The night in Elysion always kept its own light. The city tended to every lantern the way a mother tends to her children—with tenderness, with patience, with a love that never dimmed. Lanterns hung along the stone streets, mounted on wrought-iron posts that curved gracefully like the necks of swans at rest. Each lantern spilled a warm golden glow, forming pools of light upon the cobblestones worn smooth by thousands upon thousands of footsteps over the centuries. Between those pools of light, shadows swayed gently to the rhythm of the night wind—an eternal waltz that only the wakeful could ever witness.
The night wind drifted slow and easy, carrying with it the scent of fresh bread lifted from the oven of the old bakery at the end of the road. Its owner, a middle-aged woman with silver hair always tied loosely back, still waited faithfully behind her wooden counter. Smoke from her chimney curled upward in thin ribbons, mingling with the evening mist that was beginning to descend, creating a glimmering white veil kissed by the lantern light—like a silken tapestry the faeries themselves had draped over the city.
Stars lay scattered across the sky, thousands upon thousands of glimmering points that called to mind gemstones strewn across black velvet. The moon hung there above it all, transformed into a great lantern of its own, watching over the night. Its silver light washed down over the rooftops, creating a thin, shimmering layer that made the clay tiles gleam like the scales of a dragon sleeping in peace.
In the distance, the temple bell rang softly—a marker of time flowing onward without hurry. One chime for every hour that passed. Its voice traveled among the ancient buildings, threading through the narrow alleyways, brushing the ears of anyone still awake in the city. A pair of lovers sat on a garden bench, sharing a slice of cake and their dreams of the future. A poet perched on a balcony, writing verses about a night too beautiful to spend in sleep. A stray cat leaped from one rooftop to the next, chasing the moon's shadow as it shifted endlessly across the tiles.
Elysion merely rested—with one eye open, with one ear still listening. The peace that had been won with blood and tears had to be guarded always. Beyond the beauty of this night, the darkness might always try to return. But tonight—this calm night, this peaceful night, this night filled with the scent of fresh bread and the sound of temple bells and bright laughter from a street corner—Elysion stood as proof that the light had prevailed. That after all the wounds and all the tears, there remained a place worthy of being called home.
And on that very street corner, beneath the flickering lantern light, Hector still stood with Oren perched upon his shoulder.
"Grilled meatballs! Grilled meatballs!" he called out cheerfully, his eyes gleaming like a child who had just discovered a gold coin tucked beneath his pillow. His voice bounced off the stone walls, echoing softly before the night swallowed it whole. "Just four skewers, good sir... and do not be stingy with the sauce.."
Oren mewed softly from his shoulder, the sound nearly drowned beneath the crackle of embers and the hiss of rising smoke. The plump cat coiled his tail around Hector's neck like a living fur scarf, as though seconding his master's demand with all the languor of a nobleman.
The meatball vendor—an old man with a worn apron and sleeves rolled to his elbows—nodded obediently. His nimble fingers arranged the springy meatballs over the burning coals, and within seconds, smoke began to rise, bearing with it the scent of meat seasoned with choice spices. Crushed garlic, coarsely ground coriander, and just a pinch of black pepper—all of it merging into a dance of steam that made any tongue dance in anticipation. Once the surfaces had turned golden-brown and just slightly crisped, the meatballs were slathered in sauce and sweet soy that glistened beneath the lantern light—like tiny gemstones freshly lifted from a dwarven forge.
Hector bit into one skewer with the fervor of a warrior who had just claimed victory in battle. His eyes closed at once, his head tilting back toward the night sky in deep appreciation. "Ohh, God... I have never found food this delicious in all of Elysion. Oren, you have to try this—eghh... but not too much, or your belly will grow too round"
Oren merely flicked his tail, fixing Hector with a pair of green eyes that gleamed like emeralds beneath the moonlight. The look seemed to say, without a single word, I am a cat. I stand beyond the reach of your dietary threats.
Just as Hector was savoring his grilled meatballs with near-religious devotion—every chew a meditation, every swallow a prayer of gratitude—his eyes caught a figure approaching along the garden path. The steps were slow and measured, yet all hesitation had vanished from every stride. Black hair flowing loose in the night breeze, an old brown jacket buttoned neatly into place. "Eh.... Sera! Are you out looking for food, or... out looking for a man, huh..?"
Seraphina walked closer, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. "Hector.... Be quiet... or I will stuff Oren into your mouth."
"Yeah... Sorry!" He thrust one skewer of grilled meatballs toward her, the steam still rising in thin wisps. "Wanna try? Free. Consider it a gift for being the sanest person among all of us."
Seraphina accepted the skewer with a small nod. Her cool fingers touched the warm bamboo, and for a brief moment, that warmth crept into her palm—a small, gentle warmth that reminded her the world still held simple things worth savoring. Her eyes traveled along the lantern-lit street, sweeping over every corner that had once harbored menacing shadows and now held only clean, quiet stone. "Have you two seen Danteus? I thought he would be with Liora."
"Hah? The big boss?" Hector turned left and right, his movement nearly knocking into Oren, who promptly dug his claws deeper into his shoulder. "He was just over at—aaa... I have no idea! I was far too busy minding my own business..."
"...yeah... as always..."
_ _ _
Not far from them, before a small toy shop nestled between two ancient stone buildings, Danteus stood. The shop remained lit even at this late hour—oil lamps within casting a golden glow that danced behind the glass of the display window, forming soft shadows that swayed to the rhythm of the flames. The window was filled with cloth dolls whose button eyes gleamed, wooden puzzles whose every piece had been carved by hand, and tin toys painted in vivid colors—blazing red, sea blue, butter yellow—as though a little sorcerer had spilled his entire palette across them.
Yet what drew Danteus's gaze was neither the dolls nor the puzzles nor the tin toys arranged neatly along the shelf. It was something resting directly beneath the dim glow of the yellow lamp—a small object that reflected the light with the sheen of metal worn weary by time.
Danteus tilted his head, his brow faintly furrowed. His fingers lifted, nearly brushing the glass of the display window, but he held them there in the air. His eyes narrowed, straining to make out the shape of the thing amid the dimness of the light.
What is it you see, Danteus?
What toy could make a former executioner of hell stand frozen before the window of a tiny shop in the dead of night?
Beyond the glass of the toy shop's display window, whose light had begun to dim—as though the lanterns within were holding their breath alongside him—a dark artifact rested in a stillness that could almost be called sacred. Nox Aurelion. Its name was etched upon a small plaque beneath it, yet the thing itself lay far beyond anything a mere slip of engraved metal could ever describe.
It was forged of obsidian stellaris—a frozen metal born from the dead points between dimensions, where light itself halts and time melts into stillness. Its frame was sheathed in violet astral fibers that shimmered faintly, like the core of a young nebula freshly collapsed into itself. The vertical wing doors rose upward, gaping wide like the mechanical jaws of some primordial praying mantis that had long since turned to myth. Vacuum rune circles were etched firmly into the silver spokes of its wheels—each engraving giving off a subtle pulse, as though the machine itself were breathing. A curved transparent pane shielded the cockpit, while the fragmentum umbra drive core lay hidden within the cold steel of its chest, awaiting the touch of a pilot bold enough to claim it.
Every sharp angle of its bodywork had been carved with a fury frozen solid over thousands of years.
Upon a panel in the display window, a small sacred tome lay open—its yellowing pages written by the hand of Veyrithal, the Twilight Forger, at the very brink of Aetherion's collapse. The chronicle of the Nox Aurelion was inscribed there. This lifeless thing was animated by four pure sorceries. The Veil of Velocity stripped its physical form from mortal sight in the blink of an eye, letting it streak unseen through the air. The Umbra Drift slicked the steel dragon so it could glide over walls, across the sky, or along the most jagged rock faces without resistance. The Soul Ignitor turned every surge of the rider's emotion into fuel—an engine that pulsed in time with a heartbeat, that roared in harmony with rage, that shot forward alongside passion. The Echo of the Fallen Star left behind the fingerprints of starlight upon every path it carved, an ink of destiny printed upon the void—tracks that could only be seen by those who knew where to look.
The deep black that enveloped it was a crown of solitude and mournful entombment—a requiem wrapped in metal. The regal violet flowing through its fibers spoke of sovereignty, ambition, and cosmic transcendence—a declaration that this thing was made for those who refused to bow to gravity. The open wings that danced upon the air when its doors lifted were a manifesto of eternal freedom. The doors that rose toward the sky above were a sacred summons, a narrow road that only the bold of soul could ever hope to walk.
A runic warning was etched clearly into the side of its casing, carved by the same hand that had written the sacred tome.
Only a pilot with a blazing soul is worthy of awakening this monster. A shattered and doubting spirit will be crushed to splinters within this throne of steel.
The stillness of that toy shop display window held a cosmic storm within it. The Nox Aurelion waited. Destiny lay dormant. The dragon soared on in its dreams.
Danteus fixed his gaze on the price plaque fixed beneath it. His eyes narrowed. His fingers scratched idly at his own chin—a gesture that, in no way whatsoever, reflected the hellish executioner who had once made demons tremble.
"Price listed at 300 Rupi..." he murmured under his breath, the sound of his voice swallowed by the shadows around him. "Tch... That is far too expensive..."
Just beyond the glass of the toy shop display window, still damp with the evening's dew, a necromantic vehicle stood silent in the shadows right beside the Nox Aurelion. The pitch-black carriage was adorned with sharp spikes jutting outward in every direction—a crown of thorns born from the hand of the lord of the grave, each spike catching the lantern light with a gleam far too cold to be called beautiful. Two skeletal steeds stood before the carriage, their bare bones arranged so perfectly it was as though death itself had preserved them mid-gallop for all eternity. Their naked hooves were lifted, leaping upon a thin layer of air invisible to any ordinary eye. Heavy iron chains—chains that might once have been used to bind rebellious souls in the depths of Tartarus—tethered those dead beasts to the enclosed cabin, a cabin shaped like a casket of solid steel. A jagged, winding lantern hung from the front roof, burning with a dark violet flame that swayed gently yet cast no shadow at all. Lilac ether-smoke billowed from the hollow ribcages of the steeds, spreading throughout the display like morning mist drifting over an ancient graveyard. The black-spoked wheels stood frozen in stillness, yet a rippling astral aura wrapped every hardened bone—a faintly pulsing energy, waiting for someone to awaken it.
This carriage was an eternal vessel sailing the vast ocean between the world of the living and the void. Those skeletal steeds had become a symbol of boundlessness, a tenacity carved into a sea of darkness—creatures that refused to stop running even long after their flesh had vanished into memory. The chains that linked them to the cabin were an umbilical cord of fate, a bond that tied corporeal form to cosmic will, reminding anyone who gazed upon them that even death could be bound and commanded. The lantern's flame burned without a wick, without oil, without any explainable source of fire—a spiritual flame that consumed the essence of ages past, dancing upon the wick of emptiness. The violet that sheathed those skeletons was war paint marking triumph amid ruin, a crown of glory born from mortality itself, a declaration that even within death, beauty could still be found.
The bones shot forward within the imagination. The iron chains rattled in the ears of anyone bold enough to picture it. This carriage would crash through the ancient gates that divided the world of the living from the world of the dead. The soul-reaper howled in silence. Eternity had arrived, and it wore the skeletons of horses as its mount.
Danteus still stood before that same display window. His eyes shifted from the Nox Aurelion to this skeletal horse-drawn carriage, then back again. His fingers drummed against his own chin—a motion growing quicker and quicker with each passing moment. A dilemma had taken root there. Two objects. Two masterpieces. Two summons from two entirely different worlds. And standing between them, there was only one Danteus—with pockets that might not be nearly thick enough to bring both of them home.
_ _ _
Silently, deep within a heart that had swallowed the bitterness of war for centuries, the toy awakened something that had long lain dormant. Something warm. Something innocent. Something he might once have dreamed of in an age when he was still a guardian untouched by sin—when his wings were still clean of the ashes of battle, when his hands had yet to grip anything but light.
If Liora sees me buying another one... he thought, and the image sprang instantly into his mind. Liora standing at the doorstep, hands on her hips, a smile on her lips—but a smile that promised no warmth whatsoever. A smile sharper than any blade.
...the price must be absurd.
But... this thing... It's cool...
The wheels really do spin...
But... Liora will smile like a serial killer again.
Tch...
His hands—the very hands that had once carried the weight of thousands of souls and crushed the fortresses of hell, the same hands that had once brought the gates of Tartarus crashing down with a single fist—now hung hesitantly in the air. His fingers stretched forward, nearly touching the cold glass of the display window, but stopped just a few centimeters shy of making contact. The glass reflected his own face back at him: a man whose eyes had witnessed far too much death, yet now stood trembling before something infinitely more terrifying. The wrath of a tomboyish woman with a wolf-cut haircut who knew exactly where every single one of his weak points lay.
He swallowed.
"Excuse me..." His voice came out far softer than he had intended. "Is there... a discount on this?"
The shopkeeper—a young man with the sleeves of his jacket tied around his neck, hair in complete disarray, and the overall look of a street musician rather than a shopkeeper—turned with a motion far too casual for someone who had just been approached by a former general of hell. "Oh, that one? That one is 300 Rupi..."
Danteus nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed upon the toy beyond the glass. "Ooh... umm... 300 Rupi, is it..."
I know it's 300 Rupi.
But why could you not just say straightaway that there is no discount...
Danteus scratched his head, though it did not itch—the reflexive gesture of a man at war with himself. His thoughts drifted, picturing Liora's face. That face, with its wide smile that never once failed to turn his knees weaker than a soldier setting foot onto a battlefield for the very first time, was now transforming before his mind's eye. Within his imagination, that smile twisted into the grin of a serial killer ready to demand a full accounting. A grin more terrifying than any sword, colder than the deepest layer of ice in the ninth hell.
What are you buying this time, Danteus? Liora's voice echoed inside his head.
Don't we already have enough toys at home?
Are you a former general of Tartarus or a kindergartner?
Danteus swallowed hard. His hand clenched into a fist, then unclenched again. He stepped forward, drawing his face closer to the display glass, and whispered softly—almost like a conspirator in the midst of plotting something deeply illegal. "...can you lower the price? 280?"
"300." The shopkeeper did not even lift his head. "Fixed price."
"285?" Danteus tried again, this time with a note that was just slightly more pleading. "It is already the middle of the night. Look, the streets are empty. Who else is going to buy a toy at this hour?"
"300." The voice remained flat. "Fixed price."
"290?!" This time Danteus was nearly half-insistent. He could feel beads of sweat beginning to gather at his temples.
The shopkeeper finally lifted his face. His eyes, which had been lazy just moments before, now fixed upon Danteus with a sharp gaze—the gaze of a merchant who had faced far too many buyers armed with every conceivable negotiation tactic. He let out a soft scoff. "Sir. 290. That is already far too cheap. That toy was carved directly by the most renowned forge—"
"....this is for my wife..." Danteus cut him off, his voice suddenly dropping low, nearly a whisper of desperation. "If it is too expensive... I could end up sleeping outside..."
The shopkeeper stopped. His eyes looked at Danteus—truly looked at him, as though for the very first time he was seeing a customer with a reason as reckless as this. His fingers drummed against the old oak of the cashier's counter. Then he let out a long, heavy sigh—the sigh of a man who had just lost a battle he had not even planned on fighting.
"Ahh... fine... 295..." He shook his head, lifting the toy's box from the display case. "Next time, bring your wife along with you. I want to see what kind of woman could make a man like you willing to sleep outside."
Danteus drew a long, deep breath. The cold night air filled his lungs, mingling with a sense of relief and just a trace of embarrassment. 295 Rupi. A difference of five Rupi from the original price. A lengthy negotiation that had managed to shave off less than two percent—an accomplishment far worse than the time he had conquered the fortress of Tartarus all on his own. Yet, strangely enough, he felt proud. Perhaps this was the thing they called love, willingly humiliating yourself for the sake of a toy that would make your beloved smile—or, in his case, smile like a serial killer.
"Alright..." He reached into his pocket and pulled out three one-hundred Rupi notes. "295. Wrap it up."
Danteus opened the bag he had brought with him, ready to slip the wrapped Nox Aurelion into the cloth sack he carried—a shabby bag that had gone back and forth to this very shop more times than he could count. The shopkeeper had memorized that bag. He probably knew the bag better than he knew Danteus's face. But before his feet could carry him away, his eyes were drawn once more to the display window. To the skeletal horse-drawn carriage still standing silent within.
He pointed slowly toward the carriage, a faint smile beginning to curl at the corner of his lips—the kind of smile that only surfaced when he was about to say something he knew would make the shopkeeper's blood pressure spike. "This one comes with... the horses, right? Hehehe..."
The shopkeeper—that young man with the jacket sleeves tied around his neck, whose name was Aldric, someone who had spent the past three years as the silent witness to Danteus's obsession with toys—stared back at Danteus with a flat expression. But beneath that flat expression lay a patience that had been carefully trained. A patience forged through years of dealing with the very same man, asking the very same questions, wearing the very same mischievous grin.
"You... every single time you come here, it is always the same thing." Aldric crossed his arms over his chest. "You haggled the Nox Aurelion down to 295. Now you are asking for the horses too? Go home. Your wife is surely waiting for you with a frying pan in hand."
Danteus laughed—a sound that was no longer unfamiliar to Aldric's ears. "A frying pan? You are being far too dramatic. At most, she will simply tell me to sleep in the yard."
"I still remember you coming in here three months ago with a black eye." Aldric raised a single eyebrow. "You said you fell down the stairs. But I know the stairs in your house are not nearly that tall."
"That... was just a small accident."
"Of course. Just like that 'small accident' when you bought that wooden puzzle last month. Or that 'small accident' when you bought three horse carriages all at once." Aldric counted off on his fingers. "I have memorized every single one of your 'small accidents.' And each and every time, you come right back here."
Danteus scratched the back of his neck. "So... would you rather a 'woman' came in here doing nothing but asking questions?"
"I would rather a 'loyal customer'."
Aldric let out a scoff, though the corner of his lips tugged upward. "A loyal customer who always haggles. A loyal customer who always asks for a discount. A loyal customer who always leaves me having to explain to my boss why the toy stock keeps shrinking while the revenue never grows." He let out a long, heavy sigh, then produced the toy box from the display case with a movement that had long since become second nature. "295. Do not even try to haggle further. And no, the horses are not included."
"290?"
"I will stuff your mouth shut with Oren."
"Oren is my own cat, Aldric. You cannot stuff my mouth shut with my own cat."
"I will borrow him for a moment."
Danteus laughed again, louder this time. He reached into his pocket and pulled out three one-hundred Rupi notes. "Fine, fine. 295. But the next time I come here, you had better have a special discount ready for your loyal customer."
Aldric took the money, counted it swiftly, then handed over the toy box with just a little more force than was strictly necessary. "Next time you come, bring your wife with you. I want to see what kind of woman could make you—a former general of Tartarus—tremble just from buying a toy."
Danteus tucked the box carefully into his bag, then looked at Aldric with a faint smile. "She is no ordinary woman. She is the reason I am still alive. And yes... she is also the reason I could very well end up dead."
"At least you would die with a cool toy in your hands."
"That... is actually not a bad consolation."
Aldric shook his head, but this time he could not hide his smile. "Get out of here before I actually raise the price. And do not forget—this shop closes at midnight. You have already wasted nearly half an hour of my time."
Danteus turned, stepping toward the door with his bag in hand. "Adios until next week, my friend."
"Next week?!"
"I want to buy that horse carriage..."
"GET OUT!"