Seeing the Sorcerer Supreme get cursed, Amaterasu’s aura ignited again—hotter, redder, angrier. The air warped around her as she prepared to unleash a torrent that would turn the dark sorcerer to ash.

  “Don’t!” Cygnus rasped, voice trembling under the strain of the spreading curse. His blackened arm twitched violently, the corruption climbing higher.

  At the far end of the arena, Lucretius hadn’t heard Cygnus’s order. From his vantage, all he saw was the cloaked sorcerer’s trembling form—hands still channeling dark energy into the Sorcerer Supreme. The sight was enough.

  “Not on my watch,” he growled.

  The Fallen Knight sprinted forward. The Adamsword gleamed black-blue as he raised it high.

  At the same moment, Elysius, far across the collapsing stands, saw it. The future flickered before him in fragments—

  a flash of blue light,

  a voice crying out,

  blood that should never have fallen.

  He ran. Faster than thought, faster than breath. But the timeline would not bend.

  Lucretius’s blade fell clean through the dark mage’s torso, splitting him from shoulder to hip.

  The sorcerer’s body crumpled—

  and the world went still.

  Then came the sound that froze every heart of the council member in the arena.

  A wet gasp.

  A choked cough.

  Blue blood.

  Starmist staggered backward, a line of shimmering light cutting across her abdomen. The Adamsword had not struck only the enemy.

  Lucretius’s eyes widened.

  “No…” he breathed, the word barely a sound.

  Elysius skidded into the scene two seconds too late—just in time to see Starmist collapse. The boy fell to his knees, the horror in his face raw, human, and young.

  Lucretius stumbled backward, dropping his sword as though it had turned poisonous. “I… I didn’t see her. I didn’t—Starmist, I’m sorry.” His voice cracked; the sound of a man who’d never once begged in his life.

  “Starmist! No—” Amaterasu’s voice broke. She fired a burst of flame between Lucretius and the others, forcing him back.

  “Idiot! You fool!” she shouted with fury.

  Above them, Leroy hurled the massive beast off the edge of the arena, slamming it into the ground below. The creature let out one last guttural roar before disintegrating—the moment its master’s life ended, the spell collapsed.

  When he landed, he saw the blue blood glistening on the sand. His face, usually unreadable, tightened into something grim and hollow.

  He rushed forward just in time to catch Starmist as her body gave out.

  Her breath came in shallow tremors, her glow flickering like a dying star.

  “Why… is she still bleeding?” Amaterasu demanded, panic cracking her composure.

  “She should’ve healed already—why isn’t she healing?”

  Cygnus was unconscious, his veins like obsidian threads spreading up his neck. Bjorn struggled to lift him, sweat pouring down his brow.

  Elysius pounded his fists into the sand, each hit leaving a glowing mark. His voice was raw, choked by guilt.

  “Sorry...I'm so sorry! I saw it too late! I should’ve—”

  He stopped. His voice broke.

  The Colosseum—the place meant to celebrate peace was silent.

  Only the crackling of Amaterasu’s fire and the shallow breathing of Starmist remained.

  The star that had lit the night of All Realm…

  was fading.

  “Starmist! Stay with me, you hear me?” Leroy’s voice trembled despite the command in it. He cradled her face with both hands, thumbs wiping at the blood spilling from her lips. “Breathe, come on… you can heal yourself, just breathe. Deep breaths.”

  Her chest shuddered, shallow and weak. Blue blood glimmered like liquid starlight against her pale skin.

  Bjorn, kneeling beside Cygnus’s barely conscious body, forced himself to keep his tone clinical, steady—the one voice that refused to panic.

  “That black iron interrupts regeneration,” he said. “Just keep her talking, keep her conscious. The wound will close, but it’ll take time.”

  He looked more composed than he felt. His hand shook as he pressed against the still-smoking floor.

  Then a cry echoed from the entrance.

  “AUNTIE!”

  Starlax broke from the shadows, sprinting across the ruined arena, tears streaking her face. Behind her, Morrigan followed, shouting for her to stop.

  Amaterasu turned sharply. “What are you doing here—get back!” she barked, flames flaring instinctively around her.

  But the two didn’t listen. Starlax fell to her knees beside her aunt, clutching Starmist’s cold hand. “Please, please don’t die! You promised you’d always come back! You’re not leaving me—right?”

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  Leroy swallowed hard, forcing his voice into something gentle.

  “She’s not going anywhere, little one. She’ll live. It just… might take some time.”

  The wound was closing now—slowly, painfully—but closing. Starmist’s breathing steadied. Her lips curved weakly, and though she couldn’t speak, her faint smile was answer enough.

  Across the arena, Lucretius sat in the corner, his once-immaculate suit charred, sword discarded. His eyes were hollow, fixed on the blood drying on his hands.

  Amaterasu saw him but said nothing. There were no words for what he’d done—only the smoldering fury behind her silence.

  Cygnus stirred, groaning. The curse had receded, black stains now only darkening the tips of his fingers. He exhaled, ragged but alive.

  Bjorn helped him upright. “Cygnus, don’t try to stand yet.”

  Then he looked to Elysius.

  “Elysius, take those two out. Now. They don’t belong here.”

  Elysius hesitated, but Bjorn’s tone left no room for debate.

  “Professor Bjorn,” Morrigan said softly, his guilt spilling over, “I’m sorry. It was my idea to bring Starlax here. We… we drank invisibility potions to sneak in. We just wanted to see council fight.”

  "Prince Morrigan." Bjorn sighed and lifted two fingers. "That’s twice I’ve heard that line from you today.” His voice softened despite himself. “You’ve seen enough. Go home.”

  Elysius nodded, taking both children by the wrist and guiding them toward the corridor. His patience was remarkable—steady, protective—but Starlax still looked over her shoulder again and again, eyes full of worry.

  “She’ll be fine,” Elysius assured her gently. “Your aunt’s tougher than she looks. She’s fought worse than this.”

  They reached the dark corridor leading out of the Colosseum, the chaos fading behind them into silence.

  Morrigan stopped walking. His face was pale, the light gone from his usually fiery eyes. “Was it… my teacher?” he asked quietly, voice breaking. “Was it Lucretius who did it?”

  Elysius didn’t answer right away. He stared ahead, the corridor stretching long and empty before them. Finally, he said, low and careful.

  “Forget it. It doesn’t matter now. Things like this… happened all the time during the war.”

  His tone was calm, but his eyes told another story—one of sorrow, not indifference.

  Behind them, the Colosseum burned faintly in the distance, red light flickering through the fractures in its once-golden walls.

  “How would you know?” Morrigan asked again, his tone sharper now, suspicion mixed with exhaustion. “You didn’t even fight in that war.”

  Elysius hesitated for a heartbeat, then forced a small smile. “I heard the stories from the other Council members,” he replied softly, steering the boy away from the conversation. “That’s enough for me to understand.”

  He led both children toward the exit. Elysius still carried himself with the weight of someone older, he was indeed older than the two although not by much, the kind of calm authority he had learned from the Council. He knew he had to set an example—especially now, when the world around them was chaos.

  Outside the Colosseum, the scene was mayhem. Columns of armored vehicles, sirens, and Council soldiers filled the perimeter. The once-festive plaza had turned into a field command post lit by emergency lamps. Reporters, nobles, and civilians pressed against barricades, desperate for answers.

  When Elysius emerged—flanked by the Daughter of the House of Star and the Crown Prince of Abyss, the crowd erupted in shouts.

  “What happened inside?”

  “Is it true the Council was attacked?”

  “How did the enemy die?!”

  Elysius said nothing. His arms wrapped protectively around Starlax and Morrigan as he guided them through the mob. His calm silence was the only shield they needed.

  Then came a sharp voice from ahead—one that cut through the noise like a blade.

  “You! You put my brother in danger, didn’t you?!”

  Samartian strode forward, fury written across her face. Her violet eyes glowed faintly, reflecting the chaos around them. She grabbed Morrigan’s arm, yanking him back from Elysius’s side.

  Morrigan protested immediately, “No, he saved me! Elysius—thank you!”

  For once, Samartian didn’t lash out. She froze, staring at Elysius. Her expression softened—not warm, but not venomous either.

  It was the first time she’d looked at him without hatred.

  Elysius met her gaze briefly, but said nothing. He simply nodded, the faintest flicker of exhaustion crossing his features.

  Samartian turned away, wrapping an arm around her brother. Without another word, she led Morrigan back toward the Abyssal convoy, their soldiers falling in line around them. Morrigan looked back and waved toward Starlax, who lifted her hand in return, though weakly, her face pale from worry.

  Elysius exhaled and looked down at her. “Now,” he said with forced brightness, “let’s go find your brother. I’m sure Starfall’s giving the guards a headache by now.”

  Starlax managed a faint smile.

  They moved through the controlled chaos until they reached the outer perimeter—where two Vanguards stood guard: D'Hertz, leaning on his guitar, and Brunhild.

  Both of them stepped forward as soon as they saw Elysius.

  “Hey, El,” D'Hertz said, lowering his shades slightly. “Where’s Starfall? Why his sister with you.”

  “That’s what I was about to ask you,” Elysius replied. His tone was half-teasing, half-serious.

  Neither of them answered immediately. Instead, D'Hertz gestured with his chin toward the forested area beyond the nobles’ rest lodge. “Come on,” he said. “We shouldn’t talk here.”

  Brunhild added quietly, “Too many ears around. It’s safer under the trees.”

  Elysius exchanged a look with Starlax, then nodded. The four of them slipped past the barricades into the forest, where the noise of soldiers and engines faded into distant murmurs.

  “What happened inside, El?” D'Hertz finally asked once they were deep enough to be alone.

  Elysius sighed. The shadows of the trees flickered across his face as he spoke. “You don’t want the full story. But the short version? Someone attacked the Council. A real sorcerer, strong enough to curse Cygnus himself.”

  Both Vanguards stiffened. Brunhild crossed her arms. “That bad, huh?”

  Elysius nodded grimly. “Worse.”

  Starlax, who’d been quiet the whole time, finally spoke. “Can I… just take a moment?” she asked softly. “I want some air. I’ll stay close, I promise.”

  Elysius gave her a small nod. “Go on. Don’t go too far.”

  He watched her walk a few steps away, into a clearing lit by moonlight, her silver hair faintly glowing beneath the trees. Only when she was out of earshot did he lower his voice again.

  “So,” D'Hertz said, tuning his guitar strings with deliberate slowness, “you’re saying the Colosseum—the most secure site in the All Realm tonight was breached right under the Council’s nose?”

  “Yes,” Elysius answered. “And whoever planned it knew exactly what they were doing.”

  Brunhild’s hand went instinctively to her sword. “Maybe from now on we should be more vigilant.”

  Starlax sat on the trunk of a fallen tree, her small frame still within Elysius’s line of sight. She rested her face in her hands, trying to make sense of the chaos that had unfolded tonight—the blood, the shouts, the impossible events that shattered her image of the powerful and untouchable Council.

  Elysius was still speaking in low tones with D'Hertz and Brunhild some distance away when the forest wind shifted. The air, once cool and calm, now carried something different, faint but unmistakable.

  Blood.

  Starlax frowned. Her eyes moved toward the thick shrubs beside her. The smell grew stronger the closer she leaned. Her instincts—sharpened by both fear and curiosity—told her not to look. But her hand moved anyway, trembling as she reached out and brushed the leaves aside.

  And then she froze.

  Her scream tore through the night.

  “Aaaaaaaaaa!”

  Elysius, D'Hertz, and Brunhild immediately bolted toward her position, weapons drawn and senses on full alert. The forest erupted in a flurry of footsteps and snapping branches until they reached her.

  Starlax stood there, trembling violently, her eyes wide and unblinking. When Elysius reached her, she didn’t speak—she only raised a shaking finger toward the bushes she had just opened.

  The three of them peered inside.

  Brunhildr was the first to break the silence.

  “What—whose body is this?!”

  Even the Valkyrie of Cogworks, took a step back.

  D'Hertz cursed under his breath, slinging his guitar behind his back. “I’ll call the medics,” he said quickly before sprinting toward the forest’s edge, his voice echoing through the trees.

  Elysius knelt beside Starlax and pulled her close. The girl’s entire body shook; her breaths came out in panicked gasps. He could feel her heart hammering through her chest.

  There, among the roots and leaves, lay the corpse of a man, his throat slit deep enough to nearly sever the neck. His right hand still gripped a short ceremonial dagger, blood-soaked and cold.

  His face was twisted into a rictus of despair, an expression not of battle, but of surrender.

  The moonlight fell over his features, illuminating the thick beard and the insignia on his cloak. Elysius’s eyes widened in disbelief as he recognized the sigil.

  It was King Dayrand of Alvoria.

  The same man who had met with Cygnus an hour ago.