Erza swallowed. Her throat felt like it was lined with broken glass, each movement a fresh agony. She tried to speak, but the words lodged somewhere between her heart and her lips, refusing to come.
"Then, give or take… he has sixty years left. Maybe less."
Isvarn's voice was gentle—almost kind—but the kindness only made it worse. It meant he was telling the truth. It meant he was not trying to hurt her, only to make her see. But seeing was pain. Understanding was destruction.
The words hung in the air between them, heavy and immovable, like stones too large to lift. They pressed down on Erza's chest, crushing the breath from her lungs, squeezing her heart until she thought it would burst.
Sixty years.
She had lived for nearly two centuries. Sixty years was less than a third of her life. Less than a blink of an eye in the span of dragon years. She had seen empires rise and fall, had watched mountains erode to dust, had stood at the edge of time itself and felt no fear.
But sixty years—the thought of sixty years with him—terrified her more than anything she had ever faced.
That's it? she thought, the words echoing in her mind like a death knell. That's all the time I have with him?
She had never admitted her love for him. Not out loud. Not to herself. Not in the quiet moments when she lay awake at night listening to him breathe. She had hidden it behind insults and coldness and threats of death. She had told herself it was not real, that it would pass, that she would kill him when the year was over and return to her throne and forget.
But the situation was too real now. The truth was too sharp to hide behind. There was no more room for denial, no more space for pretending. She loved him. She loved him, and he was going to die.
She looked down at Yuuta, still sleeping on the floor, his face peaceful, his breath steady. He did not know what was being decided above him. He did not know that his future was being measured in decades, not centuries. He did not know that she was standing over him, heartbroken, terrified, desperate.
His dark hair had fallen across his forehead. His lips were slightly parted. His hands rested on his chest, rising and falling with each breath. He looked so fragile. So breakable. So human.
Her vision blurred.
She was heartbroken. It was the only word for it—the ache in her chest, the tightness in her throat, the way her hands trembled at her sides. She felt like a wife who had just been told that her husband had a terminal illness, that he would die in a few months, that she would have to live the rest of her life alone.
Seventy years. Sixty years. Maybe less.
The numbers spun through her head, each one smaller than the last, each one a fresh wound. She had never thought about time before. Time was infinite. Time was meaningless. Time was something that happened to other beings, not to dragons.
But now time had a face. Now time had a name. Now time had an expiration date.
Tears welled in her eyes—uninvited, unwanted, unstoppable. She was cold. She was ruthless. She was the Blade of Atlantis, and she had never intended to shed tears for anyone. She had built her reputation on indifference, on control, on the absolute mastery of her own emotions.
But here they were, falling down her cheeks, hot and wet and undeniable.
"I... I'm going to lose him," Erza said, the words barely escaping her throat. They came out broken, cracked, like the voice of someone who had already begun to grieve. "I'm going to lose him, and there is nothing I can do."
There was a silence between them—not the silence of comfort, not the silence of understanding. It was the silence of realization. The silence that comes when a truth is finally spoken aloud and cannot be taken back. The silence of a door closing on a future that would never exist.
Then Erza smiled.
It was a fragile smile, trembling at the edges, barely holding itself together. But it was there. Hope flickered behind her tear-filled eyes, small and desperate and clinging to life like a candle in a storm.
There has to be a way, she thought. There is always a way. Some ancient spell. A lost relic. Something to keep him by my side. Forever.
She was the most powerful being in existence. She wielded Zani—the power of creation itself. She had bent reality to her will, had reshaped the world, had done things that lesser beings would call miracles.
Surely, she could do this. Surely, she could find a way to keep him alive.
"Yes," she muttered aloud, the thought turning into desperate hope. "I can create a spell. I can extend his life. I am the most powerful being in existence. I can bend reality itself. Surely, there is a way."
"You are thinking about increasing his lifespan," Isvarn said.
Erza froze. Her breath caught in her throat. She had not realized she had been speaking aloud.
"Yes," she admitted, her voice defiant, almost challenging. "And what of it? Are you going to stop me again? Point out another flaw? Tell me why I cannot have this one thing?"
Isvarn shook his head slowly. "No. I would not stop you."
Erza's heart leaped. A flicker of hope burned in her chest.
"But," he added, and the word was a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples of dread through her, "I have to tell you that if you use Zani power on the fragile body of a human, he will die. Or be cursed. Or crippled. He will lose his mind, his memories, his very self. The power that can reshape reality is too much for a mortal frame to bear."
Erza's rage boiled beneath her skin. "How do you know that? Have you ever tried it yourself? Have you ever even attempted—"
"I am not saying this to hurt you," Isvarn interrupted, his voice calm but firm, cutting through her desperation like a blade through silk. "I am saying it because I do not want you to destroy yourself trying to bend the unbendable. I have seen it before. I have watched powerful beings tear themselves apart chasing immortality for those they love. It never ends well."
He paused, his ancient eyes fixed on hers.
"What if he dies by your hand? Will you take responsibility for that?"
Erza froze. Her breath stopped. Her heart stopped. The world stopped.
She looked down at her hands—the hands that had healed him, that had held him, that had killed for him. The hands that could just as easily end him. She imagined the magic flowing from her palms, too strong, too wild, too much for his fragile body to contain. She imagined his back arching, his mouth opening in a silent scream, his eyes going wide with terror and pain.
She imagined his body going still. His heart stopping. His eyes closing for the last time.
Because of her.
The thought was horrifying. It clawed at her chest, tore at her throat, made her want to scream.
"No," she whispered. "No, I—"
She shook her head, pushing the image away, refusing to let it take root.
"What if I create a spell and test it on other humans first?" she said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Worthless humans. Criminals. Volunteers. I can experiment until I succeed. I can find a way that does not hurt him. There must be a way."
Isvarn's expression did not change. His voice was steady, measured, the voice of someone who had seen this desperation before and knew where it led.
"And where will you keep him while you conduct these experiments? Are you planning to bring him into Atlantis?"
Erza's teeth ground together. Her jaw was tight, her fists clenched at her sides.
"Yes," she said. "I am going to bring him to Atlantis. I will hide him in my castle until I find a way. He will be safe there. Protected. No one will know."
Isvarn's voice hardened, the gentleness fading, replaced by the stern authority of the Queen's Advisor.
Erza he said sternly think
The word hung in the air like a blade suspended above her neck. Isvarn turned and looked directly into her eyes—not as a subject looking at his queen, but as a grandfather looking at a granddaughter who was about to make a mistake she would regret for eternity.
"If you bring him to Atlantis," he said, his voice low and steady, "you will have to lie. To the nobles. To the elder dragons. To everyone in the kingdom. You will have to fabricate a past for him, forge documents, create a story that no one questions. And lies, my Queen, crack under pressure."
Erza swallowed hard. Her throat felt like it was closing.
"If they learn he is human, they will kill him. Not because they are cruel, but because they will see him as a threat. A weakness. A crack in the armor of the royal bloodline. And if—by some miracle—you manage to make them believe he is a dragon, he will have to participate in army training. In war. In the endless battles that define our existence. He cannot stay by your side every moment. He cannot hide in your shadow. They will grow suspicious. They will investigate. And they will find the truth."
Erza clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms so hard that small crescents of blood formed. Her voice, when she spoke, was barely a whisper.
"But I will protect him."
"You cannot," Isvarn said softly, and the gentleness of his voice was worse than any shout. "Not every second. Not when you are a queen again. Not when you are fighting wars, guarding the borders, attending councils, making decisions that affect billions of lives. You cannot be everywhere at once. You cannot watch him every moment. And the moment you look away—the moment you blink—someone will strike."
Erza looked down at the floor. The cracked wooden planks seemed to blur beneath her tears.
"Let us say, just for a moment," Isvarn continued, "that you do find a way to extend his life. Let us pretend that you succeed. That you bend reality to your will and give him centuries instead of decades. What happens then? What happens if you die in battle?"
Erza froze.
His voice lowered, grew sadder.
"Without you, the one thing tethering him to our world is gone. He will be hunted—by dragons who see him as an abomination, by your enemies who would use him against your memory, by his own grief, which will consume him faster than any blade. And your children—half-blooded, caught between two worlds—will grow up hated. Unprotected. Alone."
A lump formed in Erza's throat. She could not swallow it. Could not speak. Could not breathe.
"My Queen," Isvarn said gently, "you have always been strong. You have always been the strongest. But love makes fools of even queens. And you are risking everything—your kingdom, your children, your very soul—for a man who cannot follow you into eternity."
Tears welled in Erza's eyes. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was barely a whisper, cracked and broken.
"What am I supposed to do?"
Isvarn looked at her. He had succeeded in convincing the Queen of Atlantis—not through lies, not through manipulation, but through hard truths. Everything he had spoken was real. Every word was a stone laid on the path of her future. Humans could never defeat dragons. Not in a million years. Not even mixed-bloods could bridge that gap. Humans were toys to dragons. Playthings. Creatures that lived and died in the blink of an eye.
But there was another flaw. One he had not yet mentioned. One he realized, with a sinking heart, that he had to speak aloud—because if he did not, Erza would choose it. She would choose the path that led to ruin.
"My Queen," he began slowly, "if you choose to stay here in the human world, you will be happy. For a little while. Grow with him. Raise your children with him. You will have that warmth—the warmth you have been missing your entire life."
He looked at her, his ancient eyes steady.
"But what happens after?"
Erza's breath caught in her throat.
"He is human, my Queen. He will die. You know this. Sixty years—if the world is kind. But what happens after he is gone?"
The air felt heavy around Erza. She stayed silent.
"You cannot return to Atlantis," he continued. "Once you walk away from the throne—once you abandon your duty—you are no longer queen. Not royalty. Not even a citizen. The moment you choose him over your kingdom, you lose the right to return."
Erza swallowed hard. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest.
"You will stay in the human world… but not forever. You will not age like them. One year, five years, ten years… and soon, they will start to notice. That you do not wrinkle. That you do not weaken. That you do not die."
He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"And humans… they fear what they do not understand. They will grow suspicious. They will turn on you. The neighbors who smiled at you will whisper behind closed doors. The friends you made will drift away, one by one. And eventually, they will come for you with torches and pitchforks, because that is what humans do when they encounter something they cannot explain."
Erza closed her eyes, fighting back the sting behind them.
"When that happens," he said gently, "you will have no choice but to return to Nova. To the world you left behind. But not as a queen. Not as a noble. Not even as a citizen. Just a runaway. A deserter. A traitor."
His voice darkened.
"And you know what that means. You will live in the wilderness. Hunted by those who see you as a coward. Hounded by the enemies you have made over centuries. You will run forever. No peace. No kingdom. No home."
He stood slowly, walked toward the broken window, and looked out at the fading stars. The night was ending. Dawn was approaching. And with it, a decision that would shape the rest of her existence.
"And what of your children, my Queen?" he asked. "Do you plan to raise them in hiding too? Teach them to fear both worlds? To run from both bloodlines? To never know peace because their mother could not let go?"
Erza bit her lip, trembling.
He turned to her again.
"This is not about whether you love him. I know you do."
A pause. A deep, aching silence between them.
"But sometimes love demands more than we can give. And the price of clinging to it can be destruction—not just of yourself, but of everyone you have ever loved."
He stepped closer and placed a hand gently on her shoulder—the same hand that had once trained her to wield a sword, that had guided her through the darkest days of her childhood, that had never once failed her.
"My advice, as your advisor… and as your grandfather…"
His voice broke slightly.
"…is to let him go. Leave him. Take Elena and come back to Atlantis. Return to your people. To the crown. To your place in the world."
He paused, his ancient eyes shining—not with power, not with authority, but with sorrow.
"Let him live in peace… and you live with purpose."
The room fell quiet. The only sounds were the distant chirping of birds welcoming the dawn and the soft, steady breathing of the man sleeping on the floor.
Erza stood in the center of the ruined apartment, torn between two worlds, two lives, two futures.
And she did not know which one to choose.
To be continued...