The silence after Invidia’s retreat was thick, pressing down on the crater like a suffocating blanket. The wind, no longer wild with the fury of battle, whispered weakly over the scorched earth. Dawn’s pale light crept over the crater’s edge, painting the destruction in soft gold—uncaring, impartial.
Arthur flickered like a dying candle, his form barely solid. He felt hollow, scraped raw from within by the power he’d unleashed. Every breath was an effort.
Beside him, Lusica knelt, his breathing steady. The golden sword of his reforged oath stood planted in the dirt, its light dim but unbroken.
And he was smiling.
Not the sharp grin of victory. Not the bright laughter of joy.
It was the quiet, fragile smile of a man who had forgotten what his own happiness looked like. The expression of a prisoner stepping into sunlight after decades in the dark. More painful than any shout of triumph.
Arthur’s voice was a ragged whisper. "First ti I’ve seen you do that."
Lusica’s smile didn’t widen, but it settled, beca more real. He turned his hands over, studying them—no longer the twisted claws of shadow, but solid flesh traced with faint golden sigils. The marks of his oath.
"I forgot what it felt like," he admitted. His voice was low, clear. Stripped of the howling agony that had haunted it for so long. "To not hear the screaming."
He turned his gaze to Arthur. For the first ti, there was no abyss in his eyes. Only quiet, unwavering loyalty.
"You shared your burden. I saw everything. The crown. Your father. The despair."
Arthur exhaled, his own mories flashing—Lusica’s past, his suffering. "And I saw yours. Lux. The running. The end." He t his friend’s eyes. "No one should have to carry that alone."
A comfortable silence settled between them. Words weren’t needed. The battle was won, but the cost had been imnse. Arthur could feel his connection to the world fraying, his form flickering like a guttering fla.
Lusica pushed to his feet, his movents stiff but steady. The golden sword dissolved into light, absorbed back into his arm. "We can’t stay here," he said, voice firm. "Invidia’s gone, but that blast was a beacon. Anything in this layer will co."
Arthur tried to stand. His legs wavered, his form shuddering violently. He was smoke, barely holding shape.
Lusica was there in an instant, gripping his shoulder. The touch was solid. An anchor.
"Easy," Lusica said. "You’re empty. Let ."
Without ceremony, he hauled Arthur onto his back. A strange reversal—once, Arthur had carried Lusica through the wastes. Now, it was the reforged knight who bore the flickering king.
Arthur chuckled weakly. "This is becoming a habit."
Lusica adjusted his grip. "I don’t mind." He began the slow climb out of the crater. "I owe you more than this."
At the rim, two figures ca sprinting toward them.
"Arthur!" Tiara’s voice rang out, sharp with relief.
Ali was beside her, his usual calm shattered by frantic worry. They skidded to a halt, eyes widening as they took in the devastation—the crater, Arthur’s fading form, Lusica’s golden-tinged presence.
"We saw the light," Ali panted. "Then the darkness. We thought—"
"We won. Sort of." Arthur managed a weak smile. "He got away."
Tiara’s gaze locked onto Lusica. No fear—just wary curiosity. "You’re the one from the cage."
Lusica nodded. "My na is Lusica." His voice was formal, but not cold. "I am in his debt."
"He’s with ," Arthur confird.
Tiara exhaled, then hardened. "What now?"
Arthur looked west, toward distant Garden—and beyond. "Now, we rest. Regroup." His voice was faint but firm. "Then we ascend. Invidia won’t stop. And I still have soone to find."
Diana. He didn’t say her na. He didn’t need to.
Ali nodded. "There are caves in the foothills. Defensible. We’ll camp there."
Lusica adjusted his grip. Together, they moved. Battered. Exhausted. Hunted.
But not alone.
The cave was a pocket of stillness in a world still trembling from their battle. Ali’s conjured spiritfire crackled, casting flickering warmth over the four figures inside.
Arthur lay nearest the flas, his form translucent, deep in a healing trance. His breathing was slow, steady—his soul stitching itself back together.
Ali sat cross-legged, polishing a sigil-stone with quiet focus. Lusica stood guard at the entrance, his golden aura now subdued, no longer blazing.
Tiara watched him, curiosity warring with caution. Finally, she approached.
"He ntioned a na," she said softly. "Alka. He said he knew you there."
Lusica didn’t turn. "Alka was my world," he said, voice low. "It was real. Now it’s a ghost."
Tiara hesitated. "What happened?"
Silence. Then, wearily: "Alka was dying. Then he ca." A nod toward Arthur. "The Seika of Living Beings. He didn’t just give us hope—he gave us victory. We built a golden age from the ashes." His voice turned hollow. "And I was his knight."
A pause. The wind whistled past the cave mouth.
"To bind us, he gifted pieces of his soul to his closest companions."
Tiara’s eyes widened. Such a thing was unheard of.
"There was a battle. A terrible one. We lost. The Seika... was gone. I thought him dead." Lusica’s hands clenched. "In my grief, my loyalty twisted. If his soul was scattered, I would gather it—even from those he’d gifted."
He forced the next words out, each one heavy with sha. "I hunted them. A woman nad Ai... and another." His voice cracked. "Diana. I tried to kill them. To bring him back."
Tiara froze.
Diana.
Their friend.
This man had tried to murder her.
She stepped back, fury rising. "You—"
Lusica cut her off, voice breaking. "I failed. Then he returned—only to erase it all. Our world. Our lives. Gone. But he left us with the mory."
His eyes burned with agony. "I rember my sins. The guilt fed the Naless. I deserved its tornt."
Silence.
Ali had stopped polishing, his expression grim.
Tiara stood rigid, heart pounding. The act was unforgivable.
Yet the reason—mad, grief-stricken loyalty—was a tragedy beyond asure.
"You tried to kill Diana," she said flatly.
"Yes." Lusica didn’t flinch. "If that tiline remained, I’d be dead by her hand—or his. I deserve nothing less."
Arthur stirred, murmuring in his sleep:
"Diana..."
The nas hung in the air. A real past. A real sin.
Tiara closed her eyes. Her mission hadn’t changed.
But the weight of it all—Arthur’s burden, Lusica’s guilt—was heavier now.
The past wasn’t a ghost.
It was a scar.
And they all bore it.
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