Closing Remarks

The world itself seemed to hold its breath.

Fire snapped in the distance, smoke trailed across the yard, but no one moved. The weight of that presence felt like a boulder on each and every person's chest.

The yard was silent but for the groans of the fallen. Soldiers lay sprawled like discarded pages, others knelt as if bowed by unseen hands. Only three still resisted: Coral, standing stiff-backed, his grin twitching at the edges; Nyra, unbothered and unhindered by the power affecting everyone else; and Joren, shaking but forcing himself upright on unsteady legs.

Moments earlier, Coral had stood untouchable. He was shrugging off their strikes, filing away their best attempts as though they were nothing, filling them with rage at their own lack of skill to match him four against one. Joren’s gravity punch had been their only spark of hope, but that victory shattered with his own hand, leaving only a dent in the cabinet.

Now, with the King’s arrival, the battlefield itself had shifted.

Nyra stood tall, the flicker of relief in her eyes quickly hardening into command. She raised her voice, steady and sharp. “Commander Coral, stand down. These four are under Continuity’s protection, meaning your authority ends here.”

The soldiers who had once clung to Coral’s every word no longer stirred. Their eyes darted between the dented cabinet, their commander’s manic grin, and the King.

Joren stood against that overwhelming power, every nerve in his body screaming to fold under the weight pressing down on the yard. His hand throbbed like shattered glass, blood dripping steadily into the dirt and each breath tasted of ash, his head feeling a little fuzzy but still conscious.

He thought that even now there was no reason to fall down, not after his newfound conviction to stand up as his group's leader, as their last line of defense. If he faltered, then why did he ever take on the position as their leader? So, he stayed upright. Tired, bleeding, but upright.

Coral’s grin twitched. His fingers drummed across the warped steel dent, slow and deliberate, like he was tracing the outline of a scar.

“Continuity?” he echoed, the word leaving his lips like it was some amusing misprint. “No, no, no… this archive is mine. Every entry, every file, every soul that steps foot here. You have no right to overstep my authority."

The cabinet groaned as if in agreement, drawers rattling open and shut with metallic snaps that echoed through the yard. Soldiers flinched at the sound, their heads ducking lower, unwilling to look either at him or at the King.

The King moved next to Joren and Nyra. He didn’t need to raise his voice; each word carried as if he were talking through a megaphone.

“Commander Coral.”

The name landed like a verdict. Soldiers stiffened further, some flinching as though the weight of the sound struck them harder than the aura.

The King’s gaze never wavered. His voice carried without effort, calm but carved with finality.

“Commander Coral, you mistake possession for authority. A drawer does not own the record it keeps. A scribe does not own the history he writes. You do not own this department; you were only meant to lead it forward."

Coral’s fingers twitched against the dent, tapping faster, the grin stretched too thin. The cabinet rattled faintly, drawers snapping open and shut in agitation.

“You confuse yourself with irreplaceability,” the King continued. “But that notion belongs to none of us. Not to me, not to Nyra, and certainly not to you.”

The words cut like a knife through butter. The silence that followed made Coral’s manic breathing louder than the fire.

Coral’s jaw worked, the grin trembling on his face like it wanted to stay but couldn’t. His monocle swung violently with every shallow breath, the chain jerking against his collar. For the first time since the fight began, he looked less like a commander and more like crazy nobody.

“The Archive Without End… cannot be overruled,” he muttered, louder with each word, forcing strength back into his tone. “Not by Continuity. Not by you."

The words rang hollow. The cabinet at his side rattled like it was straining against its own bolts, drawers snapping open and shut in nervous spasms.

Soldiers dared to glance up at him now, uncertainty crawling across their faces. Their commander’s manic certainty no longer carried the same weight under the King’s authority.

“Authority does not shout, Commander. It does not flex its claws or rattle its cabinet. It can be silent and it will still be obeyed. You preach record-keeping, but the only entry you’ve written is of your own arrogance. You are not a commander; you’re just a clerk who forgot his place.”

Coral froze. The grin on his face was now turned into a furious agape frown. Even the veins in his forehead were starting to become visible. This was the greatest insult he has ever faced.

The cabinet groaned louder, drawers snapping with violent jerks as if trying to drown out the insult. Coral’s hands pressed flat against the dent, knuckles whitening.

“Clerk?” His voice cracked, then rose in a jagged laugh that scraped the silence raw. “You think me a clerk?!”

The grin snapped back into place, feral and trembling. “Then let me file you myself, King.”

His fingers curled into that same strange, reverse-jellyfish gesture. The air shimmered, and a single Index String snapped into being, then twenty more. He lashed them forward like arrows, aimed at all three of them.

Their glow streaked toward the King, Nyra, and Joren, but then they faltered. The ribbons shuddered midair, then hurtled towards the ground almost instantly. The glow fizzled out and the papers turned to dust as the King's power rendered them useless.

Coral’s head snapped toward the falling dust, eyes wide. His grin strained, trembling at the edges. “No…” he hissed, voice cracking into disbelief. “No, no, no! Redactions don't vanish. They don’t vanish!”

He shoved his cabinet forward with a snarl. Every drawer slammed outward at once, the longest drawer shooting out like a cannonball. Soldiers ducked instinctively, some shielding their faces from the noise that signified trouble.

But halfway through its charge, the cabinet buckled. Wheels shrieked and the cabinet tipped onto the outstretched drawer, as if pushed down by invisible hands. It teetered there like a triangle, frozen at an ugly angle, the drawers rattling open and shut in panic. The whole structure rattled like it was caught under a mountain’s weight, refusing to budge further.

Coral’s eyes went wild. He pulled with all his might at the sides of the cabinet, veins bulging in his neck as he tried to wrestle it upright. “No! The Archive does not fall! It does not bow!”

Around him, soldiers shifted uneasily from their kneeling or laying positions. Whispers rippled through the ring, now filled with doubt. The commander they had thought untouchable was thrashing like a toddler in front of their King.

Coral released his grip, chest heaving.

His breath came in a growl now. The grin he once wore was gone now, replaced by the raw, twisted snarl of a man cornered. His monocle swung wildly against his cheek, the chain clinking like an unsteady metronome.

With a sudden snap of motion, his hand shot up, still holding onto the sword. Fingers clenched white around the hilt.

“If the Archive cannot rise,” Coral spat, his voice cracking with fury, “then I will strike through the King’s page myself!”

Coral lunged, sword arcing in a desperate slash toward the King. The motion was exceptionally fast, the last defiance of a man stripped of control.

But the King did not move. He stood still and without fear, as though the blade were nothing more than a piece of paper.

Steel never reached him.

A blur cut across Coral’s vision. In his furious and frantic rage, he neglected to think through his attack strategy thoroughly. Nyra sent out a strike of her own at similar speeds to Coral. Her fist connected with his stomach at a crushing force, sending him toppling over and wheezing.

The sheer power of her punch she displayed was likely on par with Gus, maybe even one of Joren's enhanced punches. For a woman who preferred fieldwork over reports, it was a reminder she was not simply a bureaucrat in robes. Honestly, none of them even thought she COULD fight.

Coral gagged on the ground, coughing uncontrollably, unmoving. Without missing a beat, the King gave an order.

"Soldiers of Varenthal, restrain your commander.”

The command fell over the yard like iron. Of those kneeling, the overwhelming force pushing them down lifted instantly. The King's orders expected speedy resolution, which none of them wasted time dawdling on. A handful rushed forward, boots pounding against the dirt, their faces pale with disbelief as they descended on the man they had once obeyed without question.

Coral thrashed weakly, spittle and fury spilling from his mouth as they seized his arms. “Unhand me! I am the Commander of the Department of Defense! Let go of me!!!"

The cabinet groaned and shuddered, drawers slamming open and shut in panic before falling still, like a beast releasing its last breath.

His cries and pleads broke into wheezing coughs as heavy hands forced him down. From one of the soldiers, shackles appeared and clicked around his wrists.

Coral writhed against the cuffs, veins bulging in his neck, his voice cracking as he tried to bellow over the sound of soldiers talking amongst themselves. “This is treason! All of you are betraying your record, betraying your commander!”

But the words carried no weight now. Not a single soldier hesitated. The aura of the King had already rewritten the chain of command in their minds, his order the final nail in the coffin.

Nyra’s eyes narrowed as she watched the scene, her voice cutting through the murmurs. “This is the result of your arrogance. You can't try to stage a coup and not expect retaliation."

That line set off all of the soldiers now. This was more than just table gossip, which clearly showed on their faces. Some looked like fish for how wide their mouths were at this bomb drop of news.

“Coup—?” one voice stammered.

“Against… the King?” another hissed.

Coral’s face twisted, spittle flying as he tried to shout over them, but he was drowned out.

Joren watched, swaying on his feet. His broken hand throbbed, but he didn't feel hopeless anymore.

The King stepped forward, his voice carrying with the same casual finality that had silenced Coral’s madness. “This chapter ends here. The book is closed.”

Nyra exhaled, relief breaking across her face for the first time since she’d arrived. She turned to the four of them, the buzz of soldiers talking giving them some privacy. “Thank you guys. I know it turned a little ugly there at the end, but you guys have done our kingdom a great service."

Joren forced a weak smile, though his hand still pulsed with blinding pain. “Ugly’s one way to put it…” His knees stopped shaking now. “We almost got redacted."

Bart groaned where he sat in the dirt, one hand still over his ribs. “Correction, I got redacted. You three just got… heavily censored.”

Despite everything, Willow snorted, wincing as she adjusted her bloody arms. “Bart, shut up before you make me laugh and bleed even more."

Gus dragged himself upright with a grimace, brushing soot and dust from his shirt, which now had more holes than fabric. “If this is what Continuity calls a ‘service to the kingdom,’ they’d better start offering hazard pay.”

Nyra let the corners of her mouth lift solemnly. “You’ll have more than that. Believe me, Continuity will not forget what you’ve done today.”

The murmurs of soldiers still rippled across the yard, but for the four of them, that moment felt like the end of a record.

Joren let himself sink into the feeling, battered but not broken.

"Lets get you guys to the emergency room,” Nyra said, her casualness a jarring feeling from the demeanor she just had. “You guys look like shit."