her senses spiked—
and then, her form unraveled.
In a blink,
she returned to her true self—
a radiant spiritual panther, glowing silver,
eyes sharp as winter.
She growled low.
Earth shook beneath her claws.
Beside her,
Kraye moved instantly.
Combat stance. Ready.
The force rising from the palace
was not mere rage.
It was pure, targeted intent—
twisting around a single point like a noose.
"Where is the young master?"
Lupera murmured.
But Kraye didn't answer.
She was already running.
⸻
Her dress tore behind her.
She ran like her heart was burning.
The hallway—
ten meters at most—
now felt like a mountain.
Time slowed.
Gravity turned hostile.
"Nox…"
She called.
Then—
the wall exploded.
The King flew through it.
A violent force had hurled him like a weapon.
Kraye and Lupera saw him arc—
slam into the garden earth—
and lie still, cracked and bleeding.
Silence.
Then he rose.
Blood fell from his chin,
and he wiped it away
like brushing off rain.
⸻
Kraye turned her eyes toward her son's room—
the same room he had been hurled out from, only moments before.
Smoke curled from the shattered doorway…
and through it, a shadow took shape.
Eyes glowing.
Steps silent.
A presence heavy enough to warp the air.
She tensed, fists clenched—
"A knight…?
Who are you?
What do you want with my child?"
No answer.
Then—
he vanished.
Kraye didn't flinch.
No weapon.
No armor.
Only motherhood.
She punched.
It missed.
But it tore the veil.
She saw him—truly.
His voice echoed:
"I wished to fight…
But time denies me.
We'll meet again, child."
⸻
Outside—
Lupera watched as the knight exited.
His steps—disjointed.
His sword dragged like a chain.
Then—
He threw it.
The King caught it in silence.
And whispered:
"Get out of my sight."
Lupera obeyed.
She returned to her human form,
approaching Kraye—
who stood still.
Her hand frozen mid-punch.
Her eyes… hollow.
⸻
The King raised his sword.
The stance—wrong.
Unfamiliar.
Unwritten.
It wasn't Noxfaire.
Kraye stared in awe.
Lupera whispered:
"That's not from noxvier bloodline.
Where did he learn this?
And how… is it perfect?"
⸻
The knight stepped forward:
"The Threshold Knight greets the King."
The King's teeth clenched.
Veins surged.
"King… Isaac."
His name.
Spoken for the first time.
And names—carry weight.
"Battles between names
are not battles between shadows."
The knight knew this.
The King knew more.
⸻
Behind them,
Kraye tried to listen.
But their voices—sealed in another space.
"We should leave,"
Lupera muttered.
"Even at our best…
we couldn't touch that field."
She wasn't exaggerating.
Despite Kraye's strength.
Despite her own supremacy.
She felt it.
No intent to kill.
But more dangerous than death.
⸻
The silence cracked.
The air bowed.
The rules broke.
Then—
They vanished.
Only shadows remained.
Then—
collision.
Two blades—
one above, one below—
struck with the pain of centuries.
Sparks erupted—
like sunlight slicing a god's coffin.
⸻
The King appeared.
Blurred.
Eyes glowing.
His sword screamed:
"Cut.
Cut.
Destroy."
But—
It didn't land.
The knight blocked—
without turning.
Like he had practiced it…
with the King himself.
The King felt it.
A memory not his.
A technique he never taught—yet knew.
Was it his?
Or the knight's?
⸻
His blade struck the ground.
Then—
A second blade rose.
From the knight's shadow.
It whispered vengeance.
⸻
"A strike without bloodlust…
yet it reaches me."
"You truly are,"
"as he claimed…
the one to surpass us all?"
The King didn't answer.
He raised his sword again.
And in his eyes—
A silence boiling with rage.