"You're an idiot, you know that?" Art said, his tone sharp as a blade. Everyone else had left—vanished into the shimmering nothingness of the hyperfragment's unraveling—but he remained, standing there like a shadow that refused to fade.
"Idiot?" I repeated, my brows furrowing.
"Yeah, you absolute moron," he snapped, his eyes narrowing in frustration. "How dare you try to use Mythweaver on an Ancient-grade artifact? What were you even thinking?"
"I knew I wouldn't die," I replied, keeping my voice calm despite his anger. "Because you're here."
Art's face darkened, and he took a step closer, jabbing a finger in my direction. "Oh, so I'm your crutch now? Is that it? Smart move, relying on me to bail you out. Real clever. But let me tell you something, you overconfident bastard—you can't keep getting away with it."
I crossed my arms, meeting his glare with one of my own. "Why not?"
"Because if I were strong enough to fix everything, why the hell would I need you?" he shot back, his words laced with venom. "If I could handle all of this on my own, do you think I'd have handed over my body to you?"
His words hit me harder than I wanted to admit. He was right, of course. If Art could have handled all of this by himself, there'd be no reason for me to be here. The fact that I was in his body meant there were limits to what he could do, no matter how much he despised admitting it.
I exhaled, letting the tension in my shoulders ease. "Alright," I said. "So what now? What will you teach me?"
"First things first, the biggest gap in your strength right now is your sloppy use of your three Gifts," Art said, ticking off points on his fingers. "That's priority number one. Second, I'm going to teach you how to use Nyxthar properly."
That made me blink. "Wait—I can use Nyxthar?" I asked, surprise coloring my voice.
"You were meant to use it when you fought the Sword Saint," Art said, his tone dripping with exasperation. "When you forcefully broke through to low Immortal-rank, it should have been part of the plan. But no, you had to go and break the design."
I frowned. "The design?"
He waved a hand dismissively. "You shattered Owen's will. That's why it didn't activate—it wasn't needed. But yes, you can use Nyxthar, and once you understand it, you'll realize just how much potential you've been sitting on without even knowing."
I took a moment to absorb his words. Nyxthar—the Legendary-grade artifact of my master, the Martial King. "Alright," I said. "And what's the third thing?"
Art's lips curled into a faint smirk. "The final piece of the puzzle is your power as you break through the mana ranks. You're at low Immortal-rank now, but you're teetering on the edge of a level that'll crush you if you're not prepared. You think you've felt pressure before? You haven't felt anything yet."
"And how strong will I become?" I asked, a hint of trepidation in my voice. I knew I was already powerful, but Art spoke as if I'd barely scratched the surface.
He chuckled, a sound that was both amused and ominous. "Incomparably strong," he said. "So strong you'll be peerless in your age group. Effortlessly."
His confidence was contagious, but it was also daunting. "Effortlessly?" I echoed, a skeptical brow raising.
"Effortlessly," Art repeated. "But don't let it go to your head. The stronger you become, the more you'll realize how small you are in the grand scheme of things. Power isn't the endgame, Arthur—it's the foundation."
I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of his words settle in my chest. "Alright," I said, meeting his gaze. "Let's get to work."
Art grinned, the kind of grin that promised pain and growth in equal measure. "Good. Because by the time I'm done with you, the world won't know what hit it."
__________________________________________________________________________________
The world had moved on—or tried to, at least. After the group's sudden disappearance into the hyperfragment and Arthur Nightingale's revelation that he would return two years later, the world was left reeling. An uproar followed their return, but Rachel, Cecilia, and Seraphina stepped into the chaos like a triad of queens, ensuring that Arthur's power as Guild Grandmaster did not waver.
Together, they faced down critics and political opportunists, stabilizing Arthur's position and upholding his legacy even in his absence. They also turned their attention to shielding Elara, executing Arthur's plans with precision, leaving no room for doubt about their resolve.
The grand halls of the Creighton estate stretched endlessly, their towering columns and gilded fixtures exuding quiet authority. Rachel moved through them with a purposeful grace, her shoulderless white sundress fluttering slightly as she walked. Inside the estate, the temperature was meticulously controlled, allowing her to wear similar outfits regardless of the season.
A familiar figure caught her eye. Rachel's face lit up with a warm smile as she called out, "Aunt!"
Priscilla Creighton, ever the picture of composed elegance, returned the smile as she turned. "Rachel," she said warmly, her sharp eyes instantly flicking to Rachel's gaze. Though nearly two years had passed since the incident with her eyes, Priscilla and Alastor still checked them reflexively, as though assuring themselves that Rachel was truly fine.
Sensing her aunt's subtle concern, Rachel offered a reassuring smile. "Aunt, it's alright," she said gently. "These eyes—Arthur's gift—are perfect."
Priscilla's lips pressed into a thin line, her emotions carefully masked. "Perfect?" she muttered under her breath. "They're absurd. No mere artifact should be able to do what those eyes can."
Rachel's smile softened. She knew her aunt's critique stemmed from love. "Ridiculous or not," she said, "I'm grateful for them. And for him."
Changing the subject, Priscilla's expression brightened. "You've grown so much," she said, stepping closer. Her eyes glimmered with mischief. "It won't be long before I hear about a grand-nephew, hmm?"
Rachel's face turned a deep shade of crimson. "Aunt!" she whined, her tone halfway between embarrassment and amusement.
Priscilla raised an elegant brow, her grin unrelenting. "Fine, a grand-niece would do just as well. I'm not picky."
Rachel buried her face in her hands, her protests muffled by the laughter bubbling up despite her embarrassment. The moment of levity, however, was cut short when a soft chime echoed in the room.
The ring on Priscilla's finger flared with light. Both women stilled.
"What is it?" Rachel asked, her brows furrowing as she studied her aunt's suddenly tense expression.
Priscilla's posture shifted, her body coiled like a drawn bow. "Something is heading toward us," she said, her voice low and clipped. Her gaze turned toward the estate's towering windows, as though she could see the threat beyond them. "From space."
Rachel's eyes widened, her heart leaping into her throat. "From space?" she echoed, the words almost absurd in their enormity.
Priscilla didn't respond immediately. Instead, she pulled out her phone, dialing with practiced efficiency as she strode toward the estate's security center. "Alastor," she said, her voice sharp and commanding. "We have an unidentified object heading straight for the estate. Activate the highest level of the defensive array."
Rachel followed close behind, her pulse racing as her aunt's words sank in. The Creighton estate, one of the most secure locations in the world, was rarely ever under threat. For something to approach it from space…
"What do you think it is?" Rachel asked, her voice steady despite the rising unease in her chest.
Priscilla glanced at her briefly, her expression unreadable. "We'll find out soon enough."
They reached the security center, where a team of guards and mages had already gathered, their expressions a mix of confusion and worry. The massive central screen displayed a holographic map of the estate's surroundings. A glowing red dot streaked across the sky, moving fast—too fast for comfort.
"Analysis," Priscilla demanded, her voice cutting through the murmurs in the room.
One of the mages stepped forward. "It's… difficult to pinpoint, ma'am," he said hesitantly. "The object is emitting a strange mana signature—something we've never seen before."
"Strange how?" Rachel pressed, stepping closer to the screen.
"It's fluctuating," the mage explained. "One moment, it's almost non-existent, and the next, it spikes to levels that could rival high Immortal-rank mana."
Priscilla's frown deepened. "Can you confirm if it's alive?"
"We can't say for certain," another guard interjected. "But its trajectory suggests it's aimed directly at the estate."
As the room erupted into coordinated activity, Rachel turned to her aunt. "What do we do?"
Priscilla's gaze was steel. "We wait. And we prepare for whatever's coming."