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Chapter 107: Serie's Heart
Unknown to Norn, while he was being crowned during the day, on a hillside outside the Royal City covered in pale purple Star-Gazing Flowers, Serie stood quietly.
She did not appear before the crowd, only watched from afar.
Her golden hair caught the wind; thirty years were but a blink of an eye for an elf. The petals around her feet stirred with each gust, creating small whirlwinds of purple that danced and settled again.
Before Serie floated a round mirror made of magic, its surface rippling with mana. The scene within showed the grand coronation ceremony unfolding in the city square below. Every detail was crystal clear: the glint of the crown, the colours of ceremonial robes, the sea of upturned faces.
As the crown descended, the square erupted in cheers like a mountain collapsing and a sea roaring. Serie's lips curved upward.
The smile was shallow and fleeting, yet it truly existed. A rare expression that would have surprised anyone who knew her well.
Through the magical viewing, she observed Norn's speech and his conversations with the Dwarf King, the Elf King, and Somo. Each word reached her ears with perfect clarity, as if she stood among them.
"Well done, Norn."
The words emerged as barely more than breath, her clear, cold voice almost inaudible. There was something in her tone, relief, perhaps, that even she hadn't consciously recognised.
If that man were here, he would surely be pleased, wouldn't he?
After all, Kurtz had always talked about how, when Norn was crowned King, he would snatch the crown and wear it for two days, just to experience what it felt like. The memory of his ridiculous grin when he'd said it surfaced without warning.
Yet now Norn wore the crown, and Kurtz still hadn't appeared.
Even though this once naive human now had silver threading his dark hair, and had established a nation for his people on this scarred land, still no sign of him.
When that familiar term, God-Slaying One, was mentioned by Norn, Serie's fingers unconsciously twitched. The title hung in the air like an old wound reopening.
Her gaze fell upon the Holy Sword resting quietly beside her in the grass.
This blade, once worshipped by the Elves for generations, now lay silent, the Sword of Holy Authority, Athos.
As a Saint, Serie could draw Atos and channel a portion of its immense power. But the weight of it went beyond mere magic.
This sword was the last thing he had given her. After the final battle with the gods, before everything settled into chaos, he had pressed Atos into her hands.
"Take everyone and leave quickly!"
His voice echoed across the years, demanding, urgent. But beneath the command, she had heard apology, trust, and something else. Something that might have been farewell, though she couldn't fully understand it at the time.
Then, he had vanished.
Taking Olge, Sword of Divine Authority, and all his secrets with him, Kurtz had disappeared completely into the black mud tide that erupted after the gods' deaths, like a stone cast into an abyss, swallowed without even an echo.
Thirty years.
For long-lived races, three decades might be an insignificant speck in an endless lifespan.
But for Serie, these thirty years had stretched like centuries.
She had travelled every corner of the continent, purged countless demons and monsters, and followed every rumour and whisper. Yet besides legends of his deeds, there was no trace of the man himself.
People didn't even know what he looked like. They spoke only of a hero named Kurtz who had stepped forward decades ago, killed the god worshipped by the demons, and saved the world from darkness.
If only a statue had been erected then. Something real to mark his existence.
Serie couldn't understand her own persistence in searching for him. Logic suggested acceptance, if he was dead, she should erect a tombstone and visit when memory stirred. That would be the proper way for an elf to act, measured and detached.
But why couldn't she accept the fact of his death?
That figure who wore gentle smiles yet erupted with devastating power when it mattered mostā
That companion whose magical innovation far surpassed her own, always creating spells that left her speechlessā
That impossible man who prepared everything for her comfort, then had the audacity to pat her head like she was some child.
Kurtz.
Her first true companion. In her centuries of existence, he was the only one willing to support her seemingly crazy pursuit without question or fear.
Slaying gods.
Most would have fled upon hearing such a wish, but Kurtz had simply smiled and said he would accompany her. As if walking into divine wrath was no more significant than an afternoon stroll.
To her, he had been utterly unique.
And now that unique existence was gone, leaving only cold metal when her fingers brushed Atos's grip.
Without Kurtz, the future stretched ahead like a barren wasteland.
In the magic mirror, Serie watched the celebration continue. Laughter and joy painted every face, but the scene felt disconnected from reality, a play performed behind glass.
Everyone moved with delight, voices raised in celebration, but for Serie, a crushing loneliness rose like a tide. The emotion struck without warning, threatening to drag her under.
She raised her hand and pressed it against her chest.
The pain hit like a physical blow.
Her heart, why did it hurt so much?
This feeling was alien yet unbearably heavy, pressing down until each breath became a struggle.
Before meeting Kurtz, she had believed herself perfectly adapted to solitude. Learning magic alone, living alone, existing in the careful isolation that defined her kind.
She had thought that for elves, separation was temporary and should cause no lasting damage.
But Kurtz's disappearance was like having a crucial component torn from a flawless magic circle she'd spent years perfecting. No matter how she tried to compensate or fill the gap, her efforts only made the absence more obvious.
"Where are you?" The words emerged as a whisper, her voice catching on an unexpected tremor. "Are you really...?"
She stared at the cheering crowd through the mirror, searching faces with desperate hope for one that could never be there.
"Why won't you leave even a single trace?"
Hope, she realized, was both beautiful and cruel.
It was hope that drove her forward, but hope that made the emptiness cut so deep.
Serie recalled Kurtz's broad shoulders when he'd shielded her in the Dwarf Ruins, facing the Skywing Clan's God Strike without flinchingā
She remembered his unwavering stance before the allied Kings, Olge gleaming in his gripā
She remembered late nights crafting the "Pseudo-God Strike" magic together, his excitement when breakthrough sparked between themā
She remembered the strange calm on his face the night before they'd entered Godfall Land, as if he'd already made peace with whatever awaited.
Every memory remained crystal clear, as vivid as if they'd occurred moments ago. But their clarity only made the ache in her chest worse.
She closed her eyes, trying to lose herself in analyzing complex magical theory, her usual method for managing unwanted emotions over the past thirty years.
This time, concentration failed her entirely.
Against the backdrop of distant celebration, the pain grew until it threatened to overwhelm her completely.
Her gaze dropped to Athos once more.
At the hilt, a simple sword tassel hung, ordinary thread woven into an unremarkable pattern. Kurtz had made it while learning from Somo, fingers clumsy with the unfamiliar craft.
At the time, Serie had called it ugly and completely unsuited for such a legendary blade.
He'd only smiled, that maddening, gentle expression. "I think it's perfectly fine."
Serie's fingertips traced the faded threads with infinite care.
The wind stirred the purple petals around her feet again, and somewhere in the distance, the celebration continued. But here on the hillside, surrounded by flowers that would bloom and die while she remained unchanged, Serie stood alone with her memories and her grief.
A single tear slipped free, landing on Atos's scabbard where the ancient metal absorbed it completely, leaving no trace of her moment of weakness.
[End of Chapter]