They had spent nearly two days within the enigmatic and stony kingdom of Nurukaido. Grey, Camellya, and Aurora were enjoying a rare moment of repose, sharing a cup of tea beneath the faint light filtering through the cavernous stone walls. There was no sun to greet them, no dawn to marvel at, for Nurukaido was an enclosed realm, surrounded by towering stone walls from which descended luminous vines. These glowing tendrils, like living garlands, filled the air with a serene freshness, casting an otherworldly tranquility upon all who dwelt within.
Yet, despite the soothing atmosphere, Aurora's heart remained heavy with sorrow. Within her stirred a tumult of worry and deep sadness, like a shadow that refused to fade. Her melancholy stemmed from the day prior — the day of her wedding to Grey, a momentous occasion that had left her beloved weakened, burdened with newfound power that weighed heavily on his shoulders.
"I never thought that marrying me would endanger your very body..." Aurora murmured, her voice trembling as she gazed at the ground. Her eyes, darkened by guilt, sought solace in the shadows dancing across the stone floor beneath her feet.
Grey gently took her hand in his own, his touch warm and reassuring. "This isn't your fault," he said softly. His voice, though steady, carried a weariness born of burdens unseen. "The challenge we face may be greater than we ever imagined, but I promise you — there is no cause for despair." He smiled faintly, though the light in his eyes betrayed the exhaustion of a soul striving to remain unbroken.
Camellya, ever poised and resolute, rose gracefully from her seat. Approaching Aurora, she knelt until their gazes met, her expression one of unwavering determination.
"Don't be so harsh on yourself, Aurora," Camellya said, her tone firm but imbued with a gentle warmth. "I may not know Grey as well as I ought to — that much is true — but I can see that he is far stronger than he appears. And if he should falter, I will be here. Together, we will face whatever trials come our way."
Despite their words of comfort, Aurora's heart remained shrouded in guilt. She reproached herself for bestowing such immense power upon Grey, a man whose strength could scarcely rival that of the outer kings. (If only I had waited another century… perhaps his body would have withstood the strain more easily,) she thought with regret. But her choice had been made — driven by desire, insecurity, and haste. And it could not be undone.
What exactly had transpired? Allow me to recount the tale…
The wedding of Grey and Aurora, though modest, was a ceremony unlike any other. The decorations bore some resemblance to those used during Grey's first marriage to Camellya, yet they had been altered to reflect the customs of the dragonkin. Gone were the purely human elements, replaced by symbols and motifs honoring the ancient draconic lineage.
Though the atmosphere brimmed with joy, the most elated of all was not Grey, nor Aurora — but Camellya. As Grey's first wife, her enthusiasm was unmistakable. She relished the thought of sharing her place at Grey's side with another woman, her delight evident in every smile and gesture.
As they approached the altar, Aurora held Grey's hand tightly. He, however, was lost in a whirlwind of emotions. He felt as though he were walking a razor's edge — balancing duty and desire, tradition and necessity. For Camellya, this marriage was an opportunity to strengthen their household. For Grey, it was a test of his principles and convictions. Yet, to refuse would mean delaying the power he desperately needed to face the outer kings.
Despite his doubts, a quiet certainty stirred within him — a connection to Aurora, intangible yet profound, that whispered promises of future joy and newfound strength.
It was then that Samson made his entrance.
His voice, laced with keen insight and veiled arrogance, pierced the air like a blade.
"I must admit, Lady Aurora, I never thought you would fulfill the second prophecy with such haste," he said, a smirk playing on his lips.
Aurora's expression darkened momentarily, her brow furrowing in annoyance. Yet she responded with a smile that radiated confidence, though her words carried the sting of a veiled threat.
"You should never underestimate my charms, Your Majesty," she retorted, her tone as sharp as a dagger wrapped in velvet. "By now, you ought to know that any goal I set my sights upon inevitably falls before me."
"Of course," Samson replied, his mocking smile deepening. "How foolish of me to doubt."
Grey, meanwhile, found himself haunted by Samson's words. "Second prophecy" echoed endlessly in his mind, a persistent refrain that gnawed at his curiosity. Though tempted to inquire further, he chose to remain silent. Deep down, he sensed that pursuing the matter would be unwise — perhaps even perilous.
A heavy silence descended upon the hall, oppressive and foreboding. It enveloped the gathering like a dark shroud, chilling each soul present. The stillness was finally broken by Samson's solemn voice.
"Today marks the performance of the most sacred and powerful ritual this world — whether mortal or divine — has ever witnessed. Two souls shall be bound: one mortal, and one blessed by a god whose presence lingers still, even though his form has long since vanished."
Samson's words echoed through the chamber like thunder rolling through a mountain pass. The knights of Nurukaido, standing like statues along the hall's perimeter, drew their swords in unison. The metallic clang of steel reverberated like a solemn hymn, and with synchronized precision, they lowered their blades before them, their free hands resting resolutely behind their backs.
The civilians rose to their feet in respect, placing a hand over their hearts and closing their eyes in reverence.
"Coreygrey Gallant, son of Yaoshi Gallant and Juliette Gallant!" Samson declared with commanding authority. "Before you stands the second woman destined to walk beside you from this day forth — a light to guide you through even the darkest of times. Now, I ask you: Will you love her, cherish her, and honor her until the sorrowful hand of death parts you?"
Grey, awash in a torrent of emotions — from lingering doubts to resolute determination — watched as Aurora began to shimmer. A golden mist encircled her, casting her in an ethereal glow that separated her from the world shrouded in shadow. Yet he felt no fear.
He knew what was happening.
Drawing upon every fiber of his will, he spoke with a voice that resonated with raw conviction, shaking the very stones beneath their feet.
"I accept!"
At that moment, Aurora's form sharpened before Grey's eyes. As had occurred with Camellya before her, a faint light blossomed from Aurora's chest — flickering like a newly kindled flame, waiting for Grey's acceptance to spread throughout her being: a piece of his very soul.
"Aurora Alkana, daughter of Joel Alkana and Cecilia Alkana!" Samson's voice rang out, resonant and commanding, shaking the hearts of all present. "Before you stands the noblest and most radiant man this world has ever known. He stands here now, holding your hands, in the hope of being accepted as the guide of your life — while he, too, wishes for you to become the beacon that will light his path. Now, I ask you: will you love him, cherish him, and honor him until the bitter hand of death parts you?"
Aurora smiled — a radiant, heartfelt smile that filled the hall like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Her eyes sparkled with such brilliance that Grey, despite his composed demeanor, found himself blushing under her gaze. He struggled to hold her gaze, overwhelmed by the depth of her affection. Camellya, on the other hand, was so excited that her hands were already poised to clap in delighted applause.
But instead of answering immediately, Aurora moved closer. In an unexpected gesture, she wrapped her arms around Grey and embraced him tenderly. Her eyes searched his with a hopeful intensity that seemed to envelop them both in a world apart. And with a voice soft, yet firm with conviction, she whispered:
"I accept."
A brilliant white light enveloped Grey and Aurora, so majestic that all who witnessed it stood in stunned silence. Aurora's horns, once dark and formidable, transformed into a pure white, rimmed with crimson — a red as deep as blood. Grey, too, underwent a transformation. From his skull emerged luminous horns of white mana, encircled by an ethereal ribbon that spiraled around his eyes like a divine veil. Through this newfound veil, Grey's vision extended far beyond mortal limits, perceiving movement and life across vast distances. Yet this heightened perception overwhelmed him.
And then came the pain.
It was indescribable — a searing agony that tore through Grey's body. He collapsed to his knees with a harrowing cry.
"Aaaaagh!"
"Grey!" Aurora and Camellya shouted in unison, rushing to his side.
Camellya, desperate to help, pressed her hand against Grey's back, attempting to stem the surge of power coursing through him. Aurora mirrored the gesture, but the torrent they faced was beyond anything they had ever encountered.
"Evacuate the castle at once!" Samson commanded, his voice trembling with urgency.
The guards sprang into action, though their movements betrayed a deep, primal fear. Samson, his face pale as marble, approached Grey and the women. Placing both hands on Grey's back, he channeled mana into the struggling man, trying to stabilize the torrent of energy.
But the veil encircling Grey's eyes did not dissolve easily. Instead, it darkened, turning crimson as blood trickled from Grey's ears and nose. His anguished cries echoed through the hall, and the ribbon-like veil continued to tighten.
Camellya, frantic, made a desperate decision.
She transformed into Tiamat, the mighty draconic form she seldom unleashed. Her horns, now glowing with the same divine light as Grey's, crackled with power. Her body, covered in black and white scales, stood resilient against the raging torrent — but only barely.
"Aaaaagh!" Camellya roared, clutching her temples as if to contain the immense power threatening to overwhelm her mortal frame.
Aurora, trembling, redirected her mana toward Camellya, hoping to ease her transformation. Slowly, Tiamat's radiant form began to fade, her brilliance dimming like a candle snuffed out by an encroaching storm.
Grey, meanwhile, experienced a precarious stabilization. His horns, once divine and radiant, reverted to their usual dark hue, but at a terrible cost. Each breath he drew seemed to tear at his lungs, and every heartbeat sent waves of agony through his body.
Samson, drenched in sweat and trembling, pressed harder, controlling the mana flow with delicate precision. Yet every action seemed to worsen Grey's suffering.
Finally, the transformation reached its conclusion. The veil unraveled, the horns dulled, and the divine radiance faded into obscurity.
Grey collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. Blood smeared his lips as he coughed weakly.
"Ah… ah…" he breathed, relief washing over him as the torment ebbed away.
Camellya returned to her human form, but the transformation had drained her entirely. She crumpled to her knees, unconscious. Aurora, Grey, and Samson remained standing, barely holding themselves upright. Their chests heaved with labored breaths, like travelers pulled from the depths of an abyss.
Aurora lowered her gaze, shame clouding her expression.
(This could have destroyed everything. Not just Nurukaido… but the entire world.)
Far away, across distant lands, the echoes of the cataclysm reverberated.
In the castle of Vinkas, three figures stood in tense silence: Raynold, Eleanor, and Robert. The tremor that shook the very foundation of the continent left them solemn, contemplative.
Finally, Raynold broke the silence with a guttural growl.
"I knew this would happen," he grumbled, crossing his arms with a scowl. "This is why you should have used the cursed dust against Grey! It's been only two months since he vanished, and already he wields a power we should never have had to face so soon."
Eleanor, who had been gazing out at the distant horizon, spoke in a grave tone.
"Do you believe that display was intentional? A warning?"
Raynold turned to her, considering her words. After a moment, he cleared his throat and replied.
"Possibly. But even with that power, he's no match for us. Not now, and not in a hundred years."
Just then, the door opened, and a servant entered, holding a magical note in his hands. Bowing respectfully, he handed the note to Raynold, who unfolded it. A shimmering projection floated in the air, displaying images of knights preparing for battle and researchers examining ancient texts.
Raynold scanned the images and asked, "How are the preparations for the assault on the human continent?"
The servant answered promptly, though his voice trembled with uncertainty.
"The knights are ready, Your Majesty. But the veil protecting the human continent remains too powerful. Even with the mana of three hundred knights, we've failed to breach it. Additionally, the humans seem to have advanced their weapons and agricultural techniques."
Raynold clenched his teeth, frustration etched across his face.
"Tch… And what of the Black Knights? Have we located them?"
The servant bowed his head in shame. "Not yet, Your Majesty. My deepest apologies."
A tense silence descended upon the room like a shroud, broken only by the faint crackling of the fire in the hearth. Robert, his brow furrowed and his expression resolute, rose from his seat with deliberate slowness. His heavy boots echoed across the stone floor, each step carrying the weight of a decision long overdue.
"Let me handle the veil," he said, his deep voice steady, though tinged with regret. "It's the least I can do after my failure to ensure that Grey and Camellya died that day."
At the mention of Camellya's name, Eleanor stiffened, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"Camellya?" she repeated incredulously, the name dripping from her lips like a bitter poison.
Robert nodded, his gaze steady, though shadows flickered in his eyes. Eleanor's sharp gaze faltered, and she lowered her eyes to the cold wooden floor as though seeking answers in its unforgiving grain.
Raynold pressed his lips together so tightly that blood seeped from the corners. His fists trembled at his sides, clenched with barely contained fury.
"Impossible…" he muttered, his voice low and dangerous. "She should be dead. Are you certain it was her?"
Without hesitation, Robert confirmed with a slow, deliberate nod. The weight of his words hung heavily in the air.
Eleanor's composure cracked. Striding toward Robert, she seized him by the front of his shirt, pulling him close with surprising force.
"Are you telling me Camellya is alive?" she hissed, her voice a razor-edged whisper, trembling with both disbelief and fear.
Robert didn't flinch. "Her body died, yes," he said, his voice unyielding, "but her soul… it endured. It's her. The same Camellya."
Eleanor recoiled as though struck, releasing her grip and staggering back a step. Her lips moved soundlessly for a moment before she cursed under her breath, the bitterness of her words barely audible.
"This… complicates matters far more than we anticipated."
Raynold, still standing by the window, wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand. His expression darkened further, his gaze fixed on the horizon beyond the glass panes.
"Change of plans." His voice was cold and decisive, carrying the weight of finality. He turned to face them, his presence looming large, like a storm about to break. "We will go to the human continent personally. We cannot allow them to keep advancing. If they do, we're doomed."
Eleanor's head snapped up, alarm flaring in her eyes. "But, Raynold—Grey…" She faltered, her voice trembling, betraying a fear she could no longer suppress. Though she did not say it, Raynold knew well what haunted her — Camellya. The mere thought of facing her again sent a shiver down her spine.
Raynold's gaze hardened to steel, his tone brooking no argument.
"It doesn't matter." His words cut through her hesitation like a blade. "If we don't act now, the humans will become a far greater threat than we can handle. This isn't about pride anymore — it's survival."
For a moment, Eleanor stood frozen. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to contain her rising panic. Memories of battles past, of Camellya's fierce gaze and unrelenting power, flickered through her mind. But Raynold's words left no room for doubt.
Robert, watching the exchange with quiet amusement, hefted his great axe onto his shoulder with ease. The massive weapon glinted in the firelight, its edge gleaming with the promise of bloodshed.
"Very well," he said, a grim smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I'm ready."
Eleanor hesitated for only a heartbeat longer before she nodded, her fear yielding to resignation. There was no turning back now.