A long groan sounded out inside Regulus' new room as he covered his eyes with his palms. He lay on the bed, the mattress far softer than anything he'd ever slept on before. Next door, Nyx slumbered in deep sleep, living her dream life surrounded by the finest beddings.
His thoughts drifted to everything that had happened since their talk with Cornelius. Surprisingly, nobody had died in the fight at the party. Altena and Babelonia had reestablished friendly relations.
What was the point of the entire fight?*
Since then, they'd been treated as guests of royalty - given a modest manor as their new house and property, even a monthly allowance.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
A messenger in Babelonia's colors stood stiffly outside. "His Majesty requests your presence," the man said. "He believes it's time you saw the other half of the scroll."
Regulus' fingers tightened.
-----
The grand doors swung open to reveal a packed chamber. Nobles in fine silks, military officers in polished armor, and scholars clutching parchments all turned to watch him enter.
At the far end, seated atop his dais, Cornelius leaned forward. "Ah. The guest of honor arrives."
Nyx walked beside Regulus, shadows coiling around her like living silk. "Oh, I like this. Mortals do love their little performances."
Cornelius ignored her, his gaze locked on Regulus. "You've been wondering, haven't you? What the point of all this was."
A ripple passed through the nobles. Some exchanged glances; others stiffened.
Regulus crossed his arms. "Enlighten me."
Cornelius gestured, and a servant hurried forward with the other half of the scroll, its wax seal unbroken. The room held its breath.
"The fight was never about Altena," Cornelius said. "It was about you." He paused. "The prophecy doesn't just speak of the dragon's awakening. It speaks of the one who will stand before her - and the choice they must make."
Murmurs broke out among the nobles. One officer took a half-step forward, hand on his sword.
Regulus' pulse spiked. "What choice?"
Cornelius' smile was razor-thin. "That," he said, "is why you're here."
And with that, he broke the seal.
Cornelius held the open scroll between them, its ancient script pulsing with eerie light. The words seemed to burn themselves into the air as Regulus read aloud:
"Nothing shall stand before her,
O little king of this doomed nation,
Lose your hopes into a blur,
For only in false stories can salvation come true."
The throne room went deathly still. Nyx's shadows coiled tighter around her arms as she tilted her head. "Oh? How delightfully grim."
Cornelius' knuckles whitened around the scroll's edge. "You see now why we needed you to come." His voice dropped to a blade's edge. "Every previous attempt to interpret it failed because we didn't have the full picture."
Regulus stared at the glowing words. The final lines shimmered brighter than the rest:
"The dragon's fire knows no master,
No blade nor spell can turn her wrath,
All shall burn - faster, faster,
Save the one who walks the aftermath."
Nyx's laughter cut through the tension like broken glass. "How deliciously dire! And you mortals thought flattery and steel would save you?" She floated closer to the scroll, her shadow stretching across the parchment. "This changes everything, doesn't it, little king?"
Cornelius didn't flinch. "It changes nothing about our resolve. Only our methods." His gaze locked onto Regulus. "You're the one mentioned. The question is - will you walk away and let Babelonia burn? Or will you walk into the aftermath?"
The Falna on Regulus' back began to throb.
Regulus' hands trembled around the scroll. "But how is this possible? I just gave myself the name Regulus Nihil on a whim."
The throne room's murmurs grew louder. A priest clutched his holy symbol, whispering prayers.
Nyx drifted closer, her voice a velvet whisper only Regulus could hear: "The Falna records the first name given to a mortal when they are born." Her fingers traced his jawline. "While one can change what's listed... it's no different than falsifying your status or locking the Falna. The truth remains."
Regulus' breath hitched. The first name? Memories surfaced - the grass beneath him, Nyx's voice demanding his name as they met in the forest clearing. The lie he'd spoken automatically, instinctively, whimsically.
"You were lying to me," Nyx murmured against his ear, her words sweet as poisoned wine. "And yet when I gave you my blessing... the Falna said you were telling the truth. How very curious."
Cornelius' chair scraped as he stood. "This changes nothing about the prophecy's validity. Names have power, Regulus - especially the ones the world gives us without our consent."
The Falna burned hotter.
Regulus lowered the scroll, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "I'm curious. What were your thoughts during the Eighth Vote?" His gaze locked onto Cornelius. "Before you knew I existed?"
The King's smile didn't reach his eyes. He gestured to the assembled nobles - a sweeping motion that encompassed generations of power. "Hope is a currency, Regulus. We traded in it quite creatively."
A general stepped forward, armor clanking. "The first plan was fortifications. Magical barriers strong enough to-"
"Last three minutes against dragonfire," Nyx interjected, examining her nails. "How quaint."
Cornelius continued smoothly: "Then came Athena Familia - they proposed evacuating the continent." A dry chuckle. "As if other nations would welcome millions of refugees."
An elderly scholar adjusted his spectacles. "Hephaestus' smiths suggested orbital bombardment from airships-"
"Which would've woken the dragon decades early," Regulus realized aloud.
Nyx clapped her hands in mock delight. "Oh, do go on! I do love hearing how mortals plan their funerals."
Cornelius' fingers tightened around his throne's armrest. "The Eighth Vote ended in deadlock because every solution was equally hopeless." His gaze burned into Regulus. "Until we found the prophecy's missing half. Until we found you."
The unspoken truth hung heavier than the chandeliers above them: They'd been gambling with an entire civilization's survival. And now their last dice had landed at Regulus' feet.
Cornelius leaned back in his throne, the scroll's light casting shadows across his face. "And to be honest," he admitted, voice stripped of its usual polish, "when I first read the Eighth Prophecy, I thought the Engine was mocking me."
A stunned silence fell. Even Nyx paused her shadow-play to listen.
"That first line—'Nothing shall stand before her'?" Cornelius' laugh was bitter. "Not a warning. A taunt." His fingers tapped the armrest. "'O little king of this doomed nation'? I burned three copies before accepting it was genuine."
Regulus watched the Founder's mask slip further—the man beneath looked exhausted.
"And that final verse?" Cornelius continued. "'Only in false stories can salvation come true'?" He met Regulus' eyes. "I drank for a week straight after that. Because what ruler wants to believe his nation's survival hinges on... fairy tales? It sounded like the Engine was saying that survival is a delusional fantasy."
Nyx's chuckle slithered through the hall. "Oh, this is precious. The mighty Founder, brought low by poetry."
But Cornelius didn't rise to the bait. His gaze remained locked on Regulus. "Then we read the next part. The lines about 'the one who walks the aftermath.'" A beat. "And suddenly, the mockery became a roadmap."
Cornelius rose from his throne, the scroll's light casting long shadows across his face. With deliberate slowness, he recited:
"Nihil shall stand before her,
O Regulus of Babelonia,
Lose your hopes into a blur,
For only in false stories can salvation come true."
A murmur rippled through the assembled nobles as Cornelius produced a folded parchment. "This explains everything," he said, unfolding the document with a flourish. "Your status update from last week, recorded after the party incident."
Regulus' blood ran cold. There, in precise script, were all his parameters - his Level, his Skills, even the unspent Excelia from the battle.
"The Archivist was most cooperative during our negotiations," Cornelius continued, his smile razor-sharp. "It seems your unique condition makes our 'false stories' rather literal, doesn't it?"
Nyx's shadows coiled like agitated serpents as Regulus turned to her, his voice low but cutting through the throne room's tension: "Nyx. From now on, we don't transcribe my status onto paper again."
The goddess tilted her head, her crimson eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "Oh? But where's the fun in that, little liar?" Still, she gave a lazy wave of consent. "Very well. No more paper trails for our precious secret."
Cornelius' gaze never wavered. "It matters little now. The records already exist, and the prophecy is clear." He stepped down from the dais, the status parchment crumpling in his fist. "You can hide your truth all you want, Regulus Nihil. But the dragon won't care about your secrets when she wakes."
Regulus let the scroll fall to his side, its glow pulsing in time with his heartbeat. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face.
"So it means," he said, voice dropping to a blade's edge, "I now decide Babelonia's fate." The throne room's torches flickered as if sensing the shift in power. "I'm sure you're willing to grant... certain demands?"
Cornelius' fingers twitched toward his sword hilt—a barely restrained motion. The nobles erupted:
"You dare—!"
"This upstart threatens our king—!"
Nyx's laughter cut through the outrage like shattered glass. "Oh, do let him finish! I do love watching mortals grovel."
Regulus stepped forward, ignoring the guards now drawing weapons. "First demand: Excelia! Help me gain enough to level up multiple times—every trainer, every monster you can give me."
A scholar raise his eyebrow. Cornelius' hand loosens, he gave a curt nod.
"Second," Regulus continued, "Prepare a reward you deem fitting to give to the man who will save your nation." He tilted the glowing scroll. "Be thoughtful of what it will be. Since it will reflect how much Babelonia means to you."
This time, the King's eyes shone with mirth.
Nyx draped herself over Regulus' shoulders, whispering just loud enough for the dais to hear: "Ask for his crown next, little moth. I'll help you wear it."
Regulus ignored her, delivering his final blow: "And third—you disband the committee monitoring me. If I find one more spy outside my manor..." He let the threat hang, his heart pulsing heavily.
The silence that followed was thicker than dragon's blood. Then—
Cornelius smiled. Not the polished court expression, but the smirk of a man amused and excited. "Done." He leaned forward. "But know this, Nihil—play games with Babelonia's survival, and you'll learn why even gods fear mortal desperation."
Nyx clapped. "Splendid! Although your demands were too timid little moth. Now that we're all properly motivated..." She snatched the scroll from Regulus' side. "Shall we discuss how exactly one 'walks the aftermath'?"