The Last Step Chapter 120: You’re My Toy

Sylaphine’s Perspective:

1/1/2018 - 12:18 PM

While Kaiser’s body remained bound to my magic, I indulged myself with a little curiosity. That witch and her companion still lingered in my labyrinth, didn’t they?

Closing my eyes, I extended my consciousness through the thin threads of mana that linked to every living thing inside this maze. It was a simple matter to peer through Lily’s eyes — and there she was, stumbling lost through corridors of my design.

But Celia and Lucas... gone.

"Oh? Did they abandon her?" My lips curved into a thin, amused smile. "Running for their lives like frightened animals when the predator begins the hunt."

How foolish. They still didn’t understand — in my domain, there is no escape.

Show where they are, I whispered through the current of thought.

At once, faint glimrs of light flared before my mind’s eye — four fireflies. They drifted sowhere unknown, transmitting everything they saw.

"Good little eyes," I murmured, brushing invisible strands of magic between my fingers. "Not rely decoration... but perfect informants. You’ve served well."

The images ca in fragnts — the witch’s white hair, the faint glow of Lucas’ magic, their desperation painted clearly enough. My amusent grew colder.

"Pathetic. They don’t even realize they never had a chance."

I turned my gaze to Kaiser. His broken form lay still, half-repaired by my healing magic, yet still defiant in its quietness.

"You’ve irritated more than anything has in the last few millennia," I said softly, a dangerous purr in my voice. "Let’s see what kind of toy you make."

With a snap of my fingers, the air rippled. The world shifted. The ruins and labyrinth lted away, replaced by a vast white room — empty, infinite, without door or window.

No escape.

Kaiser lay before — whole again, healed, breathing. Yet unmoving.

"...Strange." I knelt beside him, frowning faintly.

Closing my eyes, I whispered a short incantation. The glyphs spiraled beneath my hands, tracing light across his chest, sinking into the essence of his being. My magic reached deeper — beyond the flesh, beyond the thread of vitality, into the soul.

Nothing.

That... shouldn’t be possible. His consciousness should have remained tethered to his vessel — bound by my authority. Even death bends beneath .

My eyes opened, sharp and gleaming. "Did soone take you... from ?"

I focused harder, peeling through the invisible layers of spirit and mory, searching for any residual presence.

And then—

Kaiser’s body twitched.

A dry cough escaped his throat, followed by another, harsher one. His fingers clawed weakly at the ground as if dragging himself back into existence.

I tilted my head slightly, watching in silence as he stirred. His face pressed against the white floor, breath ragged.

"...You’re awake," I said finally, voice soft as silk but heavy with promise. My lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. "Good. I was starting to get bored."

I rose gracefully to my feet, looking down at him as though addressing a kneeling subject.

"I’m going to enjoy this."

I took a single step forward — my heel clicking against the white floor — and pressed him back down with it.

My heel resting upon his head, forcing it back down where he belongs. Squishing it as much as I desire.

"Don’t move," I said quietly.

"See how easily I can pin you beneath ? That’s your entire life now."

He tried to speak, his breath uneven. "You’re... wrong—"

"Wrong?" I tilted my head, smiling faintly. "You couldn’t even protect your own body from dying, and you want to argue?"

I leaned closer, voice dropping to a low, venomous whisper.

"Tell , Kaiser. How does it feel — realizing everything you’ve done ant nothing?"

He didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t. The silence itself was my victory.

I pressed my heel down slightly harder, just enough to make him wince. "See? Even the ground knows your place now."

Then I sighed, lowering myself beside him, kneeling gracefully. My fingers reached for his hair, lifting his face.

He flinched. Good. Fear suits him better than defiance.

"You amuse ," I murmured, my tone soft but cutting. "So fragile. So painfully aware of your own insignificance. That’s why I’ll keep you alive — to remind you what power truly feels like."

"Look at you... so small, so foolish. This is exactly where you belong."

I traced a symbol in the air — green threads of energy spiraling from my fingertip — and pressed it gently against his forehead.

The sigil burned faintly, like a crest made of living light.

"This is my mark," I said. "The Slave Crest. It binds your will, your strength, your deceit — all to ."

He stared, wide-eyed, voice trembling. "Y–You can’t—"

"I already have."

I smiled. "It’s permanent. A gift, if you think of it properly."

The mark shimred, glowing faintly before sinking into his skin.

"Pathetic," I muttered, rising to my feet again. "Even your resistance is pitifully human."

I turned away slightly, resting a hand on my hip, observing my new toy

I turned my gaze downward again, eyes narrowing. "Look at , Toy.."

Slowly, trembling, he did.

"Good," I said. "Now rember that feeling — that crawling realization that no matter what tricks you plan, or lies you weave, you’ll always kneel to sothing greater."

"Because I own you."

Kaiser’s eyes flickered — resentnt and anger, both useless emotions. I raised a hand, green light shimring along my palm.

"We’ll see how much of that defiance remains after your body learns obedience."

The sigil on his forehead pulsed once. His spine straightened without consent. Good.

"Stand."

The command rang clear, weighty with enchantnt. His limbs jerked, stiff at first, then moved smoothly, guided by my will. He rose unsteadily to his feet, every motion not his own.

"Now," I continued, tone calm as water, "walk."

He took one step forward, then another. The sound of his bare feet against the floor was almost musical — rhythm dictated by . I circled him slowly, watching the faint shimr of the crest with quiet satisfaction.

"You see?" I said. "Every second you obey shows your worth."

He tried to speak — perhaps to protest, perhaps to beg — but the spell locked his jaw mid‑word. I allowed a small smile.

"You’ll talk when I choose. Try again."

His mouth opened. "...What are you doing to ?"

"I’m teaching you," I replied, "how to be a good obedient toy."

"Kneel."

With a flick of my wrist, the invisible threads adjusted, forcing him to kneel again — perfectly straight, hands at his sides. His eyes trembled upward toward .

"Do it properly, or I will punish your already pathetic life."

He complied instantly, the motion fluid, precise — beautiful, almost.

"Yes," I murmured. "Like that. Perfect... utterly useless."

I paced around him, every footstep deliberate. "You’ll learn to respond before you think. When I say ’sit,’ you sit. When I say ’speak,’ you speak. When I say ’silence’—" I snapped my fingers. The sound died from his throat. "—you stop."

He looked panicked for a heartbeat, then still. The crest pulsed again, glowing faintly beneath my command.

"Good," I said softly, standing behind him now. "You’re beginning to understand what you are."

Another gesture — he rose again. His movents were smoother this ti, less resistance, more rhythm. Progress.

"Walk to ." He obeyed, steps steady, breath shallow.

"Stop." He froze mid‑motion, body locked.

I studied him, arms crossed. "Not bad. You follow orders faster than you think."

His eyes darted toward , struggling to et mine.

"You may speak."

His voice was low, strained. "You’re turning into—"

"Into sothing useful," I interrupted, tone sharp but unraised. "A servant who acts when commanded, not when tempted by pride."

I let a brief pause linger, letting the silence stretch until he swallowed nervously.

"Again. Kneel." He dropped instantly.

"Raise your head." He did.

"Lower it." He obeyed.

"Better," I murmured, fingers brushing the air like a conductor guiding a symphony. "You learn quickly when your body does the thinking for you."

I smiled faintly — patting his head and ruffling his hair.

"Good boy," I said. "You’re starting to understand the order of things."

"I—" He tried to talk back.

"Still thinking you have words left," I mused. "Let’s correct that."

I raised a hand; the mark responded. A pulse of light rippled through him.

"Speak." No sound erged. His mouth moved, but only a thin static rasped out, fading into silence.

"Try again. Say sothing." He struggled, jaw working uselessly. The noise that ca was faint, distorted—a hollow echo that almost resembled laughter.

I smiled. "Adorable."

He clenched his fists, trembling. I tilted my head. "How does it feel to have nothing to say?"

The silence pressed harder. Even his breathing seed afraid to exist.

I let it linger before releasing a soft exhale, snapping my fingers. The spell eased; his next gasp was audible again, shaky and small.

"Now then," I said, stepping closer, my tone lighter but no less sharp. "What was your na again?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but the mont he ford the first syllable, it dissolved into air.

"Oh right," I said gently, tapping my chin. "I forgot your na... it doesn’t matter. Toy, co closer."

He hesitated. The crest flared, and his feet carried him forward against his will.

"Nas," I continued, "are for those who matter. You do not." He lowered his head, eyes shadowed.

"Who are you, really?" I asked. "Just a toy beneath my attention."

For a heartbeat, even his thoughts seed to falter. Perfect.

Then I smiled again, this ti almost kindly. "Let’s see if you rember how to speak with purpose."

Another pulse of magic freed his voice. "Tell how much of a cockroach you are."

He blinked, confused. "What?"

I raised an eyebrow. "No, say it properly. As if you an it."

He swallowed, voice shaking. "I... I am a cockroach."

"Louder."

"I am a cockroach."

"Again."

His voice broke the stillness, louder each ti until the words sounded hollow, aningless.

I leaned slightly forward. "Even your voice belongs to now."

He stayed there for a long mont, head bowed. Slowly, of his own accord this ti, he lowered himself onto one knee and bowed fully.

"Good. Those insults aged poorly. Like you.."

"So," I murmured, pacing around him. "You once called what? A milf... used, experienced—how did you phrase it?"

He flinched but didn’t answer.

"I rember," I continued. "You said you rarely take suggestions, let alone orders. You believed you were untouchable."

I stopped behind him, voice low. "Let’s test that belief again, shall we?"

My magic shimred faintly; the floor beneath him shifted into a circle of faint light.

"Sit."

He resisted for a heartbeat. Then his knees bent, body folding as if gravity itself had doubled.

"Good boy," I said. "Now, tell what I am."

He hesitated, words catching. "You are... my owner."

I tilted my head. "No. Say it with weight. Speak as though you’ve realized what stands before you."

He looked up, eting my gaze. "You are my master. My teacher. My ruler."

"Better."

I leaned forward slightly. "And what does that make you?"

"...your slave," he admitted quietly. "Servant. Pet."

My lips curved faintly. "Then speak it properly. Say you were wrong."

He closed his eyes. "I was wrong."

"Say it all."

"I was wrong to mock you... wrong to think you were beneath ."

"Continue."

"I spoke out of arrogance," he said, voice steadying. "I should’ve seen your strength. Your grace. Your purity within beauty."

The words ca haltingly, but genuine. He wasn’t repeating orders anymore—he was speaking the truth he’d swallowed for too long.

Satisfied, I let the next command hum with quiet mischief. "You said you never take orders. Yet here you are. Sit straighter."

He did.

"Now... bark."

His jaw clenched; the command struck pride, not body. The mont of hesitation showed the fracture in his ego.

He finally released a short, quiet sound—not loud, not comical, but symbolic. A surrender of will.

I smiled. "There. Reality corrects arrogance faster than words."

The air shimred as I drew my hand through the air; light gathered, forming an ornate, crystalline seat—a throne woven from erald light and faint silver filigree.

"I am sowhat satisfied for now," I said finally, voice calm but edged with amusent. "After how much you insulted , this much obedience suits you."

He didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. His bowed head on the floor, the silence, the stillness—each said enough.

And in that stillness, the tension between us dissolved into sothing quieter, almost reverent. A recognition.

The air shimred as I summoned my throne—a bloom of erald light and woven glass. I lowered myself onto it with deliberate grace, legs crossed, chin lifted. Below, he remained bowed, forehead brushing the marble floor. Good. At least he had learned that much.

"I’ll soon have to deal with your friends," I muttered, voice half‑lost to the hum of my own magic. The thought irritated ; another burden.

I closed my eyes for a mont, letting the silence pool between us.

Yet sothing clawed faintly at the back of my mind—an echo I couldn’t place. When I looked at him again, those blue eyes caught off guard. They reminded of sothing... a warning, long ago. Years ago... But the mory refused to form.

"Tell ," I said finally, my tone commanding but soft enough to sound almost thoughtful. "Before this place, what was your life like?"

He stayed bowed as he spoke, his voice muffled by the stone. "I... I was born in a small village in Celestine. My parents were farrs—simple people. They were killed when monsters raided the fields. I joined the adventurer guild after that, and did whatever I could to survive. Celia and Lucas found later, and said I could help them with their expeditions. I carried their supplies, tended to the campfires. It wasn’t much, but at least I belonged sowhere. I did all their chores and duties..."

His words carried no lies; the mark on his forehead made sure of that. As the slave mark also ensures honesty from its bearer.

I tilted my head, my gaze narrowing slightly. "Then why," I asked, "did you join them in hunting My Lord Myriacron—the savior, the god who guards this land?"

"The primor—" he stopped mid‑word as my eyes flared. I didn’t need to speak; a flick of my wrist sent a sharp pulse of magic through the mark. He gasped, trembling.

"I‑I was only following orders!" he stamred. "Lucas and Celia... they command . I do what they say. I’m weak, useless. I can’t defy them... I can’t even fight properly..."

"Good." My voice cut through his panic like ice. "You know your worth. And I believe you."

A smirk touched my lips. The mark pulsed faintly on his skin—truth confird.

But the unease inside didn’t fade. There was still sothing missing, sothing fatal beyond my reach.

He dared to lift his eyes a little, studying my face as if searching for rcy maybe?

I leaned back in my throne, resting one arm along the carved edge, the other propping my chin. My posture stayed elegant, but my eyes sharpened like a blade drawn halfway from its sheath.

I should check the past mories of my fairies, searching if sothing along the lines of ’Kaiser Everhart’ exists...

"Maybe I should recheck the mark too," I mused aloud. "Just to be safe."

"Master." he interrupted suddenly, voice shaking. "What shall I do? Please, order ."

The words froze for half a breath. So the spell had truly settled. Complete obedience—not forced, but accepted.

"Remain quiet," I said at last.

He lowered his head again, silent for a mont... then whispered, "You’re beautiful, Master. Your hair, your eyes... everything. I was blind to insult you before. Please forgive ."

"Your presence is heavenly. The purest form of life I’ve ever witnessed. I am grateful for having the sight to admire your beauty..."

For once, I blinked—caught between irritation and sothing like faint surprise. Perhaps he wasn’t compelled this ti. Perhaps he truly ant it.

"...Good," I said, regaining composure. "You shall refrain from ever mocking again. And you will rember your owner."

"Yes, Master," he answered softly.

I closed my eyes, sinking inward — through layers of thought, mory, and the ancient whisper of mana that bound my mind to the collective of my kin. Kaiser Everhart.

The na drifted through the current like a foreign spark. I searched the vast, glimring lattice of my past — every pact, every warning, every whisper from my fairies and from Sylaris herself.

Nothing. Not a single ntion of him.

And yet... this shallow, nagging sense of caution wouldn’t fade.

He knelt there before , head bowed, body still trembling faintly from the crest’s pull. But what unsettled wasn’t his obedience — it was his contradiction.

The way he once stood against , again and again got back up, defiant even in agony. That fire, that raw tenacity — no farr’s son should possess that.

He said he was weak. Powerless. That he rely carried bags for Celia and Lucas.

But that fighting style... that instinct to rise... it doesn’t grow from helplessness.

The crest burns truth into all who wear it — so his words were true. But truth and the whole truth are rarely the sa thing.

"Then why can’t I believe you?" I whispered to myself, tapping a finger against the arm of my throne. "Why can’t I let my guard down, even now?"

My search stretched on, threads of mory unraveling through the ages until — there. A flicker. A single echo in the web of past communications between and my kin.

The na surfaced like a long‑forgotten lody.

Ivy.

Ah, yes... Ivy. A fairy of exceptional promise. Her illusions could fool even other races— elegant, intricate, almost divine. I rembered her now, a soft‑spoken creature with purple eyes. She was gifted with both Illusion and Arcane Weave, a dual talent so rare that even Sylaris herself envied her.

Years ago, I had allowed her to leave the forest — to study at the Solarenne Academy of Sorcery, deep within the Asura Empire. She was once scouted and was invited to enroll there.

A calculated decision. I needed a set of eyes within human civilization, and she needed a world vast enough to test the limits of her wings.

The Academy, if mory serves, divided its students by potential and achievent.

Not those crude letters they used — A, B, C — but by rit:

Perfected Talents, the prodigies who shaped mana as if born from it.

Gifted Talents, those with remarkable promise and ambition.

Fortunate Talents, who possessed skill but lacked either vision or will.

Ivy was placed among the Gifted. Not the highest rank, but far above the mundane.

The last ssage she ever sent to ca during her first year. I rember because she sounded... excited. They were preparing for sothing — a great test, she called it.

An Island Examination.

A trial of teamwork and survival between the three divisions.

Her words had been lighthearted, confident. "We’ll win this ti, Mother Sylaphine. Class B will outshine them all."

I smiled faintly at the mory — before it dissolved into the silence of the present. Because after that... there was only one ssage.

The web went dark.

And for the first ti in a long while, I felt a chill settle beneath my skin.

I carefully opened it...

The mory didn’t co to gently. It clawed its way out of the dark — jagged, cold, and wrong.

It was the last night of the Island Examination. I rember because the air across the fae‑web trembled. The mana currents that carried my fairies’ voices flickered like dying candles. Ivy’s ssages reached first — fractured, shaking, nearly swallowed by the storm that roared through her words.

For the previous days, everything had seed so ordinary. Ivy had written bright, proud things. Her class — the Gifted Talents — had been leading by a wide margin. She boasted about their strategy, about their leader — Victor Sterling, son of Monsieur Sterling, one of the Asura Empire’s high nobles and a Knight of Order. A human blessed with far too many gifts and a reputation for impossible luck.

Ivy spoke of him with a kind of reverence. Said he led twenty of their classmates with a calm, unshakable confidence. Said his laughter made people follow without question. I even rember teasing her — "Careful, little one, humans like that burn fast."

But on the last day, the sky split.

And at 2:03 AM, her voice reached again.

The tone wasn’t Ivy. It was sothing smaller — raw, quivering, choked with sobs and rain.

"M‑mother...? P‑please... save ... it’s cold. It’s so cold. I‑I can’t... breathe..."

Her connection stuttered. The link between us hissed with static mana. I felt my wings tremble.

"Ivy, calm yourself," I said through the tether. "Where are you?"

Her breath ca fast and broken.

"T‑the forest, m‑mother. I‑I’m hiding. They’re gone. They’re all gone—"

"Who?"

"My classmates! T‑they were just here— we made camp— and then— the storm— the screams— I‑I ran! P‑please, I’m sorry! I didn’t an to leave them!"

Her voice cracked mid‑sentence, sothing thudding in the background — branches snapping, footsteps maybe.