The radiance that should have vanished instead descended quietly upon the sea of crimson flowers that had survived the aftershocks of authority.
As if unaware of the devastation that had just occurred, the flowers here remained still, their calmness as cold and merciless as ever.
Against that scarlet backdrop, the Magic Sword · True Ether stood silently, like frost crystallized in the air. From all around, invisible veins of primordial mana surged forth, coalescing into streams of silver liquid metal that poured endlessly into the blade.
Once every last drop had gathered, the sword erupted in dazzling light. In that instant the entire world was cast into sudden darkness. Then came a long, dreadful moment of white blindness—silent, merciless, and instantaneous. When vision returned, the silver torrents vanished without warning, leaving only an afterglow so searing it eclipsed even the memory of darkness—swifter than light, true to its name.
Soundless. Breathless.
Even then, the world remained painfully bright, as though one stood beneath the scorching midsummer sun—an almost dreamlike haze, unreal and blinding.
With that theatrical shift, as though the backdrop of a stage had changed, the sea of red flowers dissolved into a sea of immaculate white.
That pure, radiant whiteness pierced through the place once drowned in blood-red, dazzling to behold.
Bathed in that light, the Magic Sword · True Ether still stood, unmarred and unbroken, even though its master—the Crimson Moon—had been annihilated. It held its regal majesty still.
But in the next moment, the blade's form unraveled, scattering into silver particles that streamed like snow from above Altrouge Brunestud, rushing toward Avia as he emerged from Typhon's body.
Like moonlight dispersed through quiet rain, like grains of sand slipping through an hourglass, the glowing silver particles gathered in the hands of the silver-haired youth, reforming once more into the shape of the Magic Sword · True Ether.
"Typhon. Can your magma melt this thing down completely?"
"...Probably not. The sword may not yet be perfected, but its very concept equals the revival of the Age of Gods... I—I haven't developed that level of ability yet..."
Hearing such a timid answer from the towering draconic machine before him, Avia chuckled.
He tilted his head slightly, loosening his grip. At once, the sword dispersed again into fine silver particles, invisible to normal eyes, drifting in the air. With another motion of his hand, the particles adhered naturally to Typhon's frame, merging with it slowly like living metal.
"Wh—... what are you doing...?"
Typhon quickly reverted to her humanoid form, frowning at the silver markings blooming across her arm.
"Just think of it as an enhancement. You've always wanted to defeat Zeus, haven't you? Who knows—maybe next time you meet, you'll actually have the chance." Avia smiled at her. "Give it ten years, maybe twenty. By then, the full potential of True Ether should be yours to command."
"You don't honestly think I'm some fool who wastes her time, do you? That bastard Zeus, and Olympus as a whole—I'll slaughter them all with my own hands eventually... But that's another matter. Tell me—does doing this amuse you?"
"Mm. I just thought you'd be happy later. And besides... aren't you smiling, too?"
Though Typhon's expression hardly changed, Avia knew she was pleased. He had only just stepped out from synchronization with her; he could still feel it. The primeval dragon remained the same as ever—her mood lifted, her presence vibrant.
Truth be told, in Avia's memory, Typhon had always seemed content since coming to his side.
At that moment, he turned and saw Altrouge stirring—finally free from the suppressive will of the Crimson Moon. She forced open her eyes, gasping for breath as though pulled from death itself. She was about to speak when the black-haired maiden beat her to it:
"Thank you, Avia. Without you, I'd already be dead."
The Black Princess smiled faintly, though her expression carried traces of pain.
Yet her tone was unnaturally composed, as though she were desperately suppressing something. It felt less like composure, and more like the numb resignation of someone whose heart had already given up.
Sensing her fragile state, Avia said nothing. Instead, he stepped forward and gently lifted her into his arms.
Feeling the warmth of his body close by, Altrouge rested her head against his chest.
The silver-haired youth spoke no words of comfort.
And so the black-haired maiden also remained silent.
But as their contrasting temperatures met—his warmth melting into her chill, their boundaries blurring into ambiguity—she whispered softly:
"Once we're out of here... just say Altrouge Brunestud is dead. Tell Brad and the others that there is only one true heir. I was nothing more than a failure."
Her voice broke into confession.
"I'm not good at all. I feel terrible. Because I had intended to kill her... I wanted her erased, so I alone could be the true heir. But—"
Altrouge had never once felt affection for her unseen sister. Even now, she resented that Arcueid was so much more perfect than she could ever be.
It was pride, and the refusal to yield, that had driven her to persist. Nothing more than the stubborn preservation of dignity.
And yet—though it should have been only that—her eyes brimmed with tears.
One drop slid down her porcelain cheek.
"I can never become the Queen of the Moon."
"...I know."
Avia let her lean against him as he nodded, his gaze shifting to the chamber's center—toward the pure white bed shaped like a coffin.
"I know these words may sound like nothing more than comfort, or a fleeting reassurance...
But whether it is Fina-Blood Spielding, Reezvor Sturlud, Cath Palug, or the Royal Guard—their king will only ever be you. Not because you are the Crimson Moon's heir, but because your persistence and your deeds convinced them you were worth following.
That, I think, is something you should be proud of."
The Black Princess lifted her head, only to see Avia had already looked away.
"Didn't you promise they would receive the honor they deserve? That oath, Princess of the Dead Apostles—Altrouge Brunestud—you still haven't fulfilled it."
Though impossible now. Even if it was forever impossible—
The Black Princess smiled at last. Her blood-red eyes softened into gentle light.
"...Ah. I had almost forgotten."
"Don't worry. I remain your ally. I'll continue to support you."
At his side, Typhon puffed her cheeks and released an odd electronic chirp, as though echoing Avia's words with her own brand of support.
"With you saying that, I can finally rest easy—"
The black-haired maiden pushed herself up from Avia's arms and turned toward the white bed.
Upon it lay the unborn perfection, the true heir of the Crimson Moon—Arcueid Brunestud.
"I will return. I will come back here, and face you in a fair, open battle—my sister."
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