11 — The Smell Of Thunder And Ash

"Sure," he answered nonchalantly.

"But first…"

He blew something from his palm.

What kind of magic was that?

There were ashes in his hand. Those ashes then entered the staff before something magical happened.

"Wait, he…" A man nearby was mumbling quietly.

"He's alive!"

It was her victim, waking up as if nothing had happened.

In-incredible…

The resurrection was a miracle. A miracle no one had seen coming.

A sudden scream erupted everywhere, with some people crying out in amazement.

Meanwhile, the man himself was touching each of his limbs.

For a moment, we felt genuinely grateful to witness such a miracle.

However, the sudden thunderous laughter broke the quiet euphoria.

Loud, sharp, unhinged.

"Bahahaha! My, my, you never fail to surprise me, do you?"

She wiped away her tears with her hand.

Anyway, I still couldn't believe that I had lost sight of Clara moments ago.

She was right beside me when the crowd started to surge, but then she was swept away like a leaf caught in a river. I cursed under my breath and tried to push forward, but the bodies kept moving, their shoulders slamming into mine as they ran. I had called her name twice. Three times. My voice had disappeared into the noise like a stone dropped into the sea.

I remembered the exact moment. Her fingers slipping out of mine. The pressure of a shoulder against my chest. The light from the stage flickering, and then she was just—gone. Not far. Not anywhere I could see. Just gone. I had reached for her. I had missed. That was all it took. A single missed grab, and the crowd had swallowed her whole.

Where is she, really?

"Still got another trick up your sleeve, dear oh-so-mysterious magician?"

The Witch of Sleepwalker never answered her.

Instead, he raised his hand. That hand reached up to the sky, and thunder roared overhead—the same thunder that had occurred when those four witches vanished, leaving no trace in the audience's sight.

Is he trying to reverse the teleportation attempt?

If that were the case, then it would be truly crazy.

Never have I seen something that extraordinary in my life.

He didn't even look like he was trying. That was the strangest part. His shoulders were loose. His head was bowed. If I didn't know better, I would have said he was asleep on his feet. And maybe he was. That was the legend, after all.

"Oh? You are an egg?" She kept going with her insults.

But he never budged, nor did he reply.

"Hey, who are you to ignore me? How dare you!"

Furiously, she launched an attack.

A powerful, sharp lightning strike howled in the air. Yet it left no scratches, barely denting the invisible barrier he had created. As if nothing could ever hurt him in the slightest.

Yet no signs of seriousness.

"Again? Will you shut up? I've been working on a spell."

"Be quiet."

Such audacity might have caused us to laugh in joy, yet the situation was too eerie, considering what had just happened earlier. A few moments ago, we were scared to death. Yet this eccentricity…

Something felt uncannily familiar about it.

Not just about him—the way he stood, the way he spoke, the way he refused to treat any of this as a threat. Even the scene itself felt like something I had seen before. A quiet figure standing against a screaming one. A crowd watching. A storm overhead. I couldn't place it. I couldn't name it. But it sat in my chest like a splinter, small and sharp and impossible to ignore.

Who is he? Could he be—

The silence was suddenly struck by lightning after lightning.

"You… filthy witch! Did you just tell me to shut up?!"

Wait, that's what she's been mad about?

I wanted to laugh. This childish attitude was too overbearing, even for me, who usually never really paid attention to all of this. However, given the stakes… laughing would be inappropriate.

And, just as we waited for yet another miracle, those four witches came back as if there were a tunnel connected from behind the stage. However, it was followed by a boo, not praise, from the audience. Especially after realizing they were not the legendary witches whose greatness people kept talking about.

Some people even threw food and beverages at them, showing their disappointment.

"Boo! Fakes!"

"Frauds! How dare you lie to us!"

What should have been a battle between the two turned into people's judgment over an unproven myth. The moment people felt they had been tricked.

Wait, what is Arthur doing?

He suddenly ran to the stage, protecting them from the insults by waving his hands.

"I'd like to apologize for this. I was the one who sent them with the Kingdom's permission."

"So please, blame me instead of them."

Too many things were going on at this moment. Even Lara was confused, too speechless and hammered by the situation. She had stopped her attack.

"Arthur."

Wait, he knows Arthur? How?

Arthur. Of course it was Arthur. The golden boy, the council president, the one who always had an answer for everything. Of course he had done it. Of course he had signed the papers and smiled and said nothing. I should have been angry. I was angry. But mostly I was tired.

Such a scene drew every eye, as if the air itself were conspiring against us.

Arthur looked up at the sky, where the Witch of Sleepwalker flew right above him.

The Sleepwalker spoke again.

"Take them back to the safe place. I will explain everything."

He didn't question anything and went to the four witches.

"Are you all okay? Let's get out of here safely."

Arthur tried to calm them down.

No one knew what they were facing.

Arthur took them to a safe place, but I couldn't confirm anything. I could only watch as the Sleepwalker stood his ground while the crowd fled around him.

"I won't let them!"

A sudden spark of mystical fire launched by Lara shot toward them. But once again, it was prevented.

Of course she wouldn't let them go. They were witnesses. They were proof that someone inside the Kingdom had staged the entire ceremony—that the Four Witches of Apocalypse were a lie, a performance, a trick played on the people for years. If Arthur took them away, if they talked, if anyone found out who had really orchestrated this night, Lara's entire performance would be meaningless. She hadn't come here to kill. She had come here to reveal. And Arthur was stealing that from her.

"Your opponent is me."

"Right here, right now."

He welcomed her with a taunt. She couldn't help but clench her fist.

"Oh, another thing…"

He then looked at the people around the stage, those who were watching.

"Go. All of you."

Such a remark was followed by treacherous laughter from her.

"My, my, what is it? Fear of humiliation?"

He only shook his head, but then pointed his finger at the crowd.

"Go. Now!"

For a few quiet moments, no one moved.

But then, a random person screamed.

All of a sudden, a wave of the crowd was running away from the stage. Without realizing it, the crowd suddenly began moving all at once, as though everyone had finally realized the danger we were in. People pushed past one another, desperately trying to escape the stage. Some stumbled over fallen chairs, while others grabbed whoever was closest to them.

I was swept along with them.

The streets became a maze. I didn't know which way was out. Every alley looked the same. Every corner led somewhere I didn't recognize. The lanterns had gone out, and the only light came from the fires still burning behind us.

I only knew I had to keep moving, because stopping meant being trampled, and being trampled meant never finding them.

And Myra.

Wait. Myra?

At first, I thought she was still nearby. I searched between the countless heads, expecting to catch a glimpse of her familiar figure. But every second, more and more people kept passing me, over and over again. The distance that had once been only a few steps suddenly felt immeasurable.

She had been right there. Right beside me. I had felt her fur brush against my arm, heard her small voice call my name. And then the crowd had surged, and she was gone. Just like Clara. Just like everyone.

I kept turning my head. Scanning. Hoping. Every flash of orange-yellow was her. Every flash of orange-yellow was someone else.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to grab every stranger by the shoulders and ask if they had seen a fox spirit, a girl with glasses, anyone. But there was no time. There was never any time.

Only then did I realize we had been separated—by a sea of people.

Along with my fear of losing her, the thought struck me, and I couldn't bear it anymore.

"Mireille! Clara!"

Where the hell are both of you now?!

I screamed as loud as I could. I couldn't care less if I came off as a pathetic girl begging for help, or the fact that I showed emotion at all.

At this moment, it wasn't important.

A hand grabbed my wrist.

I turned sharply. It was an older woman, her face streaked with tears.

"Please, help me find my son!" she begged.

I couldn't help her then.

I didn't have the time.

Part of me wanted to. Part of me wanted to stop, to turn around, to be the kind of person who helped a crying mother find her child. But Clara was out there. Myra was out there. And every second I stood still was a second I wasn't moving toward them.

"S-sorry."

I pulled my arm away with a murmured apology and kept moving, as the smell of thunder and ash still hung in the air.