Across the Human Domain, grief hung like a heavy shroud.
Funerals were held in every noble house, mourning the heirs, warriors, and loved ones lost in the brutal attack. The air was thick with incense and sorrow, voices whispering prayers for the departed. The wails of grieving families echoed through halls that had once been filled with laughter.
But in the Oltheros Star System, no one was allowed to enter.
The massacre at the Royal Palace had plunged the system into an ironclad lockdown. Amon von Oltheros, second child of the ruling house, was gone. His body was never found.
Only a single item remained—a sleek, broken watch, its cracked frame still stained with blood.
The rage of the Oltheros Clan was unrelenting. Their child had not fallen in battle but had been butchered in war, defenseless, unable to fight back due to his condition. That fact alone sent shockwaves through the great families. The entire Oltheros war machine stood on edge, waiting, desperate for a single order to burn the perpetrators into oblivion.
But Elara did not rage.
She did not weep. She showed nothing at all.
She sat motionless, her eyes dull, her face an empty mask.
Beside her, Seraphina held Olivia, who had cried herself hoarse after hearing the news. Klien and Anastasia had locked themselves away in their training halls, refusing to leave for the past two days.
Then—
The doors to the chamber slammed open.
Nina strode in, her eyes sharp, holding a glowing mechanical black orb in her hands. The object pulsed faintly with energy, casting eerie reflections against the walls.
"My lady," Nina said, voice urgent. "I found this in the young master's room. It was stuck to a note."
Elara's head snapped up.
"A note?"
Nina nodded. "The date on it is from two years ago."
Elara's breath caught.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for the orb, her usual composure shattering like fragile glass. She turned it over in her hands, gaze locking onto the attached note.
The date:
15th Ith'vaarn 92039
Swallowing hard, she pressed the small button on the side of the device.
With a soft click, the orb hummed to life, and a hologram flickered into existence before them.
Static crackled. Then—
"Check, check—does this thing even work?"
A familiar voice.
Elara's heart stopped.
"I shouldn't trust what Aunt gives me… it might turn out to be a prank like last time."
Beside her, Olivia let out a strangled gasp.
She remembered.
Once, she had gifted Amon a similar orb, only for it to explode in his face, drenching him in sticky, gooey slime. He had spent an entire day chasing her for payback.
And now, the recorded Amon chuckled to himself.
"Trust me, my future self—you must remember to take revenge." His voice was smug, teasing.
Then, after a brief pause—his tone shifted.
"Ahem… now, if you're hearing this… you can think of this as my last words."
The moment Elara heard those words, something within her trembled—a deep, fragile part of her that she had desperately tried to lock away.
The hologram flickered as Amon continued, his voice filled with lighthearted amusement.
"Now, where was I…?" He paused, pretending to think, then grinned. "Ah, yes! My last words—now, what should I even say?"
Elara and Olivia couldn't help but let out small, choked chuckles at his antics. Even now, even in death, he was the same—carefree, mischievous, as if he weren't aware of the weight of his own existence.
Then his tone softened, a rare gentleness creeping into his voice.
"Mother, if you're watching this, I know you're sad. You've probably locked yourself away, haven't you? And I bet you haven't eaten for days."
Elara clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms.
"I know Transcendent beings don't need food… but still, you being a foodie is where I get that trait from."
A sob threatened to escape her lips.
"But you have to understand—this is how it is. Sooner or later, I will die. No, really—this isn't some assumption, it's a fact."
Silence fell.
"After all, I don't have mana veins."
Elara squeezed her eyes shut. She knew this. Everyone did. But hearing him say it out loud, so certainly, so casually, as if he had accepted it long before anyone else—it hurt more than any wound ever could.
"But that doesn't matter." His voice turned lighter again. "When I die, I don't want you to be like this. Who else is going to take care of that training devil? You know she's just like Father."
A broken laugh left Olivia's lips.
Elara just sat there, staring, unable to breathe.
The hologram flickered slightly.
"Well, now that my speech is over, I'm going back to work. I still have so much to build—artifacts, runes, experiments! It's really fun, you know?"
He paused. His face turned serious, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the projection.
"After all, the only thing that requires rune engravings is WILL."
A final smile.
"And remember—not to grieve for too long. It's okay to cry, but…"
The message cut off.
The orb went dark.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then—
A sound escaped Elara's lips.
A choked, broken sob.
And then—
Her wails filled the room.
She clutched the orb to her chest as though it were Amon himself, as though holding it tightly enough could bring him back. But there was no warmth, no heartbeat, no mischievous grin waiting for her at the end of a prank.
Just emptiness.
And loss.
-----
Thousands of star systems away, a sleek black ship drifted through the endless void, its polished surface shimmering under the distant glow of a dying star. It was small, nearly imperceptible against the vastness of space, swallowed by the darkness that surrounded it.
Inside, in the dim glow of the cabin, Amon gritted his teeth as he pushed his body past its limits. Sweat dripped from his skin, his muscles screaming in protest, but he did not stop.
Perched on his shoulder, Perses flapped his crimson wings, watching him with something between amusement and exasperation.
"Brat, are you sure about this?" The bird's voice was edged with disbelief. "You do realize we could just die out here, right?"
Amon exhaled sharply, pushing himself up once more.
"Shut up."
"You could have left me with that damn watch of yours—at least that way, I'd be part of your legacy instead of whatever this insanity is."
Amon smirked, finally dropping onto his back, staring up at the curved metal ceiling above him. His breath came in ragged gasps, but his eyes still burned with determination.
"And how exactly do you expect me to face my opponent's, sparrow ?" he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. "By throwing hands ?"
Perses fluffed his feathers indignantly. "I am not a sparrow, you little shit."
Amon laughed, chest rising and falling with exhaustion.
Despite everything—despite the grief, the war, —he was still alive.