EPISODE 4

After several long hours, the battle in Centraxis raged on. The blazing light of day slowly faded, replaced by the suffocating veil of night. On one side of the battlefield, Benzo—his uniform torn and ragged—was still swinging his sword at the Devilors and Betagir soldiers before him. He cut several down, his blade drawing arcs of blood, when suddenly—

BOOM!

A missile launched from one of the few remaining aircraft struck the ground just behind him. The explosion tore through everything—Angelir, Commador, Devilor, even several Betagir who were caught in its range—obliterated into scattered remains. Red, black, and silver blood splattered across the field, blending into a grotesque tapestry of death.

Benzo was lucky. The blast hurled him several hundred meters forward, slamming him into the ground.

Benzo: “Agh…”

Face down in the dirt, he groaned and looked up, watching the aircraft streaking across the smoky sky above.

Benzo: “Damn it… It never ends, does it?”

Growling under his breath, Benzo pushed himself up to his feet. He didn’t notice the Angelir soldier hovering above him, light magic gathering in his palms. Just as the angel prepared to release the spell, an arrow whistled through the night and pierced his wrist. The Angelir screamed in pain, retreating to the sky.

The arrow’s source—Izzy—appeared, running toward Benzo.

Izzy: “Chief!”

She sprinted across the rubble, her body strapped with two bows, a sword, and a quiver slung over her shoulder. Reaching his side, she handed Benzo his sword and bow—the same ones he’d dropped while evading the missile. Benzo gave her a curt nod and took them back.

Benzo: “Izzy, what’s the situation with our troops?”
(He slung the bow across his neck.)

Izzy: “Our forces are still holding, Chief. But we’ve lost over two hundred men already. The Angelir sent far more units than usual—they’re overwhelming us. And also…”

She continued her report, but Benzo’s eyes were fixed elsewhere—on the horizon, where more Betagir aircraft kept appearing one after another.

Benzo: “Something feels different...”
Izzy: “What is it, Chief?”
Benzo: “The Betagir forces. They do have machines that transmit signals and moving images. But this time… everything feels too…”(His words trailed off into the chaos of the battlefield, the night sky flashing with explosions like dying stars.)

Izzy: “They keep coming back?”
Devilor: “HYAA!”

Before Izzy could finish her thought, a Devilor with a shattered wing lunged at them. Benzo reacted instantly—drawing his sword and driving it straight into the creature’s chest. A spray of black blood splattered across his face.

Benzo: “That too. But this time…”
(He yanked his blade free, the Devilor collapsing to the ground.)
“…they’re all too focused on me. Some of those aircraft—” he narrowed his eyes toward the darkened sky, “—they seem directly linked to that little girl. According to our latest intel, they were experimenting with a new device meant to expand transmission range, weren’t they?”

Izzy: “Yes, Chief.”

Benzo: “Then the attack patterns make sense. It’s different this time. Before, their formations were precise. Now…”
(He wiped the blood from his cheek with the back of his glove.)
“…someone’s playing with their own creation.”

A roar split the air above them as another aircraft streaked past, raining missiles down on the nearby plain where a lot of Betagir’s aircraft had fallen. Explosions flared in waves, turning night into a violent dawn of fire. Both Izzy and Benzo watched, their faces lit by the flames.

Benzo: “Send a few of our men to inspect the wrecked aircraft. We might find something.”
Izzy: “Understood, Chief!”

Meanwhile, on the far border of Centraxis, another army stood ready—gleaming in white, their formation pristine under the dim starlight. At the rear of the troops sat Dear, clad in her silver battle gown, astride a white horse.

Though the Angelir could fly with their radiant wings, Dear believed cavalry was vital in close-range warfare. For that reason, she had long made it mandatory for her soldiers to master horseback combat—grace and ferocity united under her command.

Just then, she received the final signal from Paratis. Instead of sorrow, a slow smile spread across her lips.
Beside her, Cherry, also mounted, noticed and parted her lips in quiet confusion. She was about to ask what had caused that expression when a tall figure approached from behind—cutting through the ranks with calm authority.

A man with straight white hair, parted cleanly at the center, and a sharply defined chin. His golden eyes gleamed with quiet calculation as he stopped before Dear, bowing respectfully.

Thronos: “Your Majesty,” he said, his tone measured and smooth. “Wouldn’t now be the perfect time to join the fray—and support our forces from behind? Or is there… something else you’re waiting for?”

His gaze lingered, tracing her form from the stirrups up to her serene face, lips curling into a faint smile. Cherry’s expression tightened instantly. She recognized him—Thronos Dalveros, the commander of the Angelir vanguard…the head of the Division of Defense and Security.
The Dalveros family had long-standing ties to the Royal House of Venos, a lineage woven deep into Angelir’s political history. Much like Cherry, Thronos too shared distant royal blood with Queen Dear, tracing back to the reign of a former king.

At his question, Dear’s faint smile vanished—replaced by a sly curve at the corner of her lips.

Dear: “Patience, Thronos. Striking too soon dulls the blade. The attack must come at the right moment. And tell me—didn’t I send word through Cherry for you to gather info on the status of the other factions’ forces at the front? What have you found?”

Thronos: (smiling faintly) “Of course, Your Majesty. I’ve already done so. After several hours of battle in Centraxis, though the Betagir ground forces have dwindled, their aerial units still endure. They continue to devastate much of Centraxis, slaughtering our troops along with the Commador and Devilor below.
The Commador, as usual, remains the most numerous—but they’ve lost nearly half their ranks.
As for the Devilor, only half of their initial army remains, and their numbers continue to decline.
That concludes my report, Your Majesty.”

Dear: “They’re proving more resilient than expected. And what about our own forces?”

Thronos blinked, eyes widening slightly in feigned surprise.

Thronos: “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I wasn’t instructed by Advisor Cherry to gather that information.”

Cherry’s brows furrowed instantly.

Cherry: “Commander Thronos, I—”

Before she could finish, Dear raised her hand sharply, silencing her.

Dear: “I may have stayed silent at the rear, but my ears aren’t as dull as you assume, Thronos. I heard what Cherry commanded you moments ago. Are you playing roles again?”

Her voice carried a razor’s edge—cool, deliberate—but Thronos didn’t flinch. He met her gaze with calm defiance, the kind born of long familiarity. They had traded barbs like this many times before.

Thronos: “Ah, Your Majesty’s perception never fails. And yes—of course, I was merely acting. You seemed… distracted before I arrived, so I thought I’d offer a bit of entertainment.”

Cherry’s frown deepened, the muscles in her jaw tightening. Watching Thronos study Dear’s expression so intently stirred something uneasy within her—a vague unrest she couldn’t name. She glanced toward Dear, who remained unmoved, her composure unbroken, before the queen finally spoke.

Dear: “As always, your way of entertaining is out of place. But…”
(She exhaled softly, a trace of weariness slipping through her tone.)
“…I hate to admit it—you’re right. Something was haunting me just now.”

She paused for a heartbeat.

Dear: “Paratis… is gone.”

The words dropped like thunder.

Cherry’s breath caught. Thronos’s golden eyes flickered in disbelief.
Around them, several soldiers in the rear lines froze before whispers rippled through their ranks. One by one, the murmur spread to the front—until all three hundred Angelir had turned their gaze toward their queen.

Dear straightened in her saddle, voice rising sharply across the battlefield.

Dear: “You heard me correctly—Paratis is dead!”

A hush fell. The queen seldom raised her voice, and when she did, it carried the weight of final judgment.

Dear: “He fell in the mission I entrusted to him. Paratis was a good man—loyal to the very heart of the Angelir path. And he was slain…”

The crowd stirred, tension building like the tightening of a storm.

Dear: “…by the King of the Devilor himself.”

The declaration burst through the ranks like fire catching dry grass. Outrage erupted. Some Angelir shouted curses into the wind, others clenched their weapons in trembling hands. The air itself seemed to burn with fury.

Cherry’s fists balled at her sides, and Thronos’s jaw locked hard enough to crack his composure.

Dear took the reins of her white horse and urged it forward, her presence commanding silence as she rode to the very center of her assembled host.

Dear: “My three hundred soldiers! Do you hear me?”
Angelir soldiers: “Yes, Your Majesty!”

Dear: “Men or women—it matters not. In my eyes, you are all equal, as Paratis was! And so it shall remain forever. No one—no race, no kingdom—will ever change that belief of mine. Now is the moment to prove it! Tell me—will you stand with me to the death?”

Angelir soldiers: “YES!”

Dear: “Then listen closely! When you reach the warfront ahead, form your ranks under Commander Thronos’s lead! Let the enemy see from afar who rides to meet them on horseback! Two hundred of you—mount and charge with him! The remaining hundred—release your steeds here and take to the skies! Fly above and follow the cavalry from behind!

Once you reach the front lines of battle—split into two wings, and let the wivez’ unit hold the center!”

Her voice thundered like a divine command, and the Angelir host roared in unison, armor gleaming under the moonlight as the wind of war began to rise once more.

Angelirs: “Yes, my Queen!”
Dear: “Cavalry—crash through everything in your path! Whether from the east, the north, or the south! Even when your horses fall, remember—you still have wings to carry you! Do you understand?!”
Angelirs: “Yes, Your Majesty!!”

Dear’s eyes trembled faintly as she watched her army burn with the fervor of war. Every Angelir she commanded swiftly took position, ready for the charge. She turned toward Thronos, who, as if already understanding, gave a small nod before walking to his horse and mounting it.

Thronos: “All units—mages, swordsmen, everyone—prepare to advance with me to the front line!”
Angelirs: “Yaaa!!”

Thronos rode along the length of the ranks, his steed galloping from one end of the formation to the other, ensuring every soldier was ready. Once the Angelir cavalry and their wivez stood neatly aligned, Thronos returned to Dear’s side.

Thronos: “All troops are ready, Your Majesty.” [placing his hand to his chest]
Dear: “For Paratis, for the fallen Angelirs, and for the Goddess of Time—CHARGE!!”
Angelirs: “HUOOOO!!”

Led by Thronos, the mounted Angelirs surged forward. As commanded, the flying units rose to the skies, splitting their formation upon reaching the front lines. Their sudden division threw the other races into confusion, diverting their attention—until it was too late.

From behind those lines, a hundred Angelirs descended, raining magic upon the enemy with devastating precision.

From her vantage point, Dear smiled in satisfaction, even as some of her own soldiers fell in the assault.

Dear (thinking):
“You will all forever remain the same in my eyes—worthless trash. Useful only in the beginning… but once dead, nothing but waste. Fools, every last one of you.”

Realizing that Dear remained motionless on her horse behind the front lines, Cherry—who had been about to advance with the troops—suddenly halted. She turned her steed around and rode back toward her queen.

Cherry: “Your Majesty, aren’t you going to ride into battle with the others?”

Dear smiled at her, the same smile she had worn right after receiving Paratis’s signal. The sight of it made Cherry tremble.

Dear: “Do not worry. I can still see everything—through Thronos, and the rest of the army.”

Cherry clenched her jaw. Hearing that name again—Thronos—made her blood boil. But Dear didn’t bother to look at her reaction. Instead, she raised her hand and invoked her contract spell, the telepathic link that connected her to Thronos.

Dear: “Thronos, be my eyes in this war.”

Far out on the Centraxis plain, Thronos was already carving through enemy ranks with a blend of sword and spell. When he heard the familiar voice echo in his mind, he smiled faintly.

Thronos: “For you, gladly, Your Majesty.”

With his consent, the world seen through Thronos’s eyes projected itself before Dear’s vision—visible only to her and the one bound by the spell. The telepathic contract was a gift granted solely to Dear by the Goddess of Time, a mark of the Angelir sovereign’s authority.

Through Thronos’s gaze, Dear watched him cut down several foes, his white blade gleaming in the chaos. Then, like a shifting lens, her view caught a flicker—someone moving swiftly not far from Thronos’s position. The figure’s motion was so fast that to Thronos, it appeared only as a passing black shadow. But to Dear’s sharp eyes, it was clear.

It was Axeluz, disguised beneath the cloak of a Commador, sprinting across the barren plain.

A sly smile curved Dear’s lips as she murmured:

Dear: “Axeluz… so you’ve crawled out of your den at last.”

The words weren’t meant for Thronos, who was still connected through the spell—but Cherry, standing nearby, heard them nonetheless.

Cherry: “The Devil King, Your Majesty? He’s there as well?”

Dear broke the connection and stepped down gracefully from her horse, stroking its mane with deliberate calm.

Dear: “Indeed.” [her tone smooth, almost amused]

Cherry: “Then why don’t we just go there and—”

Dear: “Do you know why I like you, Cherry?”

Cherry: “Y–yes, Your Majesty?”

Dear smiled faintly and turned her gaze toward her.

Dear: “Because you’re a perceptive Angelir. Even when I say nothing, you seem to already know what I want to say.”

A faint blush rose on Cherry’s cheeks, and a shy smile appeared on her lips at her queen’s words.

Dear: “But sometimes… You ask too many questions.”

The smile vanished instantly. Cherry bowed her head, clenching her fists tightly.

Dear: “Don’t be disappointed in yourself. My expectations are… rather high.”

Cherry opened her mouth to apologize, but Dear interrupted her once more.

Dear: “No need to apologize. I’ve grown tired of hearing it. And don’t worry—the retribution for the Devil King has already been arranged. All we need to do is wait.”

Cherry slowly raised her head, confusion flickering across her face. What did her queen mean by already been arranged? Dear didn’t even need to see her expression to sense her uncertainty.

Dear: “Paratis’s death… was not a complete failure.”

Cherry’s brow furrowed deeply, awaiting an explanation. When Dear finally revealed the truth, Cherry’s expression shifted from confusion to shock.

Northern Border of Centraxis — among the towering rocks on the higher plains, Chanel crouched beside her equipment, fingers dancing across a keyboard. The soft glow of monitors illuminated her calm, unreadable face. She was remotely controlling a fleet of aerial machines, issuing orders to Betagir outposts scattered beyond Fort Nexus to dispatch replacements for the fallen aircraft.

Not far from her position, Redo was meticulously assembling something under Chanel’s orders, every movement careful and deliberate.

Despite her neutral expression, a spark of excitement burned behind Chanel’s eyes as she watched the live feed from one of her hovering drones.

Redo: “Are you sure this plan is—” [he shouted, his voice edged with worry]

Before Redo could finish his sentence, Chanel slipped a small violet earpiece into her ear, her fingers flying across the keyboard. She spun one of her monitors toward him. On the screen, a single line glared in bold letters:

“JUST DO IT!”

The message was sharp, urgent, and absolute. Yet, as always, Chanel’s face remained perfectly still—calm, detached, almost mechanical. Redo frowned, then gave a reluctant nod.

Chanel: “Now… It’s time to play the real game.”

With that, she pressed the play button. A pulse of heavy techno-EDM filled the rocky air. Her fingers moved in a blur, typing in perfect rhythm with the beat, her head swaying slightly—expressionless, precise, robotic.

Meanwhile, back in the heart of the battlefield, Benzo was still locked in brutal combat against the combined forces of other races, a few Commador soldiers fighting desperately at his back.

Not far from him, Izzy, following Benzo’s earlier command, was kneeling beside the wreckage of a fallen aircraft. Inside the shattered cockpit lay a young Betagir pilot—lifeless. Without hesitation, Izzy removed the headset still clinging to the corpse’s head and pressed it against her own ear, straining to catch any trace of sound.

While Izzy focused, Benzo and the Commador soldiers continued to swing their blades and fire their arrows, keeping the enemy at bay—buying her time.

Benzo: “Damn it! Izzy! Did you find anything?!” he shouted, thrusting his blade through two Angelirs and a Betagir charging toward him.

Izzy didn’t answer. Her eyes shut tightly as static crackled through the headset. Then, faintly, a voice broke through.

Redo (voice): “Attention to all pilots—this is the Vice Captain speaking, relaying the Princess’s command. Fall back to the North of Centraxis and cease missile fire immediately! I repeat, fall back to the North NOW!”

Izzy’s eyes flew open. She yanked the headset off, realization flooding her face.

Izzy: “Chief! The main command center—it’s likely positioned in the northern plains of Centraxis!” she yelled over the roar of battle.

Benzo, having just taken down another enemy, snapped his gaze upward. Across the gray sky, several aircraft were banking north—toward the elevated ridge scattered with massive stones.

The same place Chanel was hiding

Benzo: “Ha! I found you, little worm!”

Benzo signaled to Izzy that he understood, then sprinted forward, charging the ranks before him as he shouted,

Benzo: “Three Commador behind me! Follow me!!”

The three men behind him immediately fell in behind his run, answering his call.

Commador 1, 2: “Yes, Chief!”
Axeluz: “Yes!” (then smiled a sly, vicious smile)

Unbeknownst to Benzo, one of the three was Axeluz, who had successfully taken a Commador’s guise. The high plateau lay some distance away — they would need time to reach the stone-strewn area.

From the northern edge of Centraxis, Chanel knelt over her newest device, scanning the plain. The machine resembled the missile controller she had built earlier, complete with surveillance cameras — but instead of a regular camera, this one housed a special sensor lens with integrated coordinates.

Chanel: “I still don’t get why it always ends up like this for the four of us. This was only supposed to be a small skirmish—not a war with thousands on each side. So why does it always turn into a contest of who’s stronger, who will win?” (She fitted another medium-sized module into the device.)

Redo, standing beside her, watched Chanel’s hands as she worked and replied.

Redo: “Your Highness! At last, a thoughtful question. It’s admirable when you consider others before acting—especially for the Betagir.”

Chanel: “Who said I care about others? I only want my desires fulfilled. I want to win.”

Redo: “Eh?”

Chanel: “That old crone will never guess what I’ve built. From here, I can fire with surgical precision — and she will die.”

Redo’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Redo: “So — so this is the machine you were talking about two days ago, Your Highness? Incredible! No Angelir will survive once we unleash this!!”

Chanel: “Yes — the Wivez Cogni-seeker. Even the Goddess of Time would be impressed. The missiles I fire will home in on every Angelir in the combat zone — especially those with the strongest cores and Wivez.” (She scanned the battlefield for Dear through the device.) “Lucky for us, one of the surveillance cameras caught a white force in the forest.”

The sensor locked on instantly, tracking every Angelir and pointing unerringly toward a single sector: the north-western wood.

Chanel: “Found them.” (She peered at her monitor.) “Cowardly old crone — hiding behind trees!”

With a few keystrokes into a special prompt, Chanel vectored several missile-armed craft toward Dear’s position. Dear and Cherry, unaware, still lingered beneath the forest canopy, their conversation continuing.

Cherry: “…If that’s the case, why did you still order the Angelir forward? Wouldn’t it be enough to wait and watch the Devil King die on his own, Your Majesty?” (her voice trembling with worry.)

Dear only chuckled, her eyes fixed on the sky above the barren plain of Centraxis. The shouts, the explosions, the burning earth, the scent of blood and smoke rising all made her smile.

Dear: “You don’t understand. Look at the scene. Isn’t it beautiful?” (she grinned broadly at Cherry.)
Cherry: “Yes?” (her voice barely steady.)

At that very moment, as Chanel prepared to launch, an arrow whistled between the rocks toward her — missing by inches and burying itself with a thunk in the stone right beside Redo.

Redo: “Hyaa!” (he ducked instinctively.)

In the distance, Benzo’s voice rang out, a few hundred meters from Chanel, as he sprinted across a greener stretch of Centraxis, Commador trailing behind him.

Benzo: “Surrender now, you blank-faced wretch!” (he ran, nocking his bow once more.)
Chanel: “Is that it?! I thought you’d trained more, you poor thing! Come on — hit me again!”

Chanel’s expression remained eerily calm, yet her eyes burned with fervor. Instead of fear, she was filled with a strange exhilaration. Unbeknownst to Benzo, there was a reason behind her reckless confidence — Redo had planted several mines across the field, each rigged to detonate the moment anyone stepped within a hundred-meter radius of her position.

In slow motion, Chanel’s finger hovered over the glowing red “FIRE” button, ready to unleash a rain of missiles toward Dear’s hiding place.

At that same instant, chaos erupted behind Benzo. Two of his men gasped as Axeluz tore off his disguise, his body already morphing into its monstrous form, fangs glinting under the dim light.

Axeluz: “Hey, pigs!”

Meanwhile, far away in the forest, Dear raised her gaze to the heavens, a serene smile spreading across her lips.

Dear: “For the Goddess of Time... I will win this war—and end it once and for all.”

And then, from the distant sky, a breathtaking sight unfolded. A massive white comet streaked through the firmament, cutting a blazing path across the void. It was a celestial phenomenon unseen in over a thousand years—the Comet of the Goddess of Time. Legends whispered that it embodied the divine power of the true sovereign of Univeros herself.

As it passed, the world trembled.
A deafening roar echoed across the lands, followed by a violent gust of wind that came from nowhere and everywhere at once.

Then—silence.

Everything stopped.

The galloping horses, the clashing warriors, the falling corpses—all motion ceased. Even thought itself was paralyzed. The entire world of Univeros fell into stillness, frozen in a single, impossible moment.

But not everyone.

A handful of beings remained conscious—aware—in the stillness between time.

Chanel: “W–what is this?! I can’t move!”
Benzo: “Ugh—my body... why won’t it—move?”
Axeluz: “Damn it! I can’t transform!”
Dear: “What... what is happening? Everyone’s frozen... but why—why am I still—?”

Then, through the silence, a voice echoed.
Soft. Eternal. Reverberating inside their very souls.

It was Her.

The Goddess of Time: “Blood... hatred... folly... pride... poverty... hunger... suffering... I can smell them all. For eons, I have watched in silence. But no more.
Univeros has become a graveyard for every race—Angelir, Betagir, Commador, Devilor alike. You destroy everything you touch, treating creation itself as your toy.
And most unforgivable of all... You treat life as something disposable—waging wars as if lives were nothing but dust beneath your feet. While your people—your children—bleed for your pride...”

Axeluz: “Hah? So this damned Goddess of Time actually exists? Heh — I don’t feel a thing for my people! Those ashbloods always become a burden anyway. What sacrifice of my people are you talking about?”

Benzo: “Goddess, I won’t make long speeches. But all these sacrifices and this fighting—it's for a better Univeros.”

Chanel: “I never gave them anything. They aren’t worth anything to me.”

Dear: “I sacrificed one because it was necessary. After that—what else is there to say?”

Goddess of Time: “SILENCE!”

Her voice exploded through the frozen air, so thunderous that it silenced the four leaders instantly.

Goddess of Time: “For a thousand years, I have never been so disappointed in the leaders of the four races. Even the sins of your ancestors were not this vile. You have used my name as a banner for war. Your deeds have outstripped the darkest sins ever known. Therefore, those sins shall be your burden. I, the Goddess of Time, will teach you a lesson for squandering the time you were given on wickedness.”

Axeluz: “What can a goddess do? Send trials and warnings? Go ahead — I’m not afraid!”

Dear: “Am I worthy of such punishment? The other leaders deserve it more! Especially the Devilor!”

Chanel: “I never thought the Goddess of Time could pass judgment.”

Benzo: “This is unfair! I shouldn’t have to bear this! Why not punish our ancestors instead? They’re dead already!”

Their insolent replies only stirred the Goddess’s authority further.

Goddess of Time (aside): “These people… truly!”
Then aloud: “You four are the vilest beings in all of Univeros. I curse you with all my power — and you shall not return to what you were until the time I decree!”

A blinding column of light pierced each of the four leaders. Their souls howled as they were wrenched from their bodies and forced into vessels the Goddess had chosen. They screamed in agony as the transference took hold.

After what felt like an eternity of screams, their consciousnesses finally returned to their bodies. Time began to move again—along with every living thing in Univeros. The still air trembled, motion and sound resuming as if nothing had ever paused. But the four leaders suddenly felt a nauseating dizziness all at once, their vision spinning before everything went dark. Each of them collapsed where they stood.

The soldiers nearby froze, bewildered. None could explain what had just happened. With all four leaders unconscious, the great Centraxis War—which had raged for nearly a full day—came to an abrupt, silent end.

Three days later, under a bright morning sun at Silver Palace, Vitalise, the grand citadel of the Angelir Kingdom, Queen Dear still lay unconscious. She rested beneath sheer white veils, her silver bed gleaming softly in the light that streamed through the tall windows.

Moments later, Cherry, her trusted advisor, entered quietly, carrying a warm towel and a silver bowl filled with water. She approached the queen’s bedside and gently wrung the towel in preparation to clean her.

But just as Cherry reached out, Dear stirred—her eyes fluttered open, still hazy—and tried to sit up. Cherry gasped, then smiled in relief.

Cherry: “At last, Your Majesty! Are you all right—”

Before she could finish, Dear brushed her hand away, groaning.

Dear: “Ugh, noisy. Move aside. I need the bathroom.”

Cherry: “Eh? B-but—”

Still half-asleep, the queen assumed everything that had happened three days ago had been nothing more than a dream. With her eyes barely open, she wandered toward a large wardrobe—mistaking it for the bathroom.

Dear: “Huh? Why’s it darker than usual?” she muttered irritably.

She began tugging at her nightgown, still in a daze, only to realize it wasn’t pants she was wearing—it was a long, silken dress. Her brow furrowed in confusion. Half-awake, she lifted the hem of her gown and slipped down her undergarments, reaching down out of habit—

—and froze.

Her eyes snapped open.

Dear: “Wha—where the hell—?! It’s gone! GONE?!”

Panic surged through her—through him.

Cherry, alarmed by the commotion, rushed to the wardrobe. But before she could open it, Dear burst out—colliding into her. Both fell backward with a startled shriek.

Cherry: “Aaa!”
Dear: “Aaa—!”

Then Dear stopped cold. Her own voice rang in her ears—higher, softer.

Dear (murmuring): “What… what was that shriek just now? Was that… my voice?!”

Cherry quickly helped the queen to her feet, concern etched on her face as she studied Dear’s odd behavior.

Cherry: “My Queen, are you feeling all right?”

Dear: “Qu-queen? Wait—who are you?”

Cherry: “Eh? ‘Who’? Of course, it’s me, Cherry, Your Majesty. Your royal advisor.”

Dear: “A-advisor? What are you talking about—wait, huh?”

Before Cherry could respond, Dear’s expression shifted. Her hands, almost unconsciously, rose to her chest—then froze as they felt something soft and heavy.

She gave them an experimental squeeze.

Dear: “.......Hehe… heh…”

A giggle slipped out before her face turned serious again.

Dear: “Hey… since when did I have these two?” she asked, still groping her chest naturally as if it were the most ordinary question in the world.

Cherry: “E-eh?!”

Before the stunned advisor could react, a firm knock came at the door.

Raphael (from outside): “Advisor Cherry! Has Her Majesty awakened?”

Dear, utterly unconcerned, continued to knead her breasts while staring at them with wide-eyed fascination—like a child discovering a new toy.

Cherry, mortified and confused, glanced toward the door and replied hesitantly, her voice tight.

Cherry: “Her Majesty has just regained consciousness. What is it, Mestrados?”

From the other side, Raphael, the royal messenger, smiled in relief.

Raphael: “Truly? Lumen gratia!” —the Angelir phrase for giving thanks.

Cherry (dryly): “Yes, indeed… very thankful,” she muttered, eyeing Dear, who was still fondling herself with a strange, curious expression.

Shaking her head slightly, Cherry forced herself to remain composed and asked,

Cherry: “Anyway… is there something you wished to report, Mestrados?”

Raphael: “Ah, yes, Your Majesty has received an unexpected guest. He insists on seeing Her Majesty immediately—without any conditions.”

Cherry: “A guest? Who is it?”

Raphael: “A visitor from the Black Castle. The leader and King of the Devilor race… Axeluz Grados. He’s waiting in the royal audience chamber right now.”

The moment Dear—or rather, Axeluz trapped in Dear’s body—heard those words, his eyes went wide. Without a second thought, he stormed toward the door and threw it open, sprinting down the palace corridor in nothing but a silken nightgown.

Raphael, who happened to be standing nearby, yelped and immediately covered his eyes as the “Queen” rushed past him.

Raphael: “Ah—! L-Lumen forgive me!”

Behind him, Cherry gasped in horror and dashed after her ruler.

Cherry: “Wait, Your Majesty! You’re still in your nightgown! And besides— we must proceed carefully when facing an enemy who dares to call himself a guest!” she cried, chasing frantically after the fleeing queen.

But Dear didn’t respond. Her—his—pace only quickened, a strange determination burning in her violet eyes. Cherry’s confusion deepened as she watched her queen make a wrong turn down the grand staircase.

Cherry: “That’s not the way to the royal audience chamber, Your Majesty!”

After several wrong corridors and a few frantic turns through the marble halls of the Silver Palace, they finally arrived at the correct door—the royal audience room. Cherry, panting, managed to catch up just as Dear reached for the handle.

Without hesitation, Dear kicked the door open.

Inside stood himself—Axeluz, the true one, in Dear’s royal body—facing away, flanked by three Angelir guards and two Devilor escorts. The sight froze Dear in place.

It was his face. His body. The same black hair, the same stance, the same sharp eyes—but the look in those eyes was utterly wrong.

Shock. Confusion. Rage. It all collided within the mind of Axeluz, trapped in the queen’s form.

Their eyes met—the Queen of Angels and the King of Devils—each staring at their own stolen reflection.

Then, in a single breath that split the silence—

Dear (Axeluz): “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”

Her scream echoed through the silver halls, finger trembling as she pointed accusingly at the man wearing her face.