Kneal
That lone word—a declaration so simple yet it reverbrated inside his mind with the weight of shamelessness. it attacked Alex's soul with a resentful toxin his body lay in stupor, conscious merely to hear the word of his spirit. his head rolled back, the faint sensation heading towards the collapse yet his mind was gripped by an unknown voice.
Mouthpiece he knew. His mother? No, many voices, shifting a cacophony of those once he knew. The chancellor? His beloved disciple? the voices mixed and blurred shifting until six distinct voices ended with the same phrase.
Sheng Cheon kneel
It was not merely a repetation it was the rise and fall of the voices. A cadence of harmony.
He could feel it pressure that was gnawing at him. With an itch upon his bones a question churned into his head, what are they saying? Kneel? Should I kneel?
Voices unfied and now it was concluded yes, you should.
Flicking back to the past Arrogance that has been the root cause of my downfall in the past lives the sole reason for my death was my arrogance. The reason why mother perished before me. It has been the same… why I lost everything.
But was it truly the actual cause of his doom? Was it not the same pride that forged him every time into a new revered flesh, that same pride that had pushed him to conquer, to rise again from the ashes?
He asked himself one final question why should I change? I have conquered things that mortals could never fathom, I have achieved the impossible. Should I be ashamed of my achievements?
I should never be ashamed of the very thing that made me who I am.
I will not fall. My achievements are my own. My failures are mine as well. I will never bow cursing my fate. No force, no voice on earth shall command me to lower my head. Weak kneel at the feet of strong and I am not weak.
He declared to the voices that wanted his descent. I will not kneel. Not to you. Not to any petty god.
To the voices, It was crystle clear the Sheng Cheon would never kneel he would die but never kneel and that's what he did.
….
Fafner, Ember, and every dragon in the kingdom were bound by golden chains—the same ones that had descended with that being.
Fafner, too, was captured. Only Lars, Luck, and Michel remained free, but their freedom was nothing more than a fleeting illusion. The chains had already won. Shelly? The reasons for her entrapment were unclear. Perhaps she had no worth left to her, or perhaps it was something worse.
Fafner, his eyes dim with the realization, found his thoughts narrowing to a single, undeniable fact.
So it has come to pass.
The very nightmare he had long feared had arrived. It was inevitable.
He rasped, his voice low, betraying his weakness as he addressed Lars. "I told you, when the time came, I would need you. So, Knight of Leventha… will you offer your aid?"
Lars's response was slow, deliberate, his voice devoid of warmth. "I will aid you, but there's one condition." He didn't flinch, not even at the desperation in Fafner's eyes. "I kneel only to my king. No other. That is the oath I swore when I became a knight. I will fight with you as a friend, but you have no claim on my loyalty."
Fafner did not recoil. He had anticipated this—understood it. The pride of a knight was unshakable. "I know that pride. I respect it. But I ask… as a friend."
The words lingered, heavy, almost foreign. Fafner leaned in, speaking directly to Lars as though sharing a secret.
Luck and Michel, still standing by, exchanged uncertain glances. Something had shifted. The air had thickened with an ominous understanding. Whatever was happening, it was not of this world. This was not something they could control.
Ember stood chained silently, her chest tight. Her arrogance had always been her defining trait, the belief that she was above all. Now, it was nothing but a mask. A brittle, hollow shell. No accomplishments to back her pride. Nothing to show for her defiance. She was nothing.
Fafner finished speaking, his breath wheezing, his resolve still there—barely. Lars sighed.
"There's no time," he muttered, already moving to act. "We must hurry. There's nothing more to say."
Luck and Michel moved toward him, but Fafners voice'. "Stay. You must stay here. I cannot risk two of you. Not when I've already asked too much."
There was no protest, no pleading. It was an order, simple and final for luck towards from his uncle. And for mischel from a king, Fafner had given them nothing but the harsh truth—there was no way out, no escape. Only the cold reality of the hold.