Eryndor stood outside the heavy door, his chest rising and falling in ragged bursts, each breath scraping against his burning lungs. Sweat clung to his temple, his eyes flickering anxiously toward Lucian, who leaned against the cold stone wall, clutching at his ribs as if the act of breathing itself was punishment.
Inside, the Caretakers moved with frantic precision. Their hands shook, but their motions remained steady, laying out bandages, herbs, and vials of potion across wooden tables. Others knelt beside frightened children, guiding them toward a corner of the chamber where blankets were spread. The children's wide eyes shimmered with tears, their voices hushed as though they dared not break the silence that weighed on the room.
At the entrance, the two knights stood like sentinels carved from stone. Yet the whitened grip on their sword hilts betrayed their calm façade. Even they could feel it, the storm pressing closer, the dread curling like smoke in their veins.
Eryndor turned, his voice low and strained. "Lucian… how is it? Is the pain easing?"
Lucian drew in a jagged breath before answering, his words rasping through clenched teeth. "Give me a moment… Zephyr's strike still lingers. It is as if my chest refuses to release the air."
Guilt twisted in Eryndor's gut. He lowered his head slightly, his voice rough. "I should not have let it come to this. If not for me, perhaps…"
Lucian shook his head, straightening with effort, his face carved with weary resolve. "Do not waste your strength on apologies. What matters is that the transmission was sent. Every stronghold will know of the threat."
Eryndor swallowed hard, forcing his gaze to steady. "Even so… Zephyr has his claws in the entire Kingdom. If the King cannot hear the Queen's distress call…"
Lucian's eyes darkened. He pressed his hand harder against his chest, shaking his head firmly. "Contacting her would betray our location. Zephyr's gaze is everywhere. If I reach for her now, he will find this place, and the survivors will be slaughtered. I already risked much just holding him back."
A silence fell between them, heavy and suffocating. Eryndor's voice softened, as though he were speaking not just to Lucian but to himself. "You have done more than most men could. Cassian… he will see to the slaves. He must."
Lucian let out a low breath, his expression grim, the doubt lingering despite his words. "Let us hope so… for if he fails, then all of this was for nothing."
Before Eryndor could speak again, the faint echo of running feet reverberated from the tunnel ahead. Both men stiffened. The sound grew louder, a chorus of hurried steps and frightened cries.
"That must be them," Lucian muttered, pushing himself off the wall despite the strain on his body.
Together, they rushed forward, and the survivors spilled into view. Faces pale and streaked with dirt, eyes wide with the kind of terror that spoke of blood still fresh in memory. Beastkin with their ears pinned flat, tails curled tightly in fear, humans clutching at one another as though touch alone could anchor them to safety. Mothers shielded their children with trembling arms, fathers staggered under the weight of carrying two at once. The stench of smoke and sweat clung to them all.
"Make way, make way!" Eryndor's voice rang out, louder than he felt, commanding despite the tightness in his throat. He spread his arms, guiding them through. "This way! Do not stop. Keep moving!"
Lucian echoed him, his tone sharp, cutting through the panic. "Stay together! Take the children up in your arms…do not let them fall behind!"
The crowd surged forward, stumbling in their haste. A beastkin man half-dragged his limping human wife, while a young human girl clutched a broken doll to her chest, tears streaking her dirt-caked face. The chamber filled with the sound of hurried breaths and muffled sobs, the desperation of people running not for victory, but for survival.
Lucian's eyes swept the crowd, sharp despite his exhaustion. Something gnawed at him, a question clawing to the surface. He stepped toward a beastkin woman whose tawny fur was caked with dust and blood, her eyes wild with panic. He caught her arm, forcing his voice to steady.
"Do not be afraid," he said quickly, meeting her gaze. "Tell me…where are the knights who left with you? Why are they not at your side?"
Her breath hitched, words spilling out between sobs. "They… they stayed behind! To hold off the ones chasing us! To give us time!" Her voice cracked, her body trembling. "They said they would not let the evil men through!"
Lucian's hand released her arm gently, and she stumbled forward, swept away again by the tide of survivors. For a heartbeat, he stood frozen, her words echoing in his mind. The knights stayed behind… and if they fall, the path here will be next.
His gaze cut across the crowd, meeting Eryndor's. Between them, no words were needed the truth was already shared in their eyes. But still Lucian spoke, his voice low and resolute, edged with the weight of choice.
"I will go further," he said. "If the knights still hold, I must stand with them. I cannot remain here while they bleed for us."
Eryndor simply nodded, his face a blend of worry and pride, the kind that came from watching a comrade walk willingly toward danger. Lucian turned sharply, his figure retreating into the dimness of the tunnel, the echo of his footsteps lost in the cacophony of rushing crowds, until he was nothing more than a shadow.
Eryndor stayed where he was, steady and unmoving, his presence like an anchor amidst the chaos. He raised his voice, firm yet calm, guiding the stream of beastkin and humans who poured past him. The crystalline formations along the tunnel walls pulsed with a faint blue glow, their steady shimmer offering a fragile comfort in the oppressive dark. Mothers hushed their crying children against their shoulders, fathers staggered beneath the weight of carrying both kin and belongings, beastkin ears flicking nervously at every distant sound. Their fear was palpable, raw and human, and it pressed against Eryndor like a tide.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Back in the sewers, Morganna's group gasped for breath, their chests heaving after the clash. The ground was littered with the fallen, robed bodies sprawled across the murky water, blood mixing with the reek of sewage to form a stench that stung the nose and clung to the throat. Rosette stumbled, her face pale, pressing a hand over her mouth as a wave of nausea threatened to overtake her. She clutched the ring on her finger tightly, forcing herself to stay upright, forcing herself not to break.
Takashi exhaled, slow and heavy, before flicking his blade sharply, crimson droplets scattering against the stone before he slid the katana into its sheath with a soft shhk. Astrid drew back her Moonbind Cord, the shimmering strands curling like a serpent until they coiled neatly at her side. None of them bore more than scratches, evidence of skill sharpened by countless battles.
Morganna steadied her breathing, her gaze sharp despite the fatigue in her limbs. "Serphina," she said, voice low but commanding, "this is where you and Rosette will stop. Take another path. Stay safe. Mira's subordinate and I will press forward."
The Countess approached, her eyes touched with feigned concern. "My lady… you must rest. For your health."
Morganna waved her off, dismissing the suggestion as if swatting away an insect. "I will rest when all of this is finished."
The Countess's lips curved faintly, though her thoughts betrayed her. Very well, my lady… I will obey. But take care of your body. She turned to Angelo, Mr. Kaito, and Rosette, her tone smooth and composed. "You three, with me. We move now."
As they walked down a side tunnel, her voice slipped into quiet conversation, her eyes forward, her face betraying nothing. "Kaito, do you know the location we are in?"
"Of course, my lady," he answered without hesitation.
"Good." Her gaze shifted to Angelo. "And the explosives?"
"They are with me, my lady," Angelo said, his hand brushing the satchel at his side.
"Good," the Countess murmured. "Whatever awaits us, we will endure it." Her glance lingered briefly on Rosette, who still clutched at her ring, knuckles white. She is already carrying her burden well. That will have to do.
Takashi watched them disappear into the shadows, his face unreadable, though his eyes followed a moment longer. He turned to Morganna. "Lady Morganna," he began carefully. "Are you certain they will be safe? Me and Astrid are…"
She cut him off, her tone firm, unwilling to entertain doubt. "You need not concern yourself with the Countess. She knows how to survive."
Takashi bowed his head slightly, silent obedience in the gesture. Yet Astrid's sharp gaze did not falter. "Lady Morganna… forgive me for speaking plainly, but are you certain you should continue fighting? Your body…" Her voice carried an edge of warning. "It does not move as it once did. There is something within you straining against itself."
Morganna's thoughts sharpened instantly. Do I know her? Or worse… ..does she know about my pregnancy? She narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice guarded, testing.
Astrid did not waver, her expression calm, her tone layered with subtle meaning. "A queen's duty is eternal. It is not meant to be shared, but preserved. Your mana flow is… fractured. I see the strain it places on you."
Morganna flicked her hand dismissively, unwilling to show weakness. "You need not worry yourself. Our task is before us. We will find the slaves and end the Covenant presence here."
Astrid's lips quirked into a faint smile, though her eyes held a knowing glimmer. Takashi glanced between them, but said nothing, his silence speaking of anxiety more than ignorance.
Morganna turned toward him. "Do you know the way?"
Takashi looked around, brows furrowed as he tried to recall the twisting, endless paths of the sewer. Before he could answer, Astrid stepped forward with quiet confidence. "Yes, Lady Morganna. Follow me."
She moved ahead, her stride measured and sure. Morganna and Takashi followed, a trio of lethal intent, their footsteps echoing in the narrow tunnel.
Yet Morganna's thoughts were elsewhere, caught between the present and the weight of what lay ahead. How strong the both of them are. Together they fight as one… a true pair. A pang struck her heart, and she thought of her husband, Thorn. May our signal reach him… may he hear us. Her hand drifted unconsciously to her stomach, a private gesture, a silent worry.
Astrid, though her eyes never shifted, noticed. Takashi too perceived the motion, his gaze flickering briefly, but he remained silent, his thoughts his own.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Meanwhile, up above, the fight was a symphony of chaos. The streets were awash with screams, the ground slick with blood. Beastkin and humans alike scattered in terror, mothers clutching children, elders stumbling as they tried to flee. The robed men gave no mercy. Their blades cut down innocents indiscriminately, and the air reeked of iron and smoke.
Some of the cultists had already warped themselves into monstrous Minotaurs, their flesh twisting grotesquely as mana surged through their veins. Muscles swelled to unnatural size, bones cracked and reformed, and guttural roars shook the air. Each swing of their crude weapons sent knights flying, bones shattering with sickening thuds as bodies struck stone.
Yet still the knights held the line. They fought back with desperate valor, their formation holding despite the horror before them. Shields braced against crushing blows, spears thrust into gaps of thickened hide, swords found purchase between bone plates. They shouted to each other, their voices hoarse with exertion. For every knight who was struck down, a robed man was dragged into death beside him. Their courage was a fragile, flickering light in the madness.
And then Sora arrived.
She descended into the melee like a phantom, her presence a chilling contrast to the carnage. Her movements were fluid, precise, terrifying in their beauty. She did not fight as the knights did, with grit and desperation. She moved like water and shadow, her body gliding through the battlefield in perfect rhythm.
An ice dagger appeared in her hand with a whisper of frost. She struck a robed man, the blade sliding cleanly into his throat. Before his body even collapsed, she vanished in a shimmer of Silent Frost Step, reappearing behind another enemy. The dagger cut a line across his spine, and he fell, lifeless, before he could scream.
The knights paused in awe as they watched her dance through the battlefield. To them, she seemed like death itself given form.
A Minotaur bellowed and swung its massive hammer. Sora ducked beneath the arc, her body spinning low, frost blooming from her dagger as it carved through the beast's hamstring. The creature stumbled, howling in rage, before Sora vanished again. She reappeared above it, her second dagger plunging into its neck, cold light flashing as she twisted. Blood sprayed, steaming against the icy wound.
Two robed men rushed her. With a flick of her wrist, Sora unleashed a Frozen Bloom. Ice shards exploded outward, delicate as flowers, lethal as blades. The robed men were frozen mid-stride, their screams cut short as jagged crystals impaled their flesh and locked them in a prison of frost.
She did not stop. Her form was a blur, weaving between knights and enemies alike. She slipped past a knight just as he faltered, catching his attacker's blade in her frost-covered palm. The weapon froze instantly, brittle as glass, and shattered when she struck it with her dagger. A heartbeat later, the robed man's chest split open in a spray of crimson.
Another Minotaur charged, horns lowered. The ground trembled under its weight. Sora's eyes flashed cold, and she whispered a command to her mana. A colossal fist of pure ice materialized from the air, its crystalline knuckles glinting in the dim light. With an echoing crack, it smashed downward, the Minotaur's skull bursting under the crushing force. The beast fell, its body twitching before going still.
Silence followed.
The screams of fleeing civilians had grown distant, swallowed by the tunnels and alleys. The last of the cultists lay broken, frozen, or bleeding in the dirt. What remained were only the knights, battered and bloodied, staring wide-eyed at the figure who had turned slaughter into spectacle.
Sora stood among the corpses, her breath steady, her daggers dripping red against the pale shimmer of frost. She lifted her gaze slowly, her eyes cold behind her glasses, icy as winter, and found the knights staring at her.
"I will handle everything," she said, her voice clear and cold, like steel wrapped in frost. "Just protect and guide the people."
The knight she addressed opened his mouth, but no words came. His eyes were wide, his breath ragged, and all he could do was stare at her as if she were something otherworldly. Another knight, gathering his courage, raised his voice to shout, "Men, guide the people to the…"
Sora's instincts flared. With blinding speed, she shoved him hard to the ground. In that instant, the world seemed to slow. A fissure split the earth where he had stood, a jagged scar of raw power cutting cleanly through stone and soil. It would have cleaved him in two.
The knights froze, terror and disbelief etched on their faces.
"Aww," a voice called from above, smooth and mocking, dripping with sadistic delight. "I missed him."
Heads turned upward. A lone figure crouched on the edge of a building, the light casting his shadow across the carnage-strewn streets below. His grin was wide, too wide, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. A long, bloodstained sword rested in his hand, its blade hungering for its next victim.
Veyron.
Sora's gaze sharpened behind her glasses. Her voice rang out with sudden ferocity. "Just go! Move from this area!"
The knight she had saved scrambled up, trembling, and began to rally the others. But before the order could leave his mouth, Veyron was already there. His body blurred, almost invisible, and his blade carved a black arc through the air, aimed straight for the knight's neck.
Sora was faster. A Glacial Veil erupted between them, a wall of translucent ice that sang with frost as it blocked the strike. At the same moment, her other hand clenched, encased in jagged ice knuckles. She drove it forward with crushing precision. Her fist struck Veyron's chest, the sound like shattering stone, and his body was hurled backward, crashing through the facade of a nearby building.
The knight stumbled, breathless and pale, realizing that he had nearly met death twice in as many heartbeats. He turned to Sora, mouth opening to speak gratitude, but her glasses caught the fractured skyline, reflecting nothing back. Her expression was unreadable.
"Just go," she repeated, her tone colder than the veil of ice that still lingered in the air.
That time, the knight did not hesitate. He shouted the order with all the strength he had left, and the others began pulling civilians away, their boots pounding against cracked stone as they fled.
From the rubble, laughter rang out. Low at first, then rising, rich with delight. Veyron emerged slowly, brushing debris from his shoulders, his grin unchanged.
"Very, very impressive," he said, his tone savoring each word. "When Vielwalker told me there was a maid causing a nuisance, I thought he was exaggerating. I was furious, ready to cut down some little Knights. But this..." He spread his arms, his smile a predator's. "To imagine the maid is really this amazing."
Sora's mind was already racing, dissecting every movement he had made, every tremor in the air. His power was vast, corrosive, reckless. So this is the monster behind the fissure… and he is holding back. I can feel it.
Her voice cut through the ruined street. "Do not bother trying to impress me. You will regret it."
Veyron chuckled, tilting his head, eyes alight with cruel amusement. "I see. You already understand."
Silence fell, heavy and brittle. The city seemed to hold its breath.
Sora narrowed her gaze behind the gleam of her glasses. Every sense was sharpened, tuned to the single figure standing before her. She wanted to end this quickly, to finish him in one decisive strike, but the civilians had not all escaped yet, and the knights lingered far too close. She could not risk them. Not while their lives hang in the balance.
Veyron across from her had no such restraint. His grin widened, feral and unblinking, his body coiling like a serpent about to strike.
He moved.
His blade came down in a brutal arc, a slash filled with killing intent. The ground screamed as stone split beneath its weight. Sora's daggers flashed upward, their icy glow colliding with steel. The clash shook the street itself, a thunderous shockwave bursting outward, sending rubble and dust into the air.
She slid back half a step, shoes skidding against the fractured cobblestone, and instantly pressed forward again. Their duel exploded into motion.
Strike. Counter. Vanish. Reappear.
Sparks of steel and shards of ice filled the air, each collision a violent storm of force. Veyron's laughter rang with unhinged delight, wild and unyielding, echoing through the ruined street like a predator playing with its prey. Sora's expression never wavered, her face a mask of focus, every movement refined to lethal precision. She darted across shattered rooftops, leapt from collapsing walls, conjured frozen platforms in midair to twist her trajectory, cutting angles that defied expectation.
Their speed was inhuman. To the knights watching from afar, they were blurs of destruction, tearing through the district with a storm's fury. Windows imploded, timbers snapped, stone shattered as they used the city itself as their battlefield.
Veyron's blade sang with violent hunger, each swing carving scars into the world. Sora's ice answered in kind, weaving daggers, shields, and spears that shimmered with crystalline beauty even as they shattered under the relentless assault.
He laughed louder, voice carrying above the carnage. "Yes! Yes, that's it! More! Show me maid…Show me who you are!"
The thrill pressed against her chest, unbidden but undeniable. A dangerous curve tugged at her lips, a ghost of a smile breaking through her cold mask. Each clash sent a pulse through her blood, quickening her steps, sharpening her strikes. It had been so long since she had felt this truly alive — on the very edge between control and abandon…. No one was to stop her.
She would not admit it aloud, but she was enjoying it. The danger, the risk, the sheer ferocity of him. Yet at the same time, something inside her whispered with sharp clarity. This one is almost like Kibo... and yet, he's better? No matter, I must end him.
Glass and wood exploded as she crashed through the frame of a shop window, landing in a crouch among the debris. The air stung with frost as she rose, ready. He lunged after her, a blur of grinning malice, his sword cutting a gleaming arc.
But she was waiting.
Her fist, sheathed in thick, jagged ice, shot upward. The punch landed squarely into his gut, a crack of thunder exploding from the contact. The sheer force hurled him backward, shattering the doorway and flinging him across the street. He skidded and tore through stone, gouging deep scars into the ground before coming to a halt amid a cloud of rubble.
Sora stepped from the ruined shop, her breath steady, her knuckles dripping frost. She lifted her gaze, her glasses catching the fractured light of damaged buildings. The faint smile lingered on her lips, no warmth in it, only sharp, dangerous satisfaction.
This is the kind of fight that strips away pretense, she thought, her eyes fixed on his silhouette in the dust. I could kill him here. I should kill him here.
But deep inside, where instinct never lied, another truth stirred. He had taken the blow. Not merely survived it — taken it.
The ground trembled faintly. The dust began to shift.
And Sora's dangerous smile deepened by a fraction. She was enjoying this… far more than she should.
Perhaps it is time to stop holding back.
The rubble across the street shifted violently, and a familiar, cruel laughter began to rise again.