Chapter 33: The King’s Curse

The war of wills had ended.
The once-roaring library now lay in ruins—broken pillars, torn books, and silence heavy as ash.

Caine Velarius stood amidst the dust, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
For the first time since setting foot in this world, the self-proclaimed king looked… defeated.

Salvation hovered before him, her cyan hair glowing faintly in the dim light.
Her violet eyes were calm—not triumphant, only tired.

“You’ve lost this battle, Caine Velarius.”
“Your logic cannot surpass the truth of the story itself.”

Caine chuckled, the sound dry and bitter.

“Perhaps. But stories are written by those who survive… and I’m still alive.”

With a sweep of his arm, he conjured a rift of golden flame.
Reality cracked—and before anyone could move, he stepped through it.
The portal closed, leaving behind only the smell of burning parchment.

The Unworthy King had fled.

Naomi collapsed, the blade of light in her hand dissolving into dust.
Her chest rose and fell weakly; the mark on her neck—the seal of obedience—vanished.

“Kanata…?”

I was already at her side, catching her before she fell.
Her eyes trembled, soft and human again.

“You’re awake,” I said quietly.

“I can finally… see clearly.”
“Not illusions… not false faces… but my real family.”

She looked past me—toward Nagisa, Aine, Haqua, and even Erika.
Tears welled up before she could stop them.

Naomi reached out, brushing her daughter’s hair with trembling fingers.
Her touch was warm—familiar—something Nagisa had almost forgotten.

Nagisa smiled faintly through her own tears.

“Welcome back… Mother.”

For a heartbeat, Naomi froze. Then she pulled Nagisa close, holding her as if to make up for all the years lost to war and sorrow.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “For leaving you. For everything.”

Haqua, who had been silent all this time, looked up shyly.

“Family doesn’t disappear, right?”

Naomi smiled weakly through her tears.

“No, sweet one. Not even fate can erase that.”

For a brief, fragile moment—the room felt at peace.

The ground rumbled.
From the shattered corridor emerged Jeanne and Schwartz, the golden halberd glowing faintly in her grasp.

“Looks like we missed the main event,” Schwartz muttered.

Jeanne’s eyes scanned the ruins until they fell on me—specifically, on my exposed right arm.
Black scales shimmered faintly under the dim light.

But instead of fear, she smiled softly.

“So the legend was true… the Dragon Arm of Oblivion.”

“You’re not afraid?” I asked.

“I’ve seen far worse monsters wearing crowns,” she said quietly.

Her words carried the weight of someone who had lived among them.

I turned to her, gaze hardening.

“That mural—the prophecy on the wall. It’s your face. Who are you really, Jeanne?”

She was silent for a long time. Then, she sighed and rested the halberd against the ground.

“Caine is my elder foster brother.”
“Once, long ago, we ruled Nevantrax together.”

Everyone fell silent.

“I was supposed to inherit the throne last year.”
“But he feared what a queen born of prophecy might become. So he staged a coup.”

Her voice trembled slightly, but she kept her eyes steady.

“He took the crown—and twisted its meaning. Under his rule, strength became law. Weakness became sin. He called it evolution.”

Naomi clenched her fists.

“That’s why the caste system exists…”

Jeanne nodded slowly.

“The strong ate, the weak served, and soon the world became a battlefield without end.”

“And when war couldn’t feed his hunger anymore…” Erika added softly, “…he sought divinity.”

Jeanne’s gaze darkened.

“He believed that if he absorbed the power of the dragons, he could rewrite creation itself—a god born from mortal ambition.”
“He succeeded… halfway.”

The air thickened.
Even the remaining books seemed to shiver, as if hearing her truth.

“The dragons cursed him.”
“Their vengeance fused with his soul—granting him life eternal, but no peace. His body began to change.”

Salvation approached, her tone heavy yet resolute.

“A king who defies destiny becomes its prisoner.”
“That is the law of all worlds.”

Jeanne bowed slightly toward her.

“Then it’s true. The one who rewrites the story must be worthy… or the world itself will devour them.”

Salvation nodded.

“To complete the Nexus Ritual and repair both worlds, you need every fragment of destiny.”
“The first lies within this library.”

“And the second?” Kanata asked.

Her expression dimmed.

“Caine holds the other copy—the one he stole.”
“Without it, the Nexus cannot stabilize. Any attempt will collapse reality itself.”

A tense silence filled the chamber.

“So we’ll have to take it from him,” Jeanne said, gripping her halberd tighter.

Kanata met her gaze.

“Then the next war begins now.”

A sudden tremor shook the floor.
Salvation turned sharply, eyes widening—as if seeing beyond the walls.

“No…” she whispered. “He’s already begun…”

The air rippled—a projection forming above the broken altar.

Caine’s figure appeared, surrounded by a storm of golden light and smoke.
His smile was calm, almost serene.

“Did you think I would simply run?” his voice echoed through the sanctum.
“The story is far from over.”

His cloak fell away—revealing his body.

Scales—black and gold—spread across his arms and chest, glimmering like molten armor.
His veins pulsed with blue fire, his eyes slit like a dragon’s.

“You see now, Jeanne,” he said softly.
“I no longer need a throne. I am becoming what gods fear most…”

He spread his hands, wings of shadow unfolding behind him.

“…A man who killed destiny itself.”

The image flickered once—then vanished, leaving only the echo of his laughter.

Everyone stood frozen.
No one dared to speak.

Kanata clenched his scaled hand, the faint glow of his dragon arm responding instinctively.

“If that’s what he’s become…” he said quietly, “…then we’ll just have to slay a god.”

The flames from Jeanne’s halberd flared like a sunrise, casting their faces in gold and shadow.

Above them, the remnants of the prophecy mural crumbled—
as if time itself was holding its breath.

To be continued…