Sheline plunged the dagger into his throat—but instead of piercing through his windpipe, he slid the blade downward, carving a straight, crimson line from his neck to his waist. The motion split his shirt neatly, exposing a bloodied seam that seemed to divide his upper body into two halves.
Ash's expression darkened. "You've changed your mind."
"Yes," Sheline replied, discarding the dagger. He brushed his long hair back behind his pointed ears, regaining the elegance typical of an elf. His face was serene, his voice soft. "Imprisoning you was nothing more than a naive fantasy. You're the 'Touch' that Heath painstakingly summoned. You escaped from Fractured Lake Prison. How could I possibly contain you?"
"There are too many unforeseen variables in this world. As long as the Four Pillars continue to observe you, their influence alone will tear through any precautions I put in place."
"I can't imprison you. I can't kill you. I can't hand you over to the Scourge Division. I can't even delay this because the power of the 'Touch' could allow you to escape at any moment."
Heline paused, a determined gleam in his eyes. "So, I've reached a conclusion."
The elf raised both hands, extending his middle and index fingers like hooks. With precision, he inserted them into the blood-red line carved down his chest, digging into his own flesh.
"It must be now, it must be here, and it must be me," Sheline declared calmly. "I will purify you."
Ash tilted his head slightly, puzzled. "From what I understand, 'purification' is a lot like 'healing'..."
"Purification is the expulsion of corruption, the destruction of intrusions, the annihilation of parasites!" Sheline's emerald eyes glowed brighter, almost as if emitting light. "And you, the incomplete 'Touch' embedded in Heath's body, are a parasite that needs cleansing."
"This miracle was meant to destroy Heath himself," Sheline admitted, his voice tinged with regret. "But I was always too afraid, too hesitant, which is why I became his puppet and committed so many sins. Touch, I thank you. You've given me the chance to atone."
Ash narrowed his eyes. "But by purifying me, aren't you essentially killing me? Once I die, won't the ritual be completed—?"
"That's why I'm using this forbidden miracle."
Sheline began to glow. His green eyes, his blood, his black hair, and his skin—all shimmered with a vibrant, almost surreal brilliance, as if he were transforming into a living oil painting.
"Not just you. Every arrangement the Four Pillars have made through you, every mark Heath has inscribed on your body—everything that doesn't belong to you will be eradicated, completely and utterly purified."
Ash took a deep breath. "Sheline, you're just a two-winged golden sorcerer. Do you really think you have that kind of power?"
"Of course not," Sheline replied with a faint smile. "But the Void does."
Ash's pupils contracted. "The forbidden ritual..."
"You attended my lecture on Ancient Ritualism the other day, didn't you?" Sheline's tone turned almost professorial. "I didn't mention one detail during the lecture. If a two-winged sorcerer is forced to become a sacrifice through coercive means, they can only invoke the strength of a four-winged sorcerer at most."
"But if a two-winged sorcerer willingly performs the highest-grade forbidden ritual, their resolve will be acknowledged by the Void itself. They might even draw upon power surpassing the four-winged threshold."
"In the shadow of the Bloodmoon Lords, the Four Pillars can only grant blessings up to the level of a four-winged sorcerer." Sheline's voice took on a note of reverence. "But fate has smiled on me. Here in Caymon City, only I am positioned to perfectly eliminate you, the 'Touch.'"
Ash's mind raced. He quickly tried to reason with Sheline. "There's no need for this life-or-death confrontation. Now that I know you were forced into this, I promise I won't come after you again. In fact, I'm planning to leave the Bloodmoon altogether. Help me escape, and I'll be gone for good. No sacrifice necessary. Win-win, right?"
"You think I'm that kind of person?" Sheline's laughter was cold. "Do you think I'm just the president of the Elven Rights Association? A politician? The mastermind of some gang? A professor? A petty, self-serving schemer? A cowardly long-lived species afraid of death?"
"I'm 203 years old. When I was born, the Bloodmoon Tribunal hadn't even begun. When I came of age, I participated in the Outer Hunt Festival. I've traveled the entire Bloodmoon territory, witnessed the fall of old cities and the rise of new ones. I've seen every sorrow and every joy this world has to offer."
"You think I would cling to this decaying life?" His mocking gaze pierced Ash. "If not for death being powerless to resist Heath's commands, if not for the laws forbidding suicide, I would have entered the Bloodmoon Paradise long ago."
Ash froze. "Long-life syndrome? Are you saying you want the lights to go out?"
"Long-life syndrome? No. I don't wish for darkness," Sheline said, smiling as the luminous Bloodmoon bathed him in its glow, like a god's blessing. "There's something far warmer, far more beautiful."
"I've long wanted to perish with Heath, but I couldn't defy him. I've waited for this chance, not out of vengeance, but to prove…"
"That I still love this Bloodmoon."
"Ritual Miracle: Origin Ban of Illusory Strokes."
With a sharp sound, Sheline pulled his hands apart, tearing his chest open like curtains.
But instead of blood and organs, what spilled out was color.
Brilliant, dazzling hues gushed forth like rivers, surging toward Ash.
"Both iron thorns and water lilies symbolize loyalty," Sheline murmured.
In that moment, Ash recalled something about Valcas.
Sheline didn't hate Valcas for failing his assassination mission.
He hated Valcas for wanting to complete it.
The reward for Valcas's task was a reunion with his child. Accepting the mission meant Valcas had not repented, had not renounced rebellion against Bloodmoon's laws. To Sheline, a devout believer, this was the ultimate betrayal of faith.
"In my passing, let the Twin Flayers peel my skin, the Scarlet Maidens drain my blood, the Nightshadow Priests arrange my bones, and the Blessed Angels guide my soul…"
Sheline whispered his own prayer, expecting to see the angels of his salvation. Instead, a memory surfaced.
A young Sheline sat cross-legged on wooden floorboards as an elven toddler clumsily crawled toward him, arms outstretched for a hug.
Sheline smiled, lifting the child and wiping away its drool with a handkerchief.
"Repeat after me: Val-cas."
"Valcas?"
"No, I'm Sheline."
"Sheline?"
"Yes, I'm Sheline. You're Valcas."
"Sheline!" the child giggled.
"...We shall reunite in the Promised Land," Sheline whispered.
The last of the colors spilled forth. His scholar's robes collapsed onto the carpet, empty.
In the moonlight, the pure white fabric reflected the purest crimson.
The study was silent, save for Ash Heath, now alone.
The tree binding him withered, its strength drained, crumbling into brittle remnants.
Ash stared at his hands, confusion clouding his gaze.
"I… seem to be fine?"