The march to the Fracture Line took three days.
Three days of walking through land that had long since forgotten what peace felt like.
Ash stretched to the horizon—bone dust ground so fine it sighed beneath each step. Levi followed Aria at regulation distance: three steps behind, one step to the left. Close enough to intercept. Far enough to remember his place.
His greataxe dragged behind him.
Shrrrrk… shrrrrk…
The blade carved a thin, wandering scar through the pale earth. Every few hours he shifted his grip, rotating raw calluses away from the haft before they split open again. Shadows healed fast.
Pain, however, was more patient.
Aria never looked back.
Not once.
Yet her pace never faltered—steady, measured. When the wind shifted and sulfur stung the air, she slowed a fraction. When the terrain rose into jagged ridges of fused armor and melted steel, she chose paths that didn't force him to scramble.
Levi noticed.
He noticed everything now.
The way her blackened wings stayed tightly folded, feathers frayed like burned parchment. The faint clink beneath her breastplate—metal brushing metal, too soft for a weapon. A pendant. A relic. Something broken but kept.
The way she tilted her head when distant thunder rolled.
Grrrrrmmm…
Listening—for something only she could hear.
They did not speak.
Words felt too heavy for this air.
On the second night, they made camp within the ribcage of a colossal war-beast long dissolved by time and magic. The ribs arched overhead like a cathedral of blackened bone. Violet lightning pulsed through the gaps—
KRZZT—WHOOOM—
—painting the hollow in sickly flashes.
Aria built no fire.
She simply sat against one curved rib, knees drawn up, mask reflecting stormlight. Levi mirrored her across the hollow, still three steps away, back against another rib. His axe lay across his lap.
Hours passed.
Wind moaned through the bones.
Hooooo…
At some point, Aria spoke. Her voice was low, nearly swallowed by the storm.
"You sharpen it every night."
Levi's hands froze on the whetstone he hadn't realized he was using.
"…Yes."
"Why?"
He considered the question.
No master had ever asked him why.
"Because it remembers his hand better than mine," he said at last. "If I let it dull, it fights me."
Silence.
Then Aria turned her head slightly. The fracture in her mask caught the lightning—a thin white line like a frozen tear.
"Does it still feel like his?"
"…Sometimes."
Another pause.
She nodded once, as if that settled something, and looked away.
Sleep did not come for either of them.
On the third day, the Fracture Line announced itself before it could be seen.
A pressure in the ears.
A low hum.
MMMMMMMM—
Teeth ached. Bones vibrated faintly, as if something enormous breathed beneath the world.
Then the land simply… ended.
The chasm was miles wide—a wound carved into the Abyss itself. Its edges glowed with violet ground-lightning, energy crawling like veins beneath translucent stone. Above it, the ceiling of writhing clouds dipped low, forks of power stabbing directly into the earth—
KRRAAAASH—
—turning stone to glass, glass to dust.
The air tasted metallic.
Like blood left too long in the mouth.
Their bastion clung to the northern edge: a half-collapsed fortress of black stone embedded into the cliff face. Two of its four walls had already slid into the void centuries ago.
What remained resembled broken teeth.
Seven shadows held it.
Two Soldier-class drones—hollow-eyed, silent.
Three Warriors, armor mismatched, weapons chipped.
One Mage—hood twitching, fingers sparking with unstable mana.
And now, Aria and Levi.
The ranking officer, a scarred Warrior named Torren, saluted Aria with tired precision.
"Thought the Remnant Division forgot us."
"They didn't send reinforcements," Aria replied flatly. "They sent me."
Torren's gaze slid to Levi.
"And the Servant."
"Yes."
Torren grunted, already dismissing him.
Levi was used to it.
They were assigned the eastern parapet—the most exposed.
Wind screamed up from the chasm constantly, carrying ash and distant choral singing from the Seraph side.
Haaaaa—
Haaaaa—
Beautiful.
Hateful.
The first watch was theirs.
They stood atop the broken wall as the ceiling darkened into night-cycle. Below them, the Fracture Line burned like a river of violet fire.
Aria leaned forward against the parapet, forearms braced.
Levi stood three steps behind.
Minutes bled into hours.
Finally—
"How many times have you died?"
The question was quiet. Almost casual.
Levi's fingers tightened around the axe haft.
"Enough."
"That's not an answer."
He hesitated.
The Protocol did not forbid truth.
"One hundred and fourteen," he said. "Including Kargan."
Aria turned her head.
The mask hid her eyes, but he felt them on him.
"That's a lot of memories to carry."
Ash drifted across the parapet, settling on Levi's shoulders like gray snow.
He did not respond.
The skirmish came later.
Not an assault.
A test.
Three Seraph Knights descended on wings of white fire—
FWOOOOOSH—
Holy bolts rained upward from the chasm, arcing like falling stars.
SHRRRRAK—BOOOOM—
The Mage panicked. Overcast.
The western wall shattered.
Torren roared orders.
One bolt cut straight toward Aria's blind side—left, where the mask fractured.
Block it, Servant.
The Protocol snapped tight.
Levi lunged—
—but Aria shifted first.
Casual. Almost lazy.
One blackened wing unfurled.
HSSSSSS—
The bolt struck feather and vanished into shadow.
She glanced at him.
"I had it."
The chains loosened.
No punishment.
Levi stepped back into place, heart hammering for reasons he didn't understand.
That night, a quiet Warrior named Soren shared his ration of mana-crystals.
No ceremony. Just pressed one into Levi's hand.
Levi accepted.
Soren died the next dawn.
A sanctified arrow punched through his throat during a false retreat.
THUK.
One wet gurgle.
Then he toppled backward into the void.
The body began dissolving before it reached the lightning below.
Levi knelt at the edge.
Reached out.
Closed eyes that would never open again.
Behind him, Aria watched.
"Do you do that for all of them?" she asked softly.
Wind whipped ash between them.
"Only the ones who deserved better."
Silence.
Then, "He shared his crystals."
"Yes."
She turned away first.
Two nights later, Levi sat alone on the parapet, sharpening the axe.
Krrrsshhk—krrrsshhk—
The motions were Kargan's—broad, powerful strokes ill-suited to Levi's smaller frame.
Mid-swing—
Memory bled through.
A child's laugh.
Tiny hands reaching up.
Daddy—higher!
The axe nearly slipped.
Levi froze, breath ragged.
The laugh echoed inside his skull—bright. Cruel.
When he lowered the weapon, his hands shook.
Aria appeared beside him, silent as smoke.
She did not ask.
She sat close—close enough that their shoulders nearly touched.
She held out a whetstone.
Smaller.
Balanced.
He took it.
They sharpened together.
Side by side.
Not three steps apart.
The Protocol stirred.
Chains shifted.
Clink… clink…
But no pain came.
On the fifth day, scouts reported movement across the Fracture Line.
Not a probe.
The full host.
Seraph choirs sang louder now—voices rolling across the void like cathedral bells forged from knives.
The assault was coming.
That evening, Aria stood at the very edge of the parapet, wings half-spread for balance, staring down into the lightning.
Levi approached.
He stopped one pace to her side.
Not behind.
She did not correct him.
Ash fell between them like slow gray rain.
"When it comes," she said, barely louder than the wind, "don't block for me."
The Protocol tightened—warning, sharp.
Levi spoke before it could stop him.
"I won't."
The scream inside his soul was deafening.
But nothing happened.
No carving.
No hounds.
Just wind.
Ash.
Distant song.
Aria turned her head.
The fracture in her mask caught the violet light.
One corner of her mouth lifted.
Not quite a smile.
"Good."
They stood there as night fully claimed the sky.
Side by side.
Waiting for the war that would never end.
But for the first time in one hundred and fourteen deaths—
Levi did not feel entirely alone.