The smoke of the ashen battlefield gradually cleared, and the rift in the sky slowly closed, leaving only residual cold flames dancing in the wind.
Ilea and Lucian stood side by side, their gazes fixed on the empty Ashen Throne.
"Is it over?" Lucian murmured.
Ilea slowly shook her head, her fingertips still trembling. "No... I can feel it. She hasn't vanished completely. She's just lurking in another form."
The ashes around the throne suddenly stirred, as if stirred by an invisible force.
From the depths of the ashes, several wispy threads of dark shadow emerged, silently seeping into the ground.
They made no sound, yet sent a chill down one's spine.
Beneath the night, the Paladin Order of Snowflame Royal City was reorganizing its armaments.
A young knight looked up at the sky, suddenly clutching his chest with a tightness.
He watched as the remaining cold flames in the sky morphed into a gray shadow, instantly piercing his pupils.
"...Ah."
He staggered, but quickly regained his composure, a strange smile tugging at his lips.
His companions beside him noticed nothing, assuming it was merely exhaustion from the battle.
That night, dozens of knights in the royal city dreamed the same dream.
In the dream, they knelt before the Ashen Throne and heard a familiar, enchanting female voice.
"Swear loyalty to me, and you shall gain true power."
In the dream, their oath marks ignited with gray flames—painful, yet irresistible.
Meanwhile, in the palace chambers, Ilea and Lucian still hadn't fully escaped the shadow of the illusion.
Ilea sat beside the bed, her breathing ragged, her fingers clasped tightly over her oath mark.
"She's eroding us... I can feel it."
Lucian embraced her from behind, his forehead resting against her hair. "Don't fear. You're not alone."
His words were steady. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her firmly.
She looked up, her tearful eyes meeting his, fear and desire intertwining in her heart.
In the next moment, she leaned forward and kissed his lips, filled with urgent longing.
In the darkness, their breaths grew hot, sweat mingling with a fiery warmth.
As if only in each other's embrace and desire could they suppress the erosion of the gray shadow.
Their bodies intertwined, and the glow of their oath marks blazed like fire, illuminating the room.
Ilea whispered in his arms: "If she truly returns... would you fall into the sea of flames with me?"
Lucian kissed her neck, his voice low: "Even if the gray flames burn the world to ash, I will never let you go."
At the very moment their bodies entangled, far away in the northern camp, a knight opened his eyes.
In his pupils flickered the same black flames as the gray shadow.
He murmured slowly: "The throne... shall soon welcome its true master."
A cold wind swept through the tent, causing the flames to tremble—but not extinguish.
The laughter of the gray shadow echoed through the unobserved darkness.