The battlefield held its breath.
Blood dripped. Thick. Measured.
Aelius stood rigid, his body locked in the frozen frame of a man whose chest cavity had just been pierced through—yet hadn't fallen. Not yet.
The hand, pale and inhumanly smooth, was still there—curled through flesh and bone like it belonged. It held his heart, pulsing sluggishly, caught between contractions.
Then—
It vanished.
The hand.
The presence.
The invader.
Gone in a blink—no flash of teleportation, no magical recoil, no gust of vanishing displacement. One moment it was inside Aelius. The next, it was simply elsewhere.
And across the crater, beside the assembled Oración Seis, something new stood.
A tall figure, lean and serpent-still, now stood at Racer's left shoulder—though no one had seen him arrive. As if he'd been there all along, just unseen by time and truth. The Oración Seis didn't react—no surprise, no acknowledgment. If anything, their stances loosened, as though their true hand had finally been played.
He was draped in layered garments like cascading scrolls—robes of shifting ink and dull azure, etched with constantly mutating glyphs that writhed across the cloth like worms under vellum. His skin was the sheen of sculpted porcelain, too smooth, too still.
And on his forehead, etched in a deep, scarring mark, was a symbol—not quite a cross, not quite a star. A twisted sigil of convergence, like four pointed paths drawn inward toward a spiral core, glowing faintly with an iridescent blue-pink shimmer. A nexus. A truth-split intersection of will, thought, change, and madness.
In one hand—
Aelius's heart.
Still beating.
He tossed it into the air lightly, again and again, catching it with an almost absentminded grace—like a child with a rubber ball. Each catch sent a little splatter of blood down his sleeve, which soaked into his robes and vanished, absorbed by the glyphs like ink on paper.
The heart twitched in his palm—still beating. Still warm.
A soft slap of blood echoed each time he caught it like a toy.
But all eyes were not on him.
They were on Aelius.
He still stood.
Chest torn open. Blood staining the earth. His cloak cleaved, ribs cracked wide, and the hollow in his torso where a heart should be pulsing with raw, wet muscle. He should have collapsed. He should have died seconds ago.
And yet—he hadn't even fallen to one knee.
For a moment, silence reigned.
Then—
"Mister!"
Wendy broke from formation. She sprinted forward, boots kicking up dust, hands already glowing with sky-blue healing light.
"I'm here—hold still—I can fix it—just—"
But as she drew near, her breath caught.
She froze two feet from him, eyes wide.
"…What…?"
The wound was already closing.
Slowly—but undeniably.
The mangled edge of torn muscle twitched, strands pulling back toward one another as if magnetized. Threads of tissue curled and slithered inward, ribs knitting at a crawl. No spell active. No enchantment spoken.
Just raw will and something else.
Something older.
Wendy raised a trembling hand—but Aelius turned his head and looked at her. Just once, then reached out.
His fingers touched her wrist—gently, firmly.
"No," he said.
His voice was flat. Quiet.
But it left no room for argument.
She hesitated. Her hands shook.
"…But it's your heart, I—"
His grip remained steady.
"Go back."
She obeyed.
Eyes wide, breath shallow, Wendy stumbled a step back—more shaken by what she saw than what she couldn't fix.
Behind her, the rest of Fairy Tail held their ground—watching. Surprised, horrified, mildly shaken.
Their expressions were grim, determined—yet completely composed.
It was the others who noticed.
Lyon from Lamia Scale narrowed his eyes. "What the hell is wrong with them?"
Yuka took a half step forward. "He's missing his heart. They should be—"
Toby swallowed hard, clutching the hilt of his weapon with both hands. "He should be dead. He has to be dead."
The Trimens stood frozen. Ren, ever the smooth one, had no clever words. Hibiki's Archive flickered faintly around him, scanning Aelius's vitals—but the results refused to stabilize.
"No reading," Hibiki muttered. "It's like he's… rewriting his own body."
Eve stepped back. "Did he just deny a healing spell?"
No one answered.
They all watched as Aelius remained upright, the hole in his chest slowly crawling closed like time itself obeyed him. The magic in the air had changed—subtle, heavy. Not loud. But present.
Weighty.
Like something deeper than life or death had taken root in him long ago.
Ren shook his head. "Fairy Tail's just… standing there. Like they expected this."
"They did," Lyon murmured. "Look at them."
And they did.
Natsu's fire didn't waver. Gray's stance didn't break. Erza's sword never dipped. Lucy didn't cry out. Even Happy watched with strange, quiet stillness.
It wasn't ignorance.
It was trust.
Like they knew something the others didn't.
Jura, who stood slightly behind Erza, glanced between the guild and Aelius, finally understanding.
"…They've seen this before," he said aloud. "They've seen him survive worse."
Across the battlefield, the man let Aelius's heart rest in his palm like a sacrament—flesh and blood offered not in reverence, but in mockery.
He looked down at it, then up at Aelius, grinning wide.
"Hmm… you know what, N?"
His voice was bright—too bright. Cheerful like a street performer about to unveil a gruesome trick.
"I'm in a good mood today."
He rolled the heart along his knuckles like a coin, blood dripping in lazy arcs that vanished before hitting the dirt.
"Soooo…"
He spun the heart once more and caught it midair with a soft slap.
"I'll give you a bit. Call it a mercy minute—say your goodbyes, glare into the void, whatever helps you process the... finality of things."
He raised a finger as if offering some grand truth.
"I know, I know—I'm being too nice, but hey, what can ya do?" His shoulders lifted in an exaggerated shrug. "I'm just thoughtful like that."
Aelius glared.
The man stepped to the side, making a slow, sweeping gesture toward Aelius with his free hand.
"Come now, N. All this dread in your bones—you've earned a farewell."
His grin sharpened at the edges, no longer just amused. Almost hungry.
"Last words and all."
The silence after was thick.
No one moved.
Not Fairy Tail.
Not Lamia Scale.
Not Blue Pegasus.
All eyes locked on Aelius.
And Aelius?
He said nothing.
Not to Wendy.
Not to Erza.
Not to any of them.
His silence spoke louder than any parting speech could.
And the man smiled all the wider for it.
The man's voice still lingered in the air, sing-song and cruel:
"Last words and all."
It was Erza who finally broke the silence, her voice low and taut, fraying at the edges.
"…What does he mean by that?"
Aelius didn't answer.
He didn't turn.
Didn't flinch.
Instead, he began walking—one slow, steady step after another—toward the man still casually holding his heart like a trinket.
His blood trailed behind him, slowing with each step.
His cloak dragged like a curtain at the end of a play.
As he approached, the man's grin widened.
"No farewell tour? No tragic goodbyes?"
Aelius didn't stop.
"You make it sound like I actually care about them."
He said it flatly, without venom, as if it were a clinical admission. A truth he'd repeated so often it had lost any emotional texture.
"Let's get this over with."
The man gave a low, pleased hum—like a father proud of a wayward son who'd finally come home.
And then, without fanfare, he reached out.
Just two fingers.
Placed them lightly on Aelius's shoulder.
And the two of them disappeared.
No flash. No sound. No ripple.
Just gone.
Like breath into frost.
What remained was only blood on the ground.
And silence.
And the growing certainty among those left behind—that wherever Aelius had just gone…
…he hadn't expected to come back.
Aelius blinked.
Just once.
When his eyes opened again, he was standing in a clearing—vast, uneven, and soaked in silence.
The trees encircling the space loomed high and old, twisted into unnatural angles, bark darkened by age or some deeper stain. The ground beneath him was a patchwork of dirt, broken roots, and blackened stone, as though fire and time had taken turns reshaping the earth.
There was no wind.
No birdsong.
But from the treetops—far off in the near distance—he could still see the smoke.
A pillar of black and gray curling into the sky like a raised finger, marking the crash site of the Christina.
The battlefield was close.
But not too close.
Just as he'd said.
Aelius exhaled once, shallow and controlled. The air here tasted strange—tinged with something metallic, something magical and migratory, like the residue of too many spells cast over the same ground for too many years.
Then—he heard it.
Laughter.
Sharp. Unhinged.
And rising.
His eyes shifted.
There.
Hovering three feet above the clearing's center, midair and completely still—except for the convulsions of his own laughter—was the man.
His body was bent in a bizarre, contorted position: knees drawn toward his chest, back arched, arms spread like a bird frozen mid-collapse. He didn't float in a straight line, either—he hovered tilted, almost upside-down, as if gravity had given up trying to understand him.
He clutched Aelius's still heart in one hand.
And he was laughing.
Uncontrollably.
Shrieking with joy.
Not the elegant, rehearsed amusement he wore before the others.
This was raw.
Ugly.
Genuine.
"Ah-hahaha—he came!" he wheezed between fits, clutching at his own side as his laughter bent him further backward in the air. "He actually came!"
Aelius didn't move.
Didn't blink.
The man twisted in midair, spinning lazily while still shrieking with laughter, like a ragdoll dancing through a hurricane only he could feel.
His voice echoed down from above, ragged from amusement.
"Oh, N... you still take everything so seriously! It's adorable!"
He slowed, finally—floating now in a half-reclined pose, as if lying comfortably on invisible furniture.
His smile remained, but his breathing was still uneven, ecstatic from whatever joke he was living through.
"Tell me, was it the worry? The pity in her voice? Or just that damned look in Erza's eyes?"
He twirled the heart once between his fingers like a coin.
"You walked in here like you planned it."
He leaned forward slightly—just enough for his eyes to glint.
"But we both know you never left."
Aelius's gaze didn't waver as the laughter finally began to die down.
The man still floated above him—hovering in a crooked, lounging posture as though the air itself bent to cradle him—but the hysteria had faded into a wide, satisfied grin.
Aelius took one step forward.
And spoke.
"Enough."
The word struck like a blade through fog.
No fury. No volume.
Just finality.
A breath passed, then another.
"What are you doing here?" Aelius asked. "Why now? What do you want?"
The man tilted his head at an angle that should've broken his neck—his expression still bright, like a child caught mid-mischief.
"Ohhh, that old game," he purred. "Straight lines and tidy motives."
He spun once in the air, slow and deliberate, until he was hovering belly-down like a lizard on an invisible branch.
"Nirvana," he said simply. "That's what brought me here. That's why I'm with the Seis."
He waved his free hand in a lazy circle, as though brushing aside the significance.
"Big thing. Ancient. Magical. World-flipping nonsense. It's cute, really—like someone left the key to the world's mood swings lying around and thought it was profound."
He rolled his eyes, voice flattening with boredom.
"It's nothing special. Just large scale. Just another weapon pretending to be philosophy."
He dropped his head, exhaled sharply through his nose.
"But now… now I'm bored of it."
He flipped in the air and fell backward into a floating recline again, heart still held aloft in one hand like a drink he was too lazy to sip.
"I've found something else," he continued.
"No… two things."
His voice dropped in tone—somewhere between glee and reverence.
"Or rather… two people."
He twirled his fingers and chuckled, whispering to himself now, as if forgetting Aelius was even present.
"Well… technically, one person…" he mused.
His eyes flicked downward—toward Aelius—but unfocused, as though seeing something beneath the skin.
"…and one Aelius."
He laughed quietly again, more controlled this time, like a man retelling a private joke only he understood.
"Still need to figure out what you actually are, though," he murmured. "That'll be fun later. Future fun times. Yes…"
He nodded to himself, tapping Aelius's heart against his chin absently.
"Very fun."
Then his voice sharpened just slightly.
"But for now..."
He spun back upright in midair.
"…I want to see what breaks first."
The ground beneath Aelius began to change.
It started with a soft hiss—subtle, low, like air being drawn through dry teeth.
Then the soil cracked.
Lines spidered out beneath his feet—veins of plague-green light pulsing slowly in the dirt, curling outward in rings. The grass withered in an instant. Moss blackened. Roots recoiled like they were trying to dig themselves deeper, and stones turned brittle and flaked apart.
Decay.
Not loud.
Not showy.
But absolute.
The man's eyes widened—just slightly—as he floated higher, giving himself more vertical distance, palms rising like a magician calling for calm.
"Hey, hey, hey—none of the rotting death mist just yet," he said quickly, grinning as if humoring a child who just knocked over a vase. "We're not there yet."
He spun lazily in midair, flipping upside down and back again in a single motion.
"I just told you." he said, wagging a finger. "I want to see what breaks first—"
He stopped spinning, hovering upright now, arms wide, voice lowering with sudden clarity.
"Your mind…"
His smile sharpened.
"Or your body."
He let the words settle like a curse cast without magic.
Then slowly, delicately, he lowered Aelius's heart to hover in front of him, suspended midair by an invisible force. Its pulse matched the rot seeping from Aelius's feet.
The man kept walking slowly, hands clasped behind his back, pacing like a scholar winding toward a cruel conclusion.
"I've been wondering…" he said, half to himself, "if it's finally clicked. If you've pieced it all together."
He looked over his shoulder, smiling wide.
"But judging by how tame you've been so far…"
He stopped.
Turned to face Aelius fully.
"Probably not."
And then—
He changed.
No glow. No flare. No rupture of magic.
He simply became.
The shape twisted—expanded—settled.
And where the mocking trickster had stood a heartbeat ago, Caius now loomed.
Broad. Still. Solid as the death sentence in a warlord's mouth.
He grinned.
"What was it you said?" he asked, voice a low, gravelled echo. "You're incapable of learning?"
Then he laughed—deep and thundering.
And as he laughed, his voice shifted—pitch warping, tilting upward back into the theatrical mockery he'd used before.
"You literally called me out, and somehow you didn't figure it out!"
He doubled over, slapping a hand to his leg, laughter peeling louder, richer, sharper.
"God slayer of Calculation, ladies and gentlemen!"
He straightened again, still chuckling, shaking his head as if marveling at Aelius's blindness.
"Oh, N," he said, sighing through his grin. "This is going to be so much fun."
It hit Aelius harder than any attack.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
His hands slammed into his forehead, fingers digging into his temples as his knees buckled.
The world spun.
Pain—not just searing, but splitting—exploded behind his eyes like a star dying in reverse. It was raw, primal, not magical but interior—as if his own mind had turned on itself, trying to rip itself in half to make room for something it had refused to remember.
A sound tore from his throat. Not a scream.
A guttural, grinding exhale, forced out through clenched teeth.
Even he—who could stand through broken bones and flesh-eating poisons without blinking—couldn't fight this.
He staggered backward, barely able to see, his blood-slicked fingers trembling as they dragged through his hair. His heartbeat stuttered in his ears, pounding unevenly in time with the pain behind his skull. The magic etched into his bones—that steadied him, muted agony, filtered thought—shivered.
Faltered.
And above him, the man—still in the form of Caius—watched with a tilted head and something close to delight.
He let it go on.
Just a little longer.
Then—
"Right," he said, voice light and humming with amusement, "that's enough."
He waved one hand, almost lazily, like brushing dust from a table.
"Might as well dispel that. Can't have you breaking before we've even started. Where's the fun in that?"
And like a vice being released from Aelius's mind, the pressure stopped.
Snapped away.
The pain drained like floodwater through a cracked floor—suddenly, violently, leaving behind silence and shaking muscles.
Aelius collapsed to one knee, chest heaving.
He was still conscious. Still himself.
But barely.
Because whatever that was—it hadn't just hurt.
It had opened something.
And whatever it had opened was still there, pulsing beneath the floorboards of his thoughts like a second heartbeat trying to crawl out.
"I'll explain," the man said lightly, as though humoring a slow student. "Just in case you haven't realized it."
He waved a hand idly, not needing to smile—the moment was enough for him.
"Though I'm sure you do. You've always been the smarter one… between the three of you."
His voice tilted slightly on the last word, subtle and cutting.
Then, with a breath like a sigh of indulgence, the towering form of Caius peeled away. No ceremony. No magic burst. Just the shape folding inward like it had never truly belonged—until the man stood in his original form again, robed and lean, sigil glowing faintly at his brow, as calm as he was pleased.
He rolled his shoulders and dusted off his sleeves with a flick of the wrist.
"I'm not saying he's dead," he added, glancing sideways, almost matter-of-fact. "Caius is alive. Big, brooding, and very much still storming through whatever battlefield he's decided matters this week."
He looked back to Aelius.
A pause.
"I just wore his shape. Once."
He raised one finger, emphasizing the precision.
"After you came back to that quiet little guild of yours, all haunted silence and wounded pride. You weren't ready to trust people again—but you were ready to trust him."
A faint smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
"So I gave you him."
His tone dipped, just slightly—not fond, but focused.
"Just long enough to point you to Vanessa. Just long enough to nudge the right part of your path."
The man paused—
Then burst into laughter again.
Unhinged. Genuine. Ecstatic.
"Oh boy, was it hilarious!"
He spun on his heel like a performer basking in applause, arms spread wide as if recalling a favorite scene from a private play.
"You should've seen your face—her face—gods, the tension, the guilt, the emotional constipation just bleeding out of both of you like you were two broken mirrors trying to reflect each other."
He wiped a nonexistent tear from the corner of one eye, still laughing.
"You were so mean, man."
He turned his grin fully on Aelius now, sharp as glass.
"She's still crying, you know."
He raised both eyebrows innocently.
"Not literally, of course—though wouldn't that be poetic? No, no—internally. Deep. Stuck in that place where the grief got fossilized."
He mimed holding something heavy against his chest.
"You shoved so much of that excess sadness into her, it's like you turned the poor girl into her own domain."
He leaned in slightly, voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, eyes alight with gleeful malice.
"I think it broke her."
Then he straightened again and clapped his hands once, soft and mocking.
"Good job, Saint," the man said, clapping once, slowly, mockingly.
Then he tilted his head, tapping a finger thoughtfully against his cheek.
"Though… I wonder if it should really be good job me?"
His smile widened, teeth gleaming beneath eyes that glowed with quiet satisfaction.
"I was the one who put the idea in her mind, wasn't I?"
He began pacing again, hands folded behind his back, voice drifting like a poisoned breeze.
"Just a little suggestion. A few breadcrumbs. A carefully chosen silence. You know how delicate she is—how eager she is to fix what she doesn't understand."
He chuckled to himself.
"And then I gave her resources—the ring. Information. Direction. Pain with a purpose. Oh, not lies—nothing so crude. Just enough of the truth to let her spiral in the right direction."
He spun around to face Aelius again, taking a slow step forward.
"You might've sharpened the knife… but I'm the one who forged it."
He gestured grandly, as though unveiling a masterpiece no one had asked to see.
"All that grief? That trembling voice? The way she looked at you like you'd torn her open and still expected her to say thank you?"
He sighed, almost wistful.
"That wasn't just heartbreak, Aelius."
The words echoed, soft and final.
The man tilted his head, watching Aelius with idle curiosity—as if waiting for a machine to reboot after a satisfying crash.
Aelius hadn't moved.
Still on one knee.
His head hung lower, breath shallow but steady.
His hood had fallen during the episode—ripped away by the convulsions of that unbearable pressure—and now his hair spilled forward like a veil, hiding his face. Long strands draped toward the cracked ground beneath him, motionless but alive, as if waiting for gravity to make a choice.
The man exhaled loudly through his nose.
"Man, you're boring," he drawled, dragging the last word out like a child teasing a dog that won't chase the stick.
He kicked a loose pebble across the clearing.
"Maybe this'll put some pep in your step."
His tone shifted—slightly sharper now. More clinical. Less amused.
"See, since the moment you died—oh, and thank you for that, by the way, it made my little experiment so much easier—I've had some... things in place."
He held up a hand and mimed stacking cards.
"Call them blockers. Shifters. Behavioral dampeners. Just a few gentle edits in your mind, nothing messy. No chains. Just... pressure."
He circled Aelius slowly now, each step deliberate, voice curling tighter.
"I've seen everything you've done. The people you've tried to protect. The little systems you built to feel in control. And while I didn't push the pieces myself—oh no, I'm not greedy—I gave the board a nudge."
He paused behind Aelius, staring down at the man still frozen beneath his own hair.
"And you moved just how I hoped you would."
The man leaned in, voice almost whispering now.
"Everything since you clawed your way back into that sweet little happy ever after has been a lie, N."
He took a long breath through his teeth.
"You knew it, didn't you? You felt it. That tension under your skin, that voice behind your eyes, that itch in the quiet when the world was finally too still."
He stepped back into Aelius's view, arms spread.
"Because people like us—things like us—don't get the quiet ending. We don't get normal."
His grin returned, slow and wide.
"You should've known that the second someone said 'welcome back.'"
Aelius was still.
Unmoving.
Not even trembling.
And the man's grin—broad and easy—twitched.
Then sagged.
"…Seriously?" he muttered.
He took a few slow steps forward, now frowning in honest irritation.
"What, did the shock of the blockers finally kill you?" he scoffed, circling Aelius's prone form. "Wouldn't that be anticlimactic."
He stopped within reach, crouching slightly as if to poke a corpse with a stick.
"I mean, I thought you were tougher than this, N. All that pain resistance, all that brooding silence—what, you tap out now?"
He leaned in, tilting his head.
"That's boring. I was promised a reckoning."
Then—
Aelius moved.
Not slowly.
Not gradually.
Like a trap springing shut.
One instant, Aelius was a collapsed shadow—hair tangled, face hidden, body hunched in silence.
The next—
He exploded upward.
"It was you—me—it was me, that's what the whispers were," he snarled, voice laced with static, muttering in a pitch that stuttered between fury and madness. "My true self. The one you locked away. Hid behind wards and runes and lies."
His hands seized the man's collar. His fingers convulsed.
"That's why you showed yourself," he spat. "You knew it was close. You knew the real me was clawing its way out. Thats why they screamed."
He lifted the man effortlessly, voice rising into a cracked, manic hiss.
"Everything I did—everything—was you?! Levy—her—fake. Makarov? Fake. That sad little squad I walked in with, pretending to belong? All of it—you!"
And with that scream, he slammed the man into the dirt with a sickening crack, the ground shuddering beneath the blow.
Aelius's magic spilled out, rot curling into the man's flesh—but it didn't spread fast.
Not by choice.
It was crawling, inch by inch, because of the raw, ancient force beneath him—the thing he was trying to kill and could not.
Pinned beneath him, Nehzhar only grinned.
"I never said all of it was me," he said, almost thoughtfully. "You did it on your own. I just gave you a little nudge. Maybe softened a few sharp edges. Made you less… genocidal. More approachable."
He blinked once, mock innocence in his voice.
"You should be thanking me."
His smile widened, warm—like an old friend recounting a drunken memory.
"Like when Jet talked back to you after that whole meltdown with your new friend? The old you would've erased him from existence just for looking at you wrong."
He chuckled softly.
"Come on, man—you know me."
His voice dipped, soft and syrup-thick.
"Everything I did was to help you. Sure, maybe I… dragged it out a bit. That's the showman in me, you know? But honestly, Aelius… I'd never do anything to harm you."
He reached up, weakly patting Aelius's cheek.
"I genuinely want what's best for you."
Aelius stared at him, breathing hard.
Something flickered in his eyes—not clarity, but something more dangerous.
A line had been crossed.
His voice came out low. Hoarse.
"Really, Nehzhar."
He leaned in, rot rising in his palm again, shaking like something caged trying to claw free.
"You might've torn my mind in half. You might've rewritten me into something soft, something small. But I still know one thing."
His grip tightened.
"You. Can't. Be. Trusted."
Aelius's grip tightened—
And then the world exploded.
Not in flame.
Not in sound.
But in color.
A violent detonation of sickened green and burning blue that split the clearing like a cracked mirror held against a thunderclap.
Rot met sorcery.
Entropy met madness.
And reality broke trying to contain them.
The clearing—the forest—the world around them screamed.
A blast wave of unnatural magic rippled outward, flattening trees, splitting soil, turning air into a war of screaming elements. The sky above warped into hues it had no names for. Light refracted wrong, shadows bent toward the sound instead of away from it, and the air tasted like blood and rust and ink.
Aelius rose to his feet, eyes glassy with pain and something deeper—something primordial.
His side of the battlefield twisted and withered.
The ground pulsed with bile-colored fungus, roots that churned without growing. Trees sagged inward and turned black with pustules and cancerous blooms. Flies drifted in lazy, humming clouds through the rot-heavy fog. The sky above him had turned jaundiced, the clouds sagging like waterlogged skin.
It was a piece of his grandfathers garden, torn from his domain and dropped into the waking world—foul, decaying, eternal.
But across from him—
Across the fractured divide of their war—
Nehzhar was gone from his grip.
He had vanished, peeled away like a page turning in the wind.
And in his place, a different order bloomed.
The rot gave way to shifting fractals of sapphire and amethyst. Trees melted into spirals and spires, flowing upward like ink dragged through glass. Glyphs danced on the air—never the same shape twice—spelling incantations that contradicted themselves. The sky above his half of the battlefield cracked like porcelain, revealing an ocean of constellations that changed each time you blinked.
Everything moved. Everything lied.
It was the language of madness made manifest—change, illusion, false hope, brilliant ruin.
Aelius's teeth clenched, rot dripping from his fingertips, arms twitching from restraint already failing.
Nehzhar's voice echoed from nowhere and everywhere at once, slipping between the gaps in reality like oil down a spiral staircase.
"Ahh… there he is."
A slow, delighted laugh followed, reverberating backward like it was being unspoken.
"No more masks. No more guilds. No more gods to whisper false mercy."
The blue sigils coalesced into a rising spiral behind him, forming a throne made of questions that had never been asked.
"Just you and me, N. Just the two of us—*
"finally free."