Chapter 22 – A Dream That Became Too Real

The Northern Kingdom.

What was once whispered among mortals as a cursed wasteland was not a ruin at all—it was alive. No, more than alive. Verica’s crimson eyes widened as she took her first steps through the shimmering barrier.

Before her stretched not some archaic fairy tale land, but a breathtaking metropolis—gleaming towers of obsidian and chrome, bridges pulsing with azure energy, and floating platforms that defied gravity. Hovercrafts streaked across the sky like silent phantoms, while runes carved into steel glowed with an unnatural brilliance.

“…This… this is the fairy kingdom?” Verica whispers, her lips curling into a crooked smile.
The others spoke of an ancient and withering race. Instead, what stood before her was… futuristic. Untouchable. More advanced than even the demon kingdoms.

Her boots echoed across a wide marble causeway leading toward the heart of the citadel—a monolithic structure crowned with jagged black spires, each one pulsing like a heartbeat.

Inside, the air grew heavier.

And then—
CRASH

Verica’s body slammed against the ground, knees buckling as though invisible chains had wrapped around her. A suffocating pressure pressed her head down until her cheek grazed the cold floor. Her breath hitched.

(Wh–what is this force…? It’s like the air itself refuses to let me stand!)

“My, my…”

A voice. Smooth, venomous, resonating like velvet laced with steel.

“How dignified of you, Verica. Acting as if you walk in triumph, as if you’ve already been rewarded… when your bloodline has done nothing but disappoint me.”

Her heart skipped. The weight crushed harder.

“Y-your Grace… forgive… me…” she forced out, teeth grinding.

A silhouette emerged from the throne of shadows ahead. It wasn’t a man—at least, not in the human sense. He towered, cloaked in writhing darkness, eyes burning like eclipsed stars. The very air warped around him.

But it wasn’t him who spoke next.

From the edge of the throne, another figure materialized—a tall woman draped in silver-veined robes, her ears long and elegant. The aura around her was sharp, regal, almost unbearable to look at directly.

Her voice carried like a blade drawn from silk.

“Kneel, Verica. Before you stands Lord Azrael Valtor, High King of the Kingdom of Synthoria… our eternal sovereign.”

Verica’s lips trembled. Her pride screamed to resist, but her body betrayed her—forehead pressed against the obsidian floor.

“…L-Lord… Azrael… forgive… my rudeness…”

Silence.

Only the sound of her own ragged breath filled the chamber.

Then—fingers snapped.

The pressure eased instantly, as if chains had dissolved into smoke. Verica gasped, clutching her chest, sweat dripping down her temple.

Azrael’s voice rumbled once more, low and amused.

“Stand… and let us see if you are more than your mother’s failure.”

Her pulse thundered. Her smile returned—shaking, but defiant.

(Heh… so this is the weight of a king… The High King of Shadows himself.)

The true game… had just begun.

The throne room of Synthoria was silent, save for the slow, deliberate breathing of its king.

Azrael Valtor leaned forward, eyes glowing with a starless light. His voice was calm… too calm.

“Tell me, Verica. About your kingdom.”

The weight of his tone alone was enough to make her heart skip. Verica steadied her breath, forcing a smirk as she knelt.

“My lord… the kingdom is weaker than it ever was. Mother… she caused the rot. Nobles abandoned honor, trading loyalty for gold. They—”

“...Lies.”

Azrael’s smile was cruel. Slowly, almost lazily, he rose from his throne.

The entire hall trembled. Shadows writhed at his feet. Verica’s body was crushed under invisible pressure, slammed against the cold floor.

Her lips shook. “W-what…?”

“Hear me.” His words were thunder, striking straight into her soul. “I granted you power… enough to rival multiple heroes. Yet you—one of my strongest generals—were defeated. And not by gods. Not by saints. By… rabble.”

Verica clawed at the obsidian tiles, her body screaming.

“My lord—!”

“Tell me!” Azrael’s voice shook the chamber. “How did you and Nerina—two of my chosen—fail even my Azazothik that could rival my greatest generals have fallen…!”

Her breath rattled. Every vein felt like fire.

“…Forgive me… but… I have never seen such power in all my life. A light… blinding, all-consuming. It tore through me as if my power was… nothing.”

Her voice cracked. “…It destroyed me instantly.”

A silence thicker than death followed.

Then—

“Impossible.”

A new voice cut the air. It was smooth, velvety, but laced with something ancient and venomous.

From the shadows stepped a woman.

Tall, elegant, with raven-black hair that shimmered with violet hues. Her gown flowed like midnight smoke, her beauty so unearthly it eclipsed all others. Her eyes burned with moonlight.

“Such magic has been gone since the fall of Arcanthus—the last High Alchemist. They alone rivaled our dominion. But greed devoured them… destroyed the very weapons that once shielded them.”

“Nyx… Moonblade,” Azrael said, his voice softening with recognition. “What do you propose?”

Another presence entered—his footsteps heavy, yet measured. A giant of a man, muscles like carved stone, but with the sharp features of a highborn elf. His aura radiated raw, crushing power.

“My lord.” He knelt briefly. “Nerina was not ordinary. She was imbued with succubus magic—temptation made flesh. Even armies fell before her whispers. But…” His voice lowered. “…What she faced was not mortal. Their light rivaled ours.”

“Thorgrim…” Azrael’s eyes narrowed. “So you believe this power… equal to us?”

The giant nodded once.

A long silence followed.

Then Azrael’s lips curved into a smile, dark and divine.

“…Verica… No.” He extended his hand, and black flames coiled around her. “From this day… you shall rise anew. Cast away that name. You are reborn as Morwenna.”

Her body shook. The flames pierced into her veins, filling her with a forbidden ecstasy. Her grin widened, manic, as her eyes gleamed with renewed fire.

“Yesss… I feel it… My powers—my true powers—return! Hahahaha!”

“Do not fail me again,” Azrael warned, his tone colder than steel.

“I will not, my lord!” Morwenna bowed, trembling with eagerness.

Azrael raised his hand, summoning visions of vast armies.

“I entrust you with the 99th Battalion… and the 100th Fleet of Skyships. Even our land battleships will march under your banner. Crush that kingdom. Tear open the entrance to the Hume lands. Let none survive.”

“As you command!” She strode out, laughter echoing through the hall.

Once she was gone, Azrael’s gaze shifted. His voice darkened.

“With that kingdom’s fall… our next target is clear.”

Nyx’s smile curled wickedly. “Aethoné Radiance… the saint of light. She alone could disrupt our designs.”

Thorgrim’s eyes narrowed. “The thorn in our path. The only saint who might stand against us.”

Suddenly—

A ripple of air. Another figure appeared, kneeling.

“…What is thy bidding, master?”

The newcomer was strikingly human. A tall man with dark hair tied back, clad in Earth-style clothing overlain by intricate samurai armor. His presence was disciplined, yet bloodthirsty.

Azrael’s smile deepened.

“You. Otherworlder. You have been chosen. Lead an army—march to the saint’s kingdom of Elysium. Burn it down. Prove yourself worthy.”

The man bowed, voice firm. “At once.”

Azrael’s gaze lingered on him. “…Xorvath. I will achieve what you could not.”

The throne room darkened further. The war had begun.

Meanwhile, on Earth.

In a dimly lit study, Griffiths—Randy’s uncle—sat alone, staring at an old, sealed book. His expression was heavy.

“…Drake. Lilith. So fate dares to pull its strings again.” His eyes lowered, pained. “Randy… survive. I know you can.”

He closed his eyes, memories flooding back.

The truth weighed on him.

He was no ordinary man. He was Xorvath—the fallen Demon Lord.

Flashback.

Northern Kingdom, decades ago.

“You dare trespass… heroes?” His voice had echoed across the battlefield.

Two stood before him—an unlikely pair.

A blonde-haired beauty wielding a crystalline sword glowing blue. Her eyes, sharp yet sorrowful. Lilith.

And beside her, a grinning rogue in a pirate’s coat, saber in one hand, flintlock pistol in the other. Drake.

“Avast!” Drake bellowed, flashing a toothy grin. “The battle be upon ye, scallywag!”

Xorvath’s brow twitched. “…What?”

Lilith sighed. “Ignore him.”

The three clashed. Days turned into nights, their battle shaking kingdoms.

In the end, Xorvath fell—his body broken. Yet Lilith’s gaze softened. She caught his collapsing form.

“…I have a proposal.”

Xorvath coughed blood. “…We are enemies. Why… spare me?”

Her eyes lowered. “…I am tired. Of politics. Of wars without end.” She glanced at Drake.

Drake grinned, giving Xorvath a hearty pat on the shoulder. “We’ve swabbed decks and spilled blood together long enough! Might as well share the grog, aye?!”

Xorvath blinked. “…What?”

Lilith smirked faintly. “Come with us. Leave this cursed cycle behind. It will never end…”

His eyes darkened. “…The prophecy… it says the worlds will one day link. Perhaps…”

Her grip tightened around his hand, the resolve in her eyes sharp enough to cut steel.
“Then… let’s make sure we’re ready.”

The group exchanged glances, silent but united. They had chosen. The time had come to leave this broken world behind… and return to Earth.

Yet in the fading glow of the portal, Drake’s voice broke through, carrying that unmistakable sailor’s grit.
“Me hearty Lilith, me lovely!”

Lilith blinked, her lips curving faintly. “Yes, dear…?”

Drake’s gaze shifted to the horizon as though he could see beyond centuries themselves. His voice lowered, raw with unease.
“Me current lot be… a mite perilous… ever since that blasted sea witch oracle laid eyes on me fate. I’ll be jiggered if I let me little scallywag walk through them dark tides unguarded!”

Lilith’s expression hardened. “You mean…?”

Drake exhaled, a humorless chuckle laced with dread.
“Aye… the future be none other than the twenty-first century, savvy? A world o’ machines, sorcery o’ metal and light… and men who’ll call us relics fit for the plank.”

For a moment, silence. Then Lilith reached forward, brushing his cheek with tenderness that clashed against the heaviness of his words.
“Then… shall we?”

Before Drake could answer, a shadow coiled through the air, voice dripping with mockery.
“Do you forget about me…?”

Xorvath’s presence loomed, chilling the air like a phantom tide. His form twisted at the edge of vision, neither fully flesh nor spirit.

But Drake and Lilith only smiled, sharing a knowing glance. Their bond was unshaken, even in the face of a monster.

Back in the present—

The sky above split with thunder. Griffiths clenched his fist so tight his knuckles bled white. His eyes narrowed, burning with grim certainty.
“…Randy.” His voice was a low growl, as if the storm itself echoed through him.
“The storm is coming. And you…” His lips curled into something between fury and awe.
“…are at its heart.”

Lightning ripped across the heavens. And in that flash—the world seemed to hold its breath.

Kingdom of Mana – Capital City, Magick

The air inside the council chamber is thick with incense and tension. Golden braziers flicker against the tall marble pillars, shadows dancing across the round obsidian table where the kingdom’s most powerful minds are gathered.

Fu Xi stands, robes flowing like storm clouds, his sharp eyes scanning each face.
“I have gathered you all for a reason…”

A low grunt comes from Devonshire, armored shoulders creaking as he leans forward.
“The dungeon. That is my concern now. The chances are high the demon nation has already laid their claws into it. I’ve dispatched adventurers to scout the place.”

Devonshire voice sharpens.
“Devonshire. For now, that dungeon is no mere playground. Not all can venture within. Do you forget the last time…? When the dungeon rose in the Northern Mountains? We lost Darriel—the Hero himself—cut down by the demon general, Azazothik.”

The chamber falls heavy. Even the braziers hiss.

Then—Fu Xi smirks. A calm, unnerving smirk.
“Well… about that.”

The council listens as he recounts the palace incident. The moment his words leave his lips, the room erupts.

“Impossible! A single blast of light!?” Luca slams her hand against the table.

“That… was purifying magic.” Archon Zaren’s aged eyes glimmer with awe. “A magic thought lost—something only the heavens grant! This is a sign!”

Zephyrine, draped in crimson silk, narrows her eyes.
“Or a warning. If Azazothik has fallen, then others will rise. They will return—stronger, with legions at their back.”

“They will not ignore us now…” Edric mutters, jaw tightening.

Suddenly, the voices overlap—arguments, fears, disbelief. The table rattles as accusations fly.

Fu Xi’s fist slams down like a thunderclap. BAM!
“Enough! This is no time for bickering!” His eyes flash like steel drawn in battle. “If the demons move, we must be ready. Every sword, every spell, every man and woman who can fight—we muster them. Now!”

Silence. Then…

Anduril, the engineer-commander, leans back, steepling his fingers with a sly grin.
“Even if I build fleets of airships, our chances are slim. Unless…”

All eyes turn to him.

“Huh?” Zaren frowns.

Anduril’s eyes glint with confidence.
“…Unless I tell you about my daughter’s party.”

Fu Xi exhales. “…Go on.”

Anduril nods, pride gleaming.
“They’ve already conquered the Sky Island. A message reached me. They’re alive. They’re holding. Which means…”

“What!?” Luca shoots to her feet, nearly toppling her chair. “The Sky Island!? Tell me—who is in this so-called party!?”

Anduril lists the names. As soon as the mage is mentioned—Luca freezes.

“A mage… with a staff… calling himself an alchemist?” Her face pales. “Don’t tell me…”

Zephyrine’s voice cuts in, sharp as a blade.
“The student of Iris Aletheia. The last true Grand Alchemist of our era?”

“I thought he never completed his study at your academy,” Luca snaps.

Zephyrine exhales, folding her arms.
“He didn’t. But if he’s truly Iris’s student… then…”

The weight of her unfinished sentence hangs like a sword above them.

Fu Xi steps forward, tone grave.
“Whatever mystery this boy carries… will wait. For now, his power is undeniable. He may be the key to our survival.”

Anduril leans in, voice lowering like a drumbeat.
“We have Randy.”

Devonshire blinks. “Randy…? That name sounds familiar…”

Fu Xi smirks knowingly.
“You registered him yourself, Devonshire.”

The man nearly chokes. “Wait—that Randy!? Randy Orion!? He’s a beginner adventurer! Barely out of the guild gates! He’s nowhere near strong enough!”

“Are you certain?” Fu Xi’s voice is calm, dangerous.

Devonshire hesitates. Sweat forms. “…Don’t tell me…”

“Yes.” Fu Xi’s smile is cold. “The same Randy who aided in the Sky Island conquest. The same boy who wields alchemy like a weapon, alongside a naga warrior whose strength rivals a hundred soldiers.”

“I thought Kuzman, the guild wizard, reported him worthless,” Lysander mutters, confused.

Zephyrine lets out a bitter laugh, shaking her head.
“Then Kuzman was wrong. And now… he’s dead. A miscalculation.” Her eyes narrow, voice icy. “A blunder that will mark him forever.”

The council chamber falls into silence, the weight of Randy’s name pressing into every soul like a prophecy none can escape.

The council chamber is heavy with silence, only the crackle of torches against stone filling the void. Shadows stretch long across the table where kings, sages, and warriors sit, their voices carrying the weight of nations.

Fu Xi breaks the silence first. His voice is calm, yet his words feel like a blade being unsheathed.
“Whatever it is… Lysander…”

Lysander looks up from the pile of documents in his hands, his sharp gaze meeting the elder’s.
“Yes…?”

Fu Xi narrows his eyes. “What about the empire?”

Lysander leans back, steepling his fingers. “You mean the Kingdom of the Saint?”

“...Yes.” Fu Xi’s tone lowers. “Rumors whisper that the Saint’s barrier—the one that keeps the demon nation contained—is weakening.”

The chamber stills. Even the air seems to grow colder.

Lysander exhales slowly, shaking his head. “I have no confirmation of this. According to one of the consulates, the barrier is still intact. Strong, even. Only that…”

Madame Luca slams her palm against the table, her jeweled rings clinking against the wood. “A traitor, then?”

Lysander nods grimly. “Yes. They said they apprehended the culprit—a demon in disguise. Interrogated, executed. The whole incident… coincided with Nerina’s appearance that time. Pure coincidence, they claim.”

Fu Xi folds his arms, deep in thought. “Anduril… do you remember what Randy asked us to do? To shoot that demon that flew overhead?”

Anduril lets out a weary sigh, scratching the scar across his cheek. “Yes. We did.”

Zephyrine, who has been silent until now, suddenly sits forward, eyes wide. “What?! With what?”

Anduril’s lips curl into something between awe and disbelief. “Randy… constructed an airship. Not a toy, not a vessel of wood and sail—but a fortress in the sky. Its firepower reduced Nerina to dust before our very eyes.”

The room explodes into murmurs.

Madame Luca rises from her seat, voice ringing with outrage. “Impossible! That is power beyond even the Twelve Thrones of magic! No mortal craft should surpass what centuries of sorcery could not comprehend!”

Fu Xi’s hand slams against the armrest of his chair, silencing the chamber. His eyes glimmer dangerously. “Enough. Let us not be blinded by shock. Focus on what we do know.”

The atmosphere tightens like a noose.

“If this so-called adventurer’s party has such power… to bring down demons themselves…” His gaze sharpens, cutting toward Anduril. “Even your daughter has crossed blades with them, has she not?”

Anduril stiffens. His jaw tightens as he speaks. “Yes. But don’t force her into this. She… she has no desire to be part of such wars. She’s passive about it.”

“Passive?” Luca spits the word as though it’s poison. Her emerald eyes blaze with fury. “There is no ‘passive’ when our survival hangs by a thread!”

The council descends into chaos—accusations flying, voices clashing like steel in the dark. Even Fu Xi, normally calm as a mountain, joins the heated argument.

The chamber feels less like a meeting and more like a battlefield.

And somewhere deep beneath it all, the faint tremor of something approaching rattles the earth—something none of them can yet see.

The war council chamber is thick with tension. The flickering torches on the walls stretch long shadows across the stone floor, and every noble and officer present carries the same heavy look—the weight of despair. Maps and scattered parchments lie across the central table, but no one dares speak a word of hope.

Then—

“Enough!!!”

A sharp voice cuts through the gloom. The doors slam open as Luna strides inside, her cloak fluttering behind her like the wings of a hawk. Elysia follows close at her side, eyes burning with resolve, and Oswald adjusts his blade at his hip with a grin that hints at danger.

“P–Princess Luna!” gasps Luca, springing to her feet.

The room stirs in shock.

Luna’s emerald eyes sweep over them—over her uncle, over the generals, over the merchants who sit with hunched shoulders. “I know… these are difficult times,” she begins, her voice steady yet trembling with the fire of conviction. “But wallowing in despair will not save us!”

Elysia steps forward, her hand pressing firmly against the table. “Since we are all gathered here, then let us speak as one. We will fight. We will protect this kingdom. And we will not allow it to fall!”

Oswald lets out a low chuckle, his hand resting on the wall. “We’ve stood toe-to-toe with Verica and Nerina before. If we can clash with monsters like them and still stand… then survival isn’t just a dream. It’s proof we belong on this battlefield!”

The hall rumbles with a murmur. The atmosphere shifts, just a little.

Luna raises her chin. “Randy and his party… they are searching for a way back home. That is why they headed for the Sky Island. But while they do so, it is our duty to ensure this kingdom survives to see that day!”

“Not to be troublesome, Lady Luna,” Luca interjects carefully, her brow furrowed, “but we are hanging by a thread. Resources are low. Morale is lower still. Even the people whisper of surrender.”

“I know!” Luna’s voice cracks like thunder. Everyone falls silent. She presses her palm against her chest, as though holding back her own fear. “I understand how fragile we are… but we must persevere! We are here. We are alive. That alone is reason enough to fight.”

Her eyes flash with a sudden spark. “And more than that… we will train harder. Stronger. Until we can push back the darkness itself!”

Elysia pumps her fist. “That’s the spirit! Come on, Oswald, let’s rally the others!”

“Oi oi, don’t drag me into your speeches—but fine!” Oswald grins, cracking his fist. “You heard her, Luna. We’ll get the squad ready. Let’s make these bastards regret underestimating us!”

The two leave in a rush, their laughter echoing in the corridor—shattering the suffocating silence that once filled the chamber.

Luna remains, turning toward her uncle, her voice soft but resolute. “Uncle… I know this burden weighs heavy. But now more than ever, we must set our strategy. Lord Lysander—your merchant network must carry word to every settlement. Every village must be rallied. And you, General Opal—your loyalty to this nation has never faltered. Reforging the knights into a force of steel and honor falls to you!”

General Opal straightens, a proud smile creasing his weathered face. “Very well, Lady Luna. At last, I see the fire in your eyes. The kingdom may yet stand.”

Lord Lysander lets out a breath and smirks faintly. “Well, Luna… since you’ve barged in so boldly, you might as well join this council properly. Let us see if your words can carry us further than despair.”

The council chamber, once shrouded in defeat, now flickers with the first sparks of defiance.

And Luna—though her heart pounds like a drum inside her chest—smiles.

The assembly hall is packed with more than two hundred students. The air hums with nervous whispers, yet determination flickers in their eyes. Elysia stands at the front, her posture firm, her voice carrying with the weight of both duty and desperation.

“This is no longer about grades, or discipline, or status,” she says. “This is about survival. For us. For this kingdom.”

The Vice Principal clears his throat, voice cracking slightly under the pressure of the moment. “Well then… if anyone would volunteer, stand here with Elysia.”

A ripple of movement spreads across the room. At once, nearly one hundred and fifty students surge to their feet, their hands raised, their resolve clear.

Elysia allows herself a brief smile. “Then at least… we can fight together to protect this kingdom.”

“EARGH!!!” The hall shakes as voices unite in a roar of determination.

Training begins immediately. The clang of practice swords, the thrum of arrows, the sharp commands of student leaders echo across the grounds. Sweat drips, muscles strain, yet their spirit grows stronger with every strike.

As drills wind down, Elysia turns to Oswald, her sharp eyes glinting. “Come with me.”

Oswald blinks. “Eh? Where to?”

Before she answers, Marlisa approaches, frowning. “What’s going on?”

“I need to talk to those two idiots,” Elysia says bluntly.

Marlisa’s brows knit. “You mean… Raul and Alfian?”

Elysia nods once.

“Perfect.” Marian suddenly slips into view, a shadowy smile curling her lips. “I’ve been waiting to see the face of the ‘defeated’ myself.”

The four of them hurry through the corridors, past nervous guards and torchlit halls, until they arrive at the prison. The guards step aside without question, though their eyes flicker with unease—they all know who’s locked inside.

The iron bars creak as the group approaches.

Inside, Alfian lounges against the wall with a smirk, until his hand slams against the bars with a clang that makes the guards flinch. His eyes gleam with venom.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t our dear Student Council President herself… and the ever-so-loyal Head Prefect, Oswald.” His lips curl. “Come to gloat? Or to beg?”

“Fight for us,” Elysia says flatly.

Alfian laughs, sharp and cruel. “Hah! You know what? Fuck you all. I don’t give a damn about this kingdom, or any of you bastards!”

The guards step back in shock as Elysia grabs Alfian by the collar, yanks him forward, and slams his head against the bars with a metallic crack.

“BITCH!!!” he roars, clutching his forehead.

Without hesitation, her fist smashes across his jaw. The sound echoes.

“Open the cell,” Elysia commands coldly.

“At… at once!” one guard stammers, fumbling with the keys.

Her eyes blaze like a wildfire. “Do you know Randy? The boy you mocked, the one you tried to break? He’s out there right now, risking everything to save us. And you… the so-called ‘heroes’… are rotting in a cage.”

Alfian spits blood, glaring. “Shut up! I’ll kill him myself the next time I see him!”

Steel flashes. Elysia drives her knife into his thigh.

Alfian screams, collapsing to his knees. “EARGHHH!!! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU!?”

Elysia’s voice drops to an icy whisper. “I’m not as merciful as the principal. I don’t want excuses. I want soldiers.”

Oswald folds his arms, watching. “Junior… you’ve got no other choice. Either fight, or stay here to rot.”

Alfian grits his teeth, finally dragging himself upright. “…Fine. As long as I can fight, then I’m in.”

“Good.” Elysia draws her bow, her arrow aimed directly at his skull. “But mark my words, Alfian. If you betray us once—just once—this arrow will be the last thing you ever see.”

Alfian chuckles darkly, though sweat beads on his forehead. “Not like you’ve got the guts to kill me.”

“Want to try me?” she hisses.

Before he can answer, she slaps a sealing collar around his neck. Its runes glow faintly, tightening.

“This collar will track you wherever you go. If you betray us, it will strangle the life from you before you can even scream.”

“…You’re terrifying, President,” Oswald mutters with a half-smile.

“That’s how you deal with people who only think of themselves,” she replies sharply.

Oswald scratches the back of his head. “Fine. But Raul? He’s a lost cause.”

They turn to the other cell. Inside, Raul rocks back and forth, eyes vacant, lips mumbling. “…I’m the hero… I’m the hero… I’m the hero…”

Elysia narrows her eyes. “Marlisa. Scan him.”

Marlisa raises her staff, chanting softly. “Sgrùd corp Shôn!”
A faint blue light sweeps over Raul’s trembling body.

Her eyes widen. “Yes… he’s cursed. A spell, and a powerful one.”

“Can you purify it?” Elysia asks.

“I’ll try.” Marlisa steadies her staff. “Glanadh purfaidh!”

A brilliant light engulfs Raul. The curse shatters like glass, and his eyes regain focus.

“Wh–what’s happening? Where’s Verica—”

A fist cuts him off. Elysia punches him square in the face.

“Ow! What was that for!?” Raul yelps.

From the corner, Alfian bursts out laughing. “Pffft—hahaha! You dumbass!”

“Get up,” Elysia snaps.

Raul stumbles to his feet, confusion twisting his face. “Wait, what’s going on?”

“Listen, asshole,” Elysia growls. “If I had my way, I’d leave you to rot in here. But we don’t have the luxury. The kingdom is in danger, and you’re going to fight whether you like it or not.”

She lays out the situation—Randy, the dungeon, the demons, everything.

By the end, Raul clenches his fists. “Then… let us prepare for battle!”

Alfian smirks. “About time I took the center stage again.”

Marlisa and Marian exchange a glance, then begin escorting the two toward training.

Oswald leans toward Elysia, his voice low. “Are you sure about this? They’ll stab us in the back the first chance they get.”

Elysia’s expression softens, just slightly. “I won’t let them take advantage of Randy again. He’s like… my little brother. And as his big sister, this is my duty.”

Oswald exhales with a crooked grin. “…A doting sister, huh? Fine then. Let’s move on.”

Together, they step into the torchlit hall—toward the storm that awaits them.

While the kingdom of Mana is preparing for war

In the Sky Island – The Great Archive

The air inside the Great Archive is heavy, almost humming with forgotten knowledge. Bookshelves spiral endlessly upward, glowing glyphs float in the air like fireflies, and the silence feels holy. We step inside as one, and every single one of us is caught in its gravity.

“…So it really exists,” Elowen breathes, her rough warrior’s tone softened into reverence.

Kline, on the other hand, loses all composure. His eyes gleam brighter than the floating runes.
“YEEE-HAAA! FINALLY!!! AN UNLIMITED SOURCE OF SECRETS, RECIPES, AND MAYBE EXPLOSIONS!!!” He’s practically rolling across the marble floor, scribbling notes before he’s even found anything.

Seraphina slithers forward, her scales brushing the crystal tiles. Her golden eyes narrow with a touch of disdain.
“Interesting… but whether it will benefit me or not is another matter.”

I stand still, my pulse quickening. This place… this is what I’ve been searching for.
“So this is where I’ll find it. The answer I’ve been chasing.”

Then—
A voice. Gentle, haunting. It echoes from nowhere and everywhere.

“Hurry… hurry up! I’m waiting…”

My head snaps toward the sound.

Elowen grips her hammer tightly. “We can’t waste time. Let’s split up. Cover more ground.”

Without another word, everyone scatters into different halls. Books whisper, shadows shift, and I walk alone, drawn deeper and deeper.

Step after step, until finally—

A chamber. Circular. Silent. The air tastes of starlight and water. But there’s nothing. Just an empty pedestal… and yet… something tugs at my chest.

My hand reaches forward before I realize it.

Clack.

The stone reacts, glowing faintly. The floor trembles, the chamber shudders, and water begins to rise from hidden channels.

Then—it opens.

A crystalline pod blooms like a flower, releasing a chamber of pure water. Suspended within it…

—A girl.

Sleeping.

Her silver hair fans out around her like moonlight in water. Her body drifts weightlessly, serene, untouched by time. My breath catches. She looks… almost divine.

Kline suddenly crashes in behind me.
“WHOA!! A GIRL!! A REALLY HOT LOOKING GIRL!!! SHE’S GORGEOUS!!!” His jaw practically hits the floor.

Elowen storms in, swinging her hammer dangerously close to his head.
“Randy—don’t. Even. Think about it. Walk away before I smash you into paste.”

Seraphina glides in, her eyes narrowing on the girl. Her voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it.
“…Why is there a girl sleeping here? What is she?”

I can’t answer. I’m too busy staring, feeling the faint pull of destiny radiating from her.

The water in the chamber begins to recede unnaturally, swirling like something is being drained into the depths.
I freeze, staring. My heartbeat skips.

“Hey!!! Randy… what did you do!?” Elowen shouts, gripping her hammer, her dwarf instincts on edge.

“Uh—I did nothing!” I raise both hands, panic written all over my face.

Seraphina’s serpent eyes narrow, her voice low and trembling with warning.
“…No… this aura… I can feel it. Something powerful… beyond that chamber.”

The steam grows thicker, fogging the ruins. Shadows stretch. The air feels heavy.

And then—
“...If I grab her boobs, maybe it’s soft, eh?” Kline mutters like an idiot.

BONK!

“OWWWW!!” he yelps, skull cracked by Elowen’s hammer.

“More like sexual harassment!!! You alchemist freak!!!” she roars, cheeks red with fury.

But before more chaos can unfold, a silhouette emerges from the mist.
The ground trembles. A woman’s form takes shape, elegant and terrifying.

We all tense, readying for battle—except Kline, who suddenly spreads his arms wide.
“WELCOME!! LET ME HUG YOU!!!”

“You IDIOT!!!” Elowen kicks him aside like a cannonball.

The figure steps closer—silver hair shimmering, eyes glowing faintly with divine light.
She lunges. My body stiffens.

And then—

SFX: SMOOOOOCHHH!!!

“W-WHA—!?!”

Her lips crash against mine. Not a peck. A full-on French kiss.

The world freezes.
My party stares. My brain shuts down.

“R-R-RANDY…” Seraphina’s voice drops into a chilling whisper, her eyes wide with yandere rage. The air around her practically crackles.

“KEEEEEEEE!!! WHY THE HELL DO YOU GET ALL THE LUCKY EVENTS?!” Kline howls from the floor, clutching his head.

Elowen just stares at me, her face flat, deadpan. “…” Then she sighs. “Men. Idiots.”

I’m flailing my arms, muffled under her lips. “Mmphhh—cha—wh-what the hell is going on!?”

Finally, the girl pulls away, smiling softly.
“Finally… we meet in person, Randy.”

“Uh… yeah…?” My voice cracks. “Wait—wasn’t that… a dream before? Don’t tell me—”

She nods gently. “We spoke in our dreams. You don’t remember?”

Elowen folds her arms, glaring at me like I’m the villain here.
“Don’t look at me like that!!” I panic.

Seraphina’s tail lashes violently. “Randy… why did you have a happy dream with me, and not tell me!?”

“That’s not the point, Seraphina!!” I flail harder.

“KEEEEE!!! WHY DON’T YOU LET ME IN YOUR DREAM, GIRL!?” Kline screeches, pointing accusingly like a jealous rival.

“That’s not the point either, you dumbass!!!” I shout back.

The chamber shakes violently again, the ground rumbling beneath us as if mocking my misery.

“—and that’s when I knew,” I think with dread, “that this was going to be a long, long day.”

To be continued