The audience hall was bathed in immaculate light, radiant like the birth of a newborn star. It was a pure, almost sacred brightness that seemed to come from no visible source, as if space itself had decided to illuminate the place.
And yet, around Nihraël, darkness lingered.
Dense. Silent. Unwilling to disperse.
It did not spread or attempt to devour the light. Instead, it absorbed it gently, like a living shadow that understood its place.
Every step he took echoed through the hall like the collapse of a forgotten world. The ivory floor trembled beneath his feet—not because of his weight, but because of what he carried within himself.
The air seemed to bend before his presence, bowing with restrained reverence. Space itself yielded as he passed, as though the cosmos were trying to carve a path for the anomaly he represented.
To the left of the throne, Valther Arcanyrus observed the scene in silence.
The king's elder brother stood motionless, draped in his radiant armor—the symbol of a thousand wars and a thousand victories. Yet his mind was far less steady than his appearance suggested.
His black eyes, deep and unyielding, followed Nihraël with an attention weighed down by conflicting thoughts.
He was troubled.
Nihraël's choices during the war still haunted him. The decisions he had made. The acts he had committed.
Valther wondered whether the prince would act the same way again in the future.
Would he make the same choices?
Without hesitation.
Without remorse.
He preferred not to dwell on the thought for long.
It was not his role to punish Nihraël. That responsibility belonged to the king.
And yet, despite this certainty, a dull rage lingered within him, hidden in the depths of his soul. A quiet anger he refused to fully acknowledge.
As for the future…
The future was uncertain.
Who could truly decide the fate of such a being?
Who truly possessed the authority to judge a demon wearing the face of a prince?
Valther clenched his jaw.
At the very least, it was better to send him to war than to allow him to wander freely across the worlds.
A being like Nihraël—without purpose, without restraint—would inevitably become a catastrophe waiting to happen.
At the center of the hall, Nihraël stood perfectly still, bathed in brilliant light.
His face was calm. Almost serene.
Not a single muscle twitched. No tension betrayed itself in his posture.
His emotions appeared sealed away behind an impenetrable barrier.
His gaze remained fixed forward.
Toward the throne.
A throne carved from ivory of impossible purity, threaded with veins of living gold, rose above the hall—a perfect symbol of grandeur and authority.
Upon it sat Izanori Arcanyrus, the undisputed king.
The embodiment of cosmic order.
He sat with effortless assurance, quietly speaking with members of his family gathered beside the throne.
Nihraël displayed no visible emotion.
Yet his mind moved.
The Seal…
Always the same problem.
Always the same fear.
His gaze briefly drifted across the faces surrounding him.
Look at them.
Their hatred.
Their anxiety.
Their fear.
Soon, his thoughts returned to the king.
Father… what exactly are you trying to turn me into?
Without warning, Nihraël decided to speak.
The world seemed to freeze.
He lifted his chin slightly and cast a cold gaze upon the assembly.
The moment he spoke, silence became nearly absolute—as if the hall itself had stopped breathing.
« The Seal… You are right to fear it. You are right to fear me. »
The sarcasm was subtle, hidden beneath a perfectly controlled tone.
Izanori allowed a faint smile to appear.
To him, the words carried a certain irony—almost amusement. The king seemed to perceive in them a detached form of lucidity.
Valther, however, found nothing amusing about them.
The king's sister straightened, holding her head high as she gripped her emerald scepter with gloved hands. Cold hostility burned within her gaze.
Unable to restrain her hatred any longer, she spoke with sharp authority.
« Watch your words, Nihraël. You stand in the presence of the king—your father—as well as your uncle and myself, your aunt. Show at least the respect your position demands. »
She paused briefly before continuing, her voice even harsher.
« I fail to understand why my dear brother has not already punished you for what you did during the war. The fact that you bear the Seal does not place you beyond judgment. »
The tension in the room rose instantly.
Valther felt it immediately.
The air itself seemed to vibrate under the pressure of clashing emotions.
Before the situation could spiral further, he intervened.
His armor emitted a sharp metallic sound as he turned toward Serenith, then toward Nihraël. His gaze carried the weight of centuries of authority.
A thin thread of energy laced his words, giving them undeniable gravity.
« That is enough, Serenith. »
He inhaled slowly.
« I understand your feelings. But enough. »
Then he turned toward Nihraël.
« And the same applies to you, my prince. Choose your words carefully. You are not speaking to just anyone, and nothing excuses your actions. »
Serenith trembled with restrained fury.
Valther's words did nothing to calm the storm raging inside her.
Her gaze fell upon Nihraël, who now wore a faint smile—cold, almost provocative.
That smile was the final spark.
A sinister energy escaped her despite herself.
Thin cracks spread across the surface of her emerald scepter, glowing with unstable light.
She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again, unable to restrain the fury consuming her.
« Enough… How can you say such a thing? »
Her voice trembled—not with weakness, but with a rage so deep it was almost painful.
She stepped forward, gripping her scepter tightly.
Her silver eyes burned with hatred she had never truly tried to conceal.
« He is a demon. He has no emotion. No humanity. He has proven that again and again. And yet… »
Her voice broke briefly before returning sharper than before.
« You continue to look away because he bears the Seal. Because he is necessary. Because this thing has been declared indispensable to balance. »
She inhaled sharply.
« How can you tell me to remain calm… when he killed my own people? »
At that precise moment, the audience hall changed.
The immaculate light flickered.
The floating orbs trembled, casting unstable shadows across the ivory pillars.
Space itself seemed to contract, as if an invisible hand had tightened around reality.
Sound vanished.
Crushed beneath an authority beyond comprehension.
Izanori had imposed himself upon the world.
An overwhelming pressure descended upon the hall—so intense that some knees nearly buckled beneath it.
Serenith felt her energy violently repelled, swept away like a fragile flame before a divine wind.
A rare and humiliating shiver of fear ran through her.
Her breath halted.
Her voice died.
The king spoke.
Only a few words.
Yet each carried the weight of a universe.
« Silence, Serenith. »
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
It did not need strength to be absolute.
« How dare you release your power in my presence. »
His gaze then shifted toward Nihraël.
« And you, Nihraël. Watch your language. Do not believe yourself above all things. Arrogance leads to death… and you should know that better than anyone. »
A heavy silence followed.
Then Izanori continued.
« As for the Seal… you all know the truth. It is not a taboo. It is a burden. And it is the role of the Arcanyrus family to bear it. We accepted that duty eons ago… and we will carry it until the end. »
Serenith lowered her head.
Her anger slowly faded beneath the king's pressure.
She turned her gaze away from Nihraël, unable to endure his presence any longer, then bowed deeply before Izanori.
« Forgive me, my king. I allowed my emotions to overcome me. It will not happen again. »
Slowly, her gaze returned to Nihraël.
The prince still stood below the throne.
Around him, the light seemed to darken, as if reluctant to approach.
A faint scent spread through the air.
Cold.
Ancient.
A scent that evoked endings.
Dissolution.
Death.
Izanori inhaled slowly.
Is it connected to the Seal? he wondered.
Nihraël was the bearer of the Seal.
A secret everyone knew.
Yet no one truly understood.
The Seal imprisoned the Being.
An entity sealed eons ago by Rikudo, the first Tenryūjin.
A curse passed down through the Arcanyrus bloodline, generation after generation.
Each chosen heir inherited the dormant demon of degeneration—silent and latent until the day its true nature awakened.
But Nihraël was not simply another heir.
He was an anomaly.
A silent storm.
Around him, the air trembled with invisible chaos.
Every ray of light seemed to slow before touching him.
Even the Archives of Creation—ancient entities responsible for maintaining cosmic balance—appeared to recoil from his presence.
Izanori remained seated upon the throne of ivory and gold, shining like a frozen sun.
His white hair seemed to attract the light itself.
The throne pulsed with calm, majestic power.
All eyes were drawn toward the king.
Serenith observed her brother with a mixture of caution and curiosity.
Her anger had faded, but her hatred remained deeply rooted.
His face radiated an almost unreal brilliance.
She inhaled and spoke again, her voice calmer now.
« Regardless… we have won the battle. Ormyr has fallen. That will greatly ease the negotiations. »
Valther, standing to the king's left, reflected silently.
Too many variables.
Too many consequences.
As supreme strategist, his thoughts had already turned toward the future.
Finally, he spoke.
« The battle of Ormyr was terrible. It took nearly a thousand years to conquer it. Now things will begin to accelerate. »
He paused.
« Peace negotiations with the Kōyōjin can finally begin. We will first eradicate the most dangerous creatures, stabilize unstable regions, and aid the lower kingdoms affected by the collateral damage. Then we will build fortresses… cities… a lasting future for this world. »
His gaze turned toward Nihraël.
His heart was heavy, but his posture remained flawless.
« And I will say this. You were remarkable. I have lost count of the feats you accomplished. I only hope you gained something from it all… from all those massacres. »
Nihraël did not answer.
His aura vibrated, compressing the space around him.
A frozen storm waiting to erupt.
Yet he remained still.
Silent.
Unreadable.
After a long moment, Izanori rose from his throne.
Light obeyed his movements.
His voice, clear and solemn, filled the hall with cosmic gravity.
He swept his gaze across the assembly.
Then he looked at his son.
« Nihraël. I have something to tell you. It concerns your uncle… Sarvador. »
The silence trembled.
Even Nihraël frowned slightly.
« He will come to observe what has occurred here. He has also expressed a desire to see you. »
A pause.
« I do not know his intentions. So… prepare yourself, I suppose. »
Nihraël inclined his head slightly.
Around him, the shadows deepened.
Vibrant.
As if the primordial Being within the Seal had already awakened—aware of the approach of that mysterious uncle.