[Kingdom Rymis, Erétide]
As dawn broke, the sun's rays struggled to pierce the ashen clouds blanketing the blue sky. Dasra was on her way to the imposing gates of the capital. The gentle breeze touched her bare skin, lending the surroundings a palpable sense of vulnerability. Even in her state of undress, her face bore an odd serenity, strikingly contrasting the oppressive silence of the place.
Her hair, a fiery shade of orange, cascaded gracefully down her back, adding a splash of vibrant color to the muted walls around. Her arms, hanging by her sides, seemed both a protective barrier and a makeshift garb to uphold her modesty. Her gaze, filled with calm intensity, challenged anyone she crossed, daring them to stare too long.
As the massive doors finally swung open, revealing uniformed guards, a mix of emotions crossed their faces. A hint of joy in their eyes suggested a familiarity, perhaps even admiration for the woman before them. Yet, this joy was tinged with a shade of sorrow, a hint of concern dancing in their expressions. This duality intrigued Dasra, adding another layer to the mystery of her presence at the city gates.
"What has happened in my absence?"
"Something grave... Lady Dasra."
"To what extent?"
"Before we get into that, allow us to provide you with some clothing. Do you have a preference?"
"Light garments will suffice," she replied.
One guard swiftly ventured deeper into the village, leaving Dasra alone with his comrade. As she waited, Dasra scanned the streets of Erétide, seeking answers. All she found was the deafening silence of villagers walking the pathways, wordless. Fears of a national mourning arose within her. She recalled the last words of Yorgor, the archdemon of wrath: "The world enjoys its final moments of joy before entering a new era of dominion and anarchy!"
Could it be...?
Drawing a connection between the sorrow on the villagers' faces and Yorgor's haunting words, she realized the demon race might have ushered in a new reign of terror.
Did they succeed?
To quell her fears, Dasra addressed the guard:
"Tell me... what happened?"
"It's a long tale... We'll fill you in once you're dressed. Just know that Trillia is on the brink of a new era of chaos..."
Dasra lowered her head, lamenting her defeat by Yorgor. Had the Lost Ones survived? Did anyone perish? What incident had occurred? Such questions raced through her mind, dreading the worst.
*
Having obtained the light attire she'd requested, Dasra donned a magnificent outfit combining a white shirt with a leather corset. She wore iron gauntlets and boots, and a black skirt adorned with a leather belt carrying various pouches.
As she sipped fruit juice with the two soldiers, they recounted the events during her absence. She was stunned to hear of Marshal's death, the final showdown between Ergania and Abaguo, the demons and archdemons committing genocides across Trillia, and the tragic fate of Alora... The weight of this information overwhelmed her, leaving her questioning how it had come to pass.
"This can't be... have Hermiel and Rymis been informed?"
"I doubt it... they'll find out when they return later today."
"How are the Lost Ones faring?"
"We can't say for sure, but they're likely still in shock..."
"Why did we summon teenagers to such a world? Those poor souls didn't deserve to witness Abaguo's cruelty! They deserved better!"
The soldiers simply nodded in agreement, sharing Dasra's concern for the Lost Ones' ordeal.
"I must see them! I need to ensure they're okay!"
With a forceful punch that shattered the table, Dasra hastily exited the tavern. Her sudden departure left the soldiers in complete shock, their faces a picture of stunned silence.
"La-Lady Dasra! The table!"
"I'll reimburse it!"
Among the villagers present, all eyes turned to the departing warrior, their expressions a mix of surprise and confusion at her outburst.
Once outside, Dasra grandly unfolded her phoenix wings, tinted with fierce flames, doubling her size. This allowed her to soar into the heavens and spot the Residence of the Lost Ones, located in the affluent district. To her astonishment, no one was in the garden, despite the Lost Ones' usual routine of practicing magic or honing their personal powers. This deeply troubled her.
As Dasra approached the house, she paused at the doorstep of the Residence of the Lost Ones. Trying to calm her nerves, she strained her ears for any sound, but the deafening silence intensified her fears, reminiscent of a mother's instinctive concern for her children. When she knocked, she feared discovering them in grave emotional distress, or worse, possibly having harmed themselves...
The door's handle turned from within. Slowly and ominously, it opened, escalating Dasra's apprehension. Finally revealed were Yanis and Alora, both dressed in silky white and black uniforms that served as their pajamas. Catching sight of Dasra's transformed appearance, their eyes widened in shock.
"Dasra?! You're back to li—"
Unexpectedly, Dasra pulled Yanis and Alora into an embrace, a gesture filled with raw emotion. This act starkly contrasted with their preconceived notion of her: a woman characterized by confidence and audacity. However, in this instance, she showed a more human side, revealing her vulnerability in front of the two teenagers.
"I've learned everything... I'm sorry for what you've had to endure... I wish I had been there for you...
"It's in the past..."
Throughout his life, Yanis faced countless trials, tough moments that left their mark on him, building his mental strength and shaping his fearless character. Each ordeal fortified an unwavering resilience within him. This trait likely led the Archangels to choose him as the Pure Archangel.
In contrast, Alora appeared veiled with worry, trapped in dread of an inevitable fate. The prospect of her impending death cast her into a deep melancholy. The uncertain future was a heavy shadow, constantly reminding her of life's fragility.
"Where are Gwendoline, Rogue, and Jacob?"
"Gwendoline's in her room alone," replied Alora, "Rogue's still asleep, and Jacob is in Haradi, continuing his training at Adaken."
*
Dasra conversed with Yanis and Alora for over fifteen minutes. Both teenagers opened up about their anguish and fears. Alora, teetering on the edge of an abyss, grappled with her identity. Was she alive or a specter of the dead? Believing her resurrection was Yanis's doing, she was torn between gratitude and resentment.
Usually vibrant and outgoing, Alora now battled profound existential turmoil. This state of death and selfish resurrection imposed by Yanis plunged her life into a relentless cycle of demise and rebirth.
Upstairs, melancholy and despair seeped into Rogue's room. Deep in sleep, he restlessly tossed and turned, emitting moans of unease. The scattered books, papers, and pens on his desk mirrored the turmoil in his mind.
Suddenly, he jolted awake in a panic, screaming while frantically rubbing his face.
"NOT MY FACE! STOP!"
Gazing emptily ahead, a lingering image of Abaguo, grinning as fire consumed his face, haunted him.
"You can't escape, kid! You'll suffer forever!"
"STOP IT!" he yelled.
When Gwendoline, dressed in a light white and black uniform, opened the door, Abaguo vanished into darkness. The illusory flames that scorched Rogue's face faded at Gwendoline's calming voice.
"It's okay! I'm here!"
Rogue collapsed back onto his bed, tormented by the unbearable pain Abaguo inflicted. He felt engulfed in despair, his torments catching up to him at every turn.
"I want to die... I see him everywhere... he haunts my nightmares and torments me endlessly..."
"Come here..."
Gwendoline moved closer to the shaking, despairing Rogue. With boundless compassion, she tenderly wrapped her arms around him, comforting him as silent tears streamed down his face.
"Please, Gwendoline, end it for me... I relive the same torments over and over... It feels like I'm in Hell!"
"You know I will not do it…"
*
When the sun heralded the afternoon, all eyes turned to the royal carriage of Rymis as it made its way to the capital's castle. Through the window, Hermiel pondered the heavy silence in the air.
Rymis and his servants reached the castle, blissfully unaware of the tragic events that had unfolded in Haradi. Perhaps if the kingdom had embraced technology more fervently, they could've anticipated the bleak reality awaiting them at the end of the journey.
"It's eerily quiet here," murmured Rymis.
"Indeed, it's worrisome," replied Charnald.
At the castle gates, Dasra and the patriarch of the Temparus family stood firm, bearing resolute faces and determined stances. Charles was adorned in the ancestral uniform of his lineage, masterfully blending white and red, enhanced with a jacket adorned with pure gold buttons.
Owing to his close ties with Rymis III, Charles was always appointed as the temporary king whenever the latter left the Kingdom. However, this time Charles couldn't avert the Haradi tragedy, simply because Rymis viewed technology as magic's foe rather than its ally.
Stepping off the carriage, Rymis's eyes met Charles's, instilling in the king a feeling of dread about the true severity of the situation.
"Charles, Dasra? Why do you look at me like that?" he inquired.
"Aren't you aware of the news?!" exclaimed Dasra.
"What news?"
Charles stepped forward, maintaining his serious demeanor. "I always told you that your Kingdom would perish without technology. Remember?"
"Charles, for heaven's sake, tell me what happened in my absence!"
After Charles recounted the events that transpired in Haradi, Rymis was consumed with shame and regret. He felt that if he had turned back to the kingdom upon hearing Abaguo's voice, perhaps Marshal would still be alive. Yet a more unsettling detail lingered; he believed his own incompetence had led to the severe deterioration of the Lost Ones' mental state. How could mere teenagers have endured so much?
Deep down, Rymis felt this event further tarnished his already declining reputation as a king, and he feared one more mistake would be his ultimate downfall. All his life, he had followed his heart's direction, but never did logic influence him. Today, the undeniable proof that technology surpassed magic manifested in the worst way possible.
For Hermiel, the heart-wrenching news of Marshal's demise plunged him into the depths of sorrow, leaving him the last angelic human in the kingdom. This newfound responsibility weighed heavily on him, far beyond anything he could've ever anticipated. Isolated and lost in thought, Hermiel's body trembled uncontrollably. His personal power was nearing a breaking point, strained by the vengeful spirits he harbored within. Sensing this, Dasra swiftly approached, her eyes filled with concern.
"What's happening, Hermiel? Are you alright? You're shaking!"
When he turned to face her, she made a horrifying realization: the hue of his eyes had transformed from a blazing orange to a deep, pure-blood red.
"I just need... to calm down..."
"Is it your personal power?!"
"When faced with an event like this... I sometimes lose control due to the spirits I hold within..."
"Release some of them!" she urged frantically.
"I can't... I must form contracts with them... Otherwise, they'll stay with me until my death."